_Lic._ The Empress does you simple honour, _Paulus_, The wreath your blue Grace must present, she made. But hark ye, for the Souldiers? _Pau._ That's done too: I'le bring 'em in I warrant ye. _Lic._ A Grace too? _Pau._ The same Grace serves for both. _Lic._ About it then: I must to th' Cupbord; and be sure good _Paulus_ Your Grace be fasting, that he may hang cleanly. If there should need another voice, what then? _Paul._ I'le hang another Grace in. _Lic._ Grace be with ye. [_Exeunt._ SCENE VIII. _Enter in state_ Maximus, Eudox[i]a, _with Souldiers and Gentlemen of_ Rome, _the Senators, and Rods and Axes born before them_. _A Synnet with_} {_With a Banket prepared, with_ _Trumpets._ } {_Hoboies, Musick, Song, wreath._ _3 Sen._ Hale to thy imperial honour sacred _Cæsar_, And from the old _Rome_ take these wishes; You holy gods, that hitherto have held As justice holds her Ballance equal pois'd, This glory of our Nation, this full _Roman_, And made him fit for what he is, confirm him: Look on this Son O _Jupiter_ our helper, And _Romulus_, thou Father of our honour, Preserve him like thy self, just, valiant, noble, A lover, and increaser of his people, Let him begin with _Numa_, stand with _Cato_, The first five years of _Nero_ be his wishes, Give him the age and fortune of _Emylius_, And his whole raign renew a great _Augustus_. SONG. _Honour that is ever living,_ _Honour that is ever giving,_ _Honour that sees all and knows_ _Both the ebbs of man and flowes,_ _Honour that rewards the best,_ _Sends thee thy rich labours rest;_ _Thou hast studied still to please her,_ _Therefore now she calls thee_ Cæsar: Chor. _Hale, hale_, Cæsar, _hale and stand,_ _And thy name outlive the Land._ _Noble Fathers to his brows_ _Bind this wreath with thousand vows._ _All._ Stand to Eternity. _Max._ I thank ye Fathers, And as I rule, may it still grow or wither: Now to the Banket, ye are all my guests, This day be liberal friends, to wine we give it; And smiling pleasures: Sit, my Queen of Beauty; Fathers, your places: these are fair Wars Souldiers, And thus I give the first charge to ye all; You are my second, sweet, to every cup, I add unto the Senate a new honour, And to the sons of _Mars_ a donative. SONG.