_Del._ Peace, and flatter not; Necessitie and anger draws this from ye; Of both which I will quit ye: For your Uncle I spoke this honour, and it fell upon him; Fell, to his full content: he has forgot me, For all my care; forgot me, and his vow too: As if a dream had vanish'd, so h'as lost me, And I him: let him now stand fast. Come hither; My care is now on you. _Max._ O blessed Mother! _Del._ Stand still, and let me work. So now, _Maximinian_, Go, and appear in Court, and eye _Aurelia_: Believe, what I have done, concerns ye highly. Stand in her view, make your addresses to her: She is the Stair of honour. I'le say no more, But Fortune is your servant: go. _Max._ With reverence;-- All this as holy truths. [_Exit._ _Del._ Believe, and prosper. _Dru._ Yet all this cures not me; but as much credit, As much belief from _Dioclesian_. _Enter_ Geta, _Lictors, and Suitors_, (_with Petitions_.) _Del._ Be not dejected; I have warn'd ye often: The proudest thoughts he has, I'le humble. Who's this? O 'tis the fool and knave grown a grave Officer: Here's hot and high preferment. _Get._ What's your Bill? For Gravel for the _Appian_ way, and Pills? Is the way rheumatick? _1 Suitor._ 'Tis Piles, and't please you. _Get._ Remove me those Piles to Port _Esquiline_, Fitter the place, my friend: you shall be paid. _1 Suitor._ I thank your worship. _Get._ Thank me when ye have it; Thank me another way, ye are an Asse else. I know my office: you are for the streets, Sir. Lord, how ye throng! that knave has eaten Garlick; Whip him, and bring him back. _3 Suitor._ I beseech your Worship; Here's an old reckoning for the dung and dirt, Sir. _Get._ It stinks like thee: away. Yet let him tarry, His Bill shall quit his Breath. Give your Petitions In seemly sort, and keep your hat off, decently. For scowring the water-courses thorow the Cities? A fine periphrasis of a kennel-raker. Did ye scour all, my friend? ye had some business: Who shall scour you? you are to be paid, I take it, When Surgeons swear you have perform'd your office. _4 Suit._ Your Worship's merry. _Get._ We must be sometimes wittie, To nick a knave; 'tis as useful as our gravitie. I'le take no more Petitions; I am pester'd; Give me some rest. _4 Suit._ I have brought the gold (and't please ye) About the Place ye promised. _Get._ See him enter'd. How does your Daughter? _4 Suit._ Better your worship thinks of her. _Get._ This is with the least. But let me see your Daughter. 'Tis a good forward maid; I'le joyn her with ye. I do beseech ye, leave me. _Lictor._ Ye see the _Edile's_ busie.