I sang it
The last night at my Lord _Photinus_ table.

_Ach._ How? as a Fidler?

_Sep._ No Sir, as a Guest,
A welcom guest too: and it was approv'd of
By a dozen of his friends, though they were touch'd in't:
For look you, 'tis a kind of merriment,
When we have laid by foolish modesty
(As not a man of fashion will wear it)
To talk what we have done; at least to hear it;
If meerily set down, it fires the blood,
And heightens Crest-faln appetite.

_Ach._ New doctrine!

_Achil._ Was't of your own composing?

_Sep._ No, I bought it
Of a skulking Scribler for two Ptolomies:
But the hints were mine own; the wretch was fearfull:
But I have damn'd my self, should it be question'd,
That I will own it.

_Ach._ And be punished for it:
Take heed: for you may so long exercise
Your scurrilous wit against authority,
The Kingdoms Counsels; and make profane Jests,
(Which to you (being an atheist) is nothing)
Against Religion, that your great maintainers
(Unless they would be thought Co-partners with you)
Will leave you to the Law: and then, _Septimius_,
Remember there are whips.

_Sep._ For whore's I grant you,
When they are out of date, till then are safe too,
Or all the Gallants of the Court are Eunuchs,
And for mine own defence I'le only add this,
I'le be admitted for a wanton tale
To some most private Cabinets, when your Priest-hood
(Though laden with the mysteries of your goddess)
Shall wait without unnoted: so I leave you
To your pious thoughts. [_Exit._

_Achil._ 'Tis a strange impudence,
This fellow does put on.

_Ach._ The wonder great,
He is accepted of.

_Achil._ Vices, for him,
Make as free way as vertues doe for others.
'Tis the times fault: yet Great ones still have grace'd
To make them sport, or rub them o're with flattery,
Observers of all kinds.

_Enter_ Photinus, _and_ Septimius.

_Ach._ No more of him,
He is not worth our thoughts: a Fugitive
From _Pompeys_ army: and now in a danger
When he should use his service.

_Achil._ See how he hangs
On great _Photinus_ Ear.

_Sep._ Hell, and the furies,
And all the plagues of darkness light upon me:
You are my god on earth: and let me have
Your favour here, fall what can fall hereafter.

_Pho._ Thou art believ'd: dost thou want mony?

_Sep._ No Sir.

_Pho._ Or hast thou any suite? these ever follow
Thy ve