_Dol._ You had an ill Millener, He laid too much of the Gum of Ingratitude Upon your Coat, you should have washt off that Sir, Fie, how it choaks! too little of your loyaltie, Your honesty, your faith, that are pure Ambers; I smell the rotten smell of a hired Coward, A dead Dog is sweeter. _Sep._ Ye are merry Gentlemen, And by my troth, such harmless mirth takes me too, You speak like good blunt Souldiers; and 'tis well enough: But did you live at Court, as I do, Gallants, You would refine, and learn an apter language; I have done ye simple service on your _Pompey_, You might have lookt him yet this brace of twelve months And hunted after him, like foundred Beagles, Had not this fortunate hand-- _Ant._ He brags on't too: By the good Gods, rejoyces in't; thou wretch Thou most contemptible Slave. _Sce._ Dog, mangy Mongrel, Thou murdring mischief, in the shape of Souldier To make all Souldiers hatefull; thou disease That nothing but the Gallows can give ease to.-- _Dol._ Thou art so impudent, that I admire thee, And know not what to say. _Sep._ I know your anger And why you prate thus: I have found your melancholy: Ye all want mony, and you are liberal Captains, And in this want will talk a little desperately: Here's gold, come share; I love a brave Commander: And be not peevish, do as _Cæsar_ does: He's merry with his wench now, be you jovial, And let's all laugh and drink: would he have partners? I do consider all your wants, and weigh 'em, He has the Mistris, you shall have the maids, I'le bring 'em to ye, to your arms. _Ant._ I blush, All over me, I blush, and sweat to hear him: Upon my conscience, if my arms were on now Through them I should blush too: pray ye let's be walking. _Sce._ Yes, yes: but e're we goe, I'le leave this lesson, And let him study it: first Rogue, then Pander, Next Devil that will be; get thee from mens presence, And where the name of Souldier has been heard of Be sure thou live not: to some hungry desert Where thou canst meet with nothing but thy conscience, And that in all the shapes of all thy vill[anie]s Attend thee still, where bruit Beasts will abhor thee, And even the Sun will shame to give thee light, Goe hide thy head: or if thou think'st it fitter Goe hang thy self. _Dol._ Hark to that clause. _Sce._ And that speedily, That nature may be eas'd of such a Monster. [_Exit._ _Sep._ Yet all this moves not me: nor reflects on me: I keep my gold still, and my confidence, Their want of breeding makes these fellows murmur, Rude valors, so I let 'em pass; rude honours: There is a wench yet, that I know, affects me And company for a King: a young plump villain, That when she sees this gold, she'l leap upon me. _Enter_ Eros. And here she comes: I am sure of her at midnight, My pretty _Eros_ welcom. _Eros_. I have business. _Sep._ Above my love, thou canst not.