_Get._ I dye, I am gone. Oh my sweet physiognomy. _Enter three_ Persians. _2 Guard._ They come, Now fight, or dye indeed. _Get._ I will 'scape this way; I cannot hold my Sword; what would you have Of a maim'd man? _1 Guard._ Nay, then I have a goad To prick you forward, Oxe. _2 Guard._ Fight like a Man, Or dye like a Dog. _Get._ Shall I, like _Cæsar_, fall Among my friends? no mercy? _Et tu Brute?_ You shall not have the honour of my death, I'll fall by the Enemy first. _1 Guard._ O brave, brave _Geta_, [Persians _driven off_. He plays the Devil now. _Enter_ Niger. _Nig._ Make up for honour, The _Persians_ shrink. The passage is laid open, Great _Dioclesian_, like a second _Mars_, His strong arm govern'd by the fierce _Bellona_, Performs more than a man; his shield struck full Of _Persian_ Darts, which now are his defence Against the Enemies Swords, still leads the way. Of all the _Persian_ Forces, one strong Squadron, [_Alarm's continued._ In which _Cosroe_ in his own person fights, Stands firm, and yet unrouted; Break thorow that, The day, and all is ours. [_Retreat._ _All._ Victory, Victory. [_Exeunt. Flourish._ SCENE VI. _Enter, in Triumph with_ Roman _Ensigns_, _Guard,_ Dioclesian, Charinus, Aurelia, Maximinian, Niger, Geta, Cosroe, Cassana, _Persians, as Prisoners_; Delphia, _and_ Drusilla, _privately_. _Dio._ I am rewarded in the Act; your freedome To me's ten thousand Triumphs; You Sir, share, In all my glories. And unkind _Aurelia_, From being a Captive, still command the Victor. Nephew, remember by whose gift you are free; You I afford my pity; baser minds Insult on the afflicted, you shall know, Vertue and Courage are admir'd and lov'd In Enemies; but more of that hereafter. Thanks to your valour; to your Swords I owe This Wreath triumphant. Nor be thou forgot My first poor Bondman, _Geta_, I am glad Thou art turn'd a fighter. _Get._ 'Twas against my will; But now I am content with't. _Char._ But imagine What honours can be done to you beyond these, Transcending all example; 'tis in you To will, in us to serve it. _Nig._ We will have His Statue of pure gold set in the Capitol, And he that bows not to it as a god, Makes forfeit of his head. _Max._ I burst with envy; And yet these honours, which conferr'd on me, Would make me pace on air, seem not to move him.