_2 Capt._ To her 'tis held so, & rudeness in that high degree-- _Mem._ 'Tis reason, But I will be more punctual; pray what thought she? _Eum._ Her thoughts were merciful, but she laught at ye, Pitying the poorness of your complement, And so she left ye. Good Sir shape your self To understand the place, and noble persons You live with now. _1 Capt._ Let not those great deserts The King hath laid up of ye, and the people, Be blasted with ill bearing. _Eume._ The whole name of souldier then will suffer. _Mem._ She's a sweet one, And good sirs leave your exhortations, They come untimely to me, I have brains That beat above your reaches: She's a Princess, That's all: I have killed a King, that's greater. Come let's to dinner, if the Wine be good, You shall perceive strange wisdom in my blood. [_Exeunt all but_ Chilax. _Chil._ Well, would thou wert i' the wars again Old _Memnon_, there thou wouldst talk toth' purpose, And the proudest of all these Court Camelions Would be glad to find it sense too: pla[gu]e of this Dead peace, this Bastard breeding, lowzie, lazie idleness, Now we must learn to pipe, and pick our livings Out of old rotten ends: these twenty five years I have serv'd my Country, lost my youth and bloud, Expos'd my life to dangers more than dayes; Yet let me tell my wants, I know their answers, The King is bound to right me, they good people Have but from hand to mouth. Look to your wives Your young trim wives, your high-day wives, your marchpanes, For if the souldiers find not recompence, As yet there's none a hatching; I believe You men of wares, the men of wars will nick ye, For starve nor beg they must not; my small means Are gone _in fumo_: here to raise a better Unless it be with lying, or Dog flattering, At which our Nation's excellent; observing Dog-days, When this good Lady broyles and would be basted By that good Lord, or such like moral learnings, Is here impossible; Well; I will rub among 'em If any thing for honestie be gotten, Though't be but bread and cheese I can be satisfied: If otherwise the wind blow, stiff as I am Yet I shall learn to shuffle: There's an old Lass That shall be nameless yet alive, my last hope, Has often got me my pocket full of crowns. If all fail--Jack-Dawes, are you alive still? Then I see the coast clear, when fools and boyes can prosper. _Enter_ Fool, _and_ Page. _Page._ Brave Lieutenant. _Fool._ Hail to the man of worship. _Chi._ You are fine sirs, Most passing fine at all points. _Fool._ As ye see Sir, Home-bred and handsome, we cut not out our clothes Sir At half sword as your Taylors doe, and pink 'em With Pikes and Partizans, we live retir'd Sir Gentlemen like, and jealous of our honours.