_Enter_ Sceva.
_All_. Was never such a man.
_1 Sold._ Dear honour'd Sir,
Let us but know your name, that we may worship ye.
_2 Sold._ That we may ever thank.
_Sep._ Why, call me any thing,
No matter for my name, that may betray me.
_Sce._ A cunning thief, call him _Septimius_, Souldiers,
The villain that kill'd _Pompey_.
_All_. How?
_Sce._ Call him the shame of men. [_Exit._
_1 Sold._ O that this mony
Were weight enough to break thy brains out: fling all:
And fling our curses next: let them be mortal,
Out bloody wolf, dost thou come guilded over,
And painted with thy charitie, to poyson us?
_2 Sold._ I know him now: may never Father own thee,
But as a monstrous birth shun thy base memory:
And if thou hadst a Mother (as I cannot
Believe thou wert a natural Burden) let her womb
Be curs'd of women for a bed of vipers.
_3 Sol._ Me thinks the ground shakes to devour this rascal,
And the kind air turns into foggs and vapours,
Infectious mists, to crown his villanies.
Thou maist go wander, like a thing heaven hated.
_1 Sold._ And valiant minds hold poysonous to remember.
The Hangman will not keep thee company,
He has an honourable house to thine,
No, not a thief though thou couldst save his life for't
Will eat thy bread, nor one, for thirst starv'd, drink with thee.
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