_Pet._ So he does, Sir, And cannot you do so too? All my Company Are now in love, ne'r think of meat, nor talk Of what Provant is: _Aymees_, and _Hearty hey-hoes_, Are Sallets fit for Soldiers. Live by meat; By larding up your bodies? 'tis lewd, and lazie, And shews ye meerly mortal, dull, and drives ye To fight like Camels, with baskets at your noses. Get ye in love; ye can whore well enough, That all the world knows: fast ye into Famine, Yet ye can crawl like Crabs to wenches, handsomely, Fall but in love now, as ye see example, And follow it but with all your thoughts, _probatum_, There's so much charge sav'd, and your hunger's ended. Away, I hear the General: get ye in love all, [_Drum afar off._ Up to the ears in love, that I may hear No more of these rude murmurings; and discreetly Carry your stomachs, or I prophesie A pickel'd Rope will choak ye. Jog, and talk not. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ Swetonius, Demetrius, Decius, Drum, Colours. _Swet. Demetrius_, is the messenger dispatch'd To _Penyus_, to command him to bring up The _Volans_ Regiment? _Dem._ He's there by this time. _Swet._ And are the Horse well view'd we brought from _Mona_[?] _Dec._ The Troops are full, and lusty. _Swet._ Good _Petillius_, Look to those eating Rogues, that bawl for victuals, And stop their throats a day or two: provision Waits but the wind to reach us. _Pet._ Sir, already I have been tampring with their stomachs, which I find As deaf as Adders to delays: your clemency Hath made their murmurs, mutinies, nay, rebellions: Now, and they want but Mustard, they'r in uproars No oil but Candy, _Lusitanian_ Figs And Wine from _Lesbos_ now can satisfie 'em: The _British_ waters are grown dull and muddy, The fruit disgustful: _Orontes_ must be sought for, And Apples from the happy Isles: the truth is, They are more curious now in having nothing, Than if the sea and land turn'd up their treasures: This lost the Colonies, and gave _Bonduca_ (With shame we must record it) time and strength To look into our Fortunes; great discretion To follow offered Victory; and last, full pride To brave us to our teeth, and scorn our ruines. _Swet._ Nay, chide not, good _Petillius_, I confess My will to conquer _Mona_, and long stay To execute that Will, let in these losses: All shall be right again, and as a Pine Rent from _Oeta_ by a sweeping tempest, Joynted again, and made a Mast, defies Those angry winds that split him: so will I, Piec'd to my never-fai[l]ing strength and fortune, Steer thorow these swelling dangers; plow their prides up, And bear like thunder through their loudest tempests: They keep the field still. _Dem._ Confident and full.