_Sce._ No, no, hang danger: Take me provoking broth, and then goe to her: Goe to your Love, and let her feel your valour; Charge her whole body, when the sword's in your throat (Sir,) You may cry, _Cæsar_, and see if that will help ye. _Cæsar_. I'le be my self again, and meet their furies, Meet, and consume their mischiefs: make some shift, _Sceva_, To recover the Fleet, and bring me up two Legions, And you shall see me, how I'le break like thunder Amongst these beds of slimy Eeles, and scatter 'em. _Sce._ Now ye speak sense I'le put my life to the hazard, Before I goe No more of this warm Lady, She will spoil your sword-hand. _Cæsar_. Goe: come, let's to Counsel How to prevent, and then to execute. SCENA III. _Enter_ Souldiers. _1 Sold._ Did ye see this Penitence? _2 Sold._ Yes: I saw, and heard it. _3 Sold._ And I too: look'd upon him, and observ'd it, He's the strangest _Septimus_ now-- _1 Sold._ I heard he was altered, And had given away his Gold to honest uses: Cry'd monstrously. _2 Sold._ He cryes abundantly: He is blind almost with weeping. _3 Sold._ 'Tis most wonderfull That a hard hearted man, and an old Souldier Should have so much kind moisture: when his Mother dy'd He laugh'd aloud, and made the wickedst Ballads-- _1 Sold._ 'Tis like enough: he never lov'd his parents; Nor can I blame him, for they ne'r lov'd him. His Mother dream'd before she was deliver'd That she was brought abed with a Buzzard, and ever after She whistl'd him up to th' world: his brave clothes too He has flung away, and goes like one of us now: Walks with his hands in's pockets, poor and sorrowfull, And gives the best instructions.-- _2 Sold._ And tells stories Of honest and good people that were honour'd And how they were remembred: and runs mad If he but hear of any ungratefull person, A bloudy, or betraying man-- _3 Sold._ If it be possible That an Arch-Villain may ever be recovered, This penitent Rascal will put hard: 'twere worth our labour To see him once again. _Enter_ Septimius. _1 Sold._ He spares us that labour, For here he comes. _Sep._--Bless ye my honest friends, Bless ye from base unworthy men; come not near me, For I am yet too taking for your company. _1 Sold._ Did I not tell ye? _2 Sold._ What book's that? _1 Sold._ No doubt Some excellent Salve for a sore heart: are you _Septimius_, that base knave, that betray'd _Pompey_? _Sep._ I was, and am; unless your honest thoughts Will look upon my penitence, and save me, I must be ever Villain: O good Souldiers You that have _Roman_ hearts, take heed of falsehood: Take heed of blood; take heed of foul ingratitude. The Gods have scarce a mercy for those mischiefs, Take heed of pride, 'twas that that brought me to it. _2 Sol._ This fellow would make a rare speech at the gallows. _[3] Sol._ 'Tis very fit he were hang'd to edifie us: