_Ant._ By my faith he is brave indeed: he's no commander?
_Sce._ Yes, he has a _Roman_ face, he has been at fair wars
And plenteous too, and rich, his Trappings shew it.
_Sep._ And they will not know me now, they'l never know me.
Who dare blush now at my acquaintance? ha?
Am I not totally a span-new Gallant,
Fit for the choycest eyes? have I not gold?
The friendship of the world? if they shun me now
(Though I were the arrantest rogue, as I am well forward)
Mine own curse, and the Devils too light on me.
_Ant._ Is't not _Septimius_?
_Sce._ Yes.
_Dol._ He that kill'd _Pompey_?
_Sce._ The same Dog, Scab; that guilded botch, that rascal.
_Dol._ How glorious villany appears in _Egypt_!
_Sep._ Gallants, and Souldiers, sure they do admire me.
_Sce._ Stand further off, thou stinkest.
_Sep._ A likely matter:
These Cloaths smell mustily, do they not, Gallants?
They stink, they stink, alas poor things, contemptible.
By all the Gods in _Egypt_, the perfumes
That went to trimming these cloathes, cost me--
_Sce._ Thou stinkest still.
_Sep._ The powdering of this head too--
_Sce._ If thou hast it,
I'le tell thee all the Gumms in sweet _Arabia_
Are not sufficient, were they burnt about thee,
To purge the scent of a rank Rascal from thee.
_Ant._ I smell him now: fie, how the Knave perfumes him,
How strong he scents of Traitor!
_Dol.
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