_Jac._ 'Tis well they can be near 'em any way. But call you those true spirits ill affected, That whilst the wars were, serv'd like walls and ribs To girdle in the Kingdom? And now faln Through a faint Peace into affliction, Speak but their miseries? come, come, _Fabritio_, You may pretend what patience ye please, And seem to yoak your wants like passions; But while I know thou art a Souldier, And a deserver, and no other Harvest But what thy Sword reaps for thee to come in, You shall be pleas'd to give me leave to tell ye, You wish a Devil of this musty peace; To which Prayer, As one that's bound in Conscience, and all That love our trade, I cry, Amen. _Fab._ Prithee no more, we shall live well enough, There's ways enough besides the wars to men That are not logs, and lye still for the hands Of others to remove 'em. _Jac._ You may thrive, Sir, Thou art young and handsom yet, and well enough To please a Widow; thou canst sing, and tell These foolish love-tales, and indite a little, And if need be, compile a pretty matter, And dedicate it to the honourable, Which may awaken his compassion, To make ye Clark o'th' Kitchen, and at length, Come to be married to my Ladies Woman, After she's crackt i'th' Ring. _Fab._ 'Tis very well, Sir. _Jac._ But what dost thou think shall become of me, With all my imperfections? let me dye, If I think I shall ever reach above A forlorn Tapster, or some frothy fellow, That stinks of stale Beer. _Fab._ Captain _Jacomo_, Why should you think so hardly of your vertues? _Jac._ What vertues? by this light, I have no vertue, But down-right buffetting, what can my face, That is no better than a ragged Map now Of where I have march'd and travell'd, profit me? Unless it be for Ladies to abuse, and say 'Twas spoil'd for want of a Bongrace when I was young, And now 'twill make a true prognostication Of what man must be? Tell me of a fellow That can mend Noses, and complain, So tall a Souldier should want teeth to his Stomach; And how it was great pity, that it was, That he that made my Body was so busied He could not stay to make my Legs too; but was driven To clap a pair of Cat-sticks to my Knees, for which I am indebted to two School-Boys; this Must follow necessary. _Fab._ There's no such matter.