_1 Sol._ The pleasure _Caesar_ sleeps in, makes us miserable,
We are forgot, our maims and dangers laugh'd at;
He Banquets, and we beg.
_2 Sol._ He was not wont
To let poor Souldiers that have spent their Fortunes,
Their Bloods, and limbs, walk up and down like vagabonds.
_Sep._ Save ye good Souldiers: good poor men, heaven help ye:
You have born the brunt of war, and shew the story,
_1 Sol._ Some new commander sure.
_Sep._ You look (my good friends)
By your thin faces, as you would be Suitors.
_2 Sol._ To _Caesar_, for our means, Sir.
_Sep._ And 'tis fit Sir.
_3 Sol._ We are poor men, and long forgot.
_Sep._ I grieve for it:
Good Souldiers should have good rewards, and favours,
I'le give up your petitions, for I pity ye,
And freely speak to _Caesar_.
_All_. O we honour ye.
_1 Sol._ A good man sure ye are: the Gods preserve ye.
_Sep._ And to relieve your wants the while, hold Soldiers,
Nay 'tis no dream: 'tis good gold: take it freely,
'Twill keep ye in good heart.
_2 Sol._ Now goodness quit ye.
_Sep._ I'le be a friend to your afflictions,
And eat, and drink with ye too, and we'l be merry:
And every day I'le see ye.
_1 Sol._ You are a Souldier,
And one sent from the Gods, I think.
_Sep._ I'le cloth ye,
Ye are lame, and then provide good lodging for ye:
And at my Table, where no want shall meet ye.
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