_Ach._ Where are they now?
_Achil._ In _Thessalie_, near the _Pharsalian_ plains
Where _Caesar_ with a handfull of his Men
Hems in the greater number: his whole troops
Exceed not twenty thousand, but old Souldiers
Flesh'd in the spoils of _Germany_ and _France_,
Inur'd to his Command, and only know
To fight and overcome; And though that _Famine_
Raigns in his Camp, compelling them to tast
Bread made of roots, forbid the use of man,
(Which they with scorn threw into _Pompeys_ Camp
As in derision of his Delicates)
Or corn not yet half ripe, and that a Banquet:
They still besiege him, being ambitious only
To come to blows, and let their swords determine
Who hath the better Cause.
_Enter_ Septi[m]ius.
_Ach._ May Victory
Attend on't, where it is.
_Achil._ We every hour
Expect to hear the issue.
_Sep._ Save my good Lords;
By _Isis_ and _Osiris_, whom you worship;
And the four hundred gods and goddesses
Ador'd in _Rome_, I am your honours servant.
_Ach._ Truth needs, _Septimius_, no oaths.
_Achil._ You are cruel,
If you deny him swearing, you take from him
Three full parts of his language.
_Sep._ Your Honour's bitter,
Confound me, where I love I cannot say it,
But I must swear't: yet such is my ill fortune,
Nor vows, nor protestations win belief,
I think, and (I can find no other reason)
Because I am a _Roman_.
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