_Achil._ Keep thy self glorious still, though ne're so stain'd,
And that will lessen it, if not work it out.
To goe complaining thus, and thus repenting
Like a poor Girl that had betrai'd her maide[n]-head--
_Sep._ I'le stop mine ears.
_Achil._ Will shew so in a Souldier,
So simply, and so ridiculously, so tamely--
_Pho._ If people would believe thee, 'twere some honesty,
And for thy penitence would not laugh at thee
(As sure they will) and beat thee for thy poverty:
If they would allow thy foolery, there were some hope.
_Sep._ My foolery?
_Pho._ Nay, more than that, thy misery,
Thy monstrous misery.
_A[c]hil._ He begins to hearken:
Thy misery so great, men will not bury thee.
_Sep._ That this were true!
_Pho._ Why does this conquering _Caesar_
Labour through the worlds deep Seas of toyls and troubles,
Dangers, and desperate hopes? to repent afterwards?
Why does he slaughter thousands in a Battel,
And whip his Country with the sword? to cry for't?
Thou killd'st great _Pompey_; he'l kill all his kindred,
And justifie it: nay raise up _Trophies_ to it.
When thou hear'st him repent, (he's held most holy too)
And cry for doing daily bloody murthers,
Take thou example, and go ask forgiveness,
Call up the thing thou nam'st thy conscience,
And let it work: then 'twill seem well _Septimius_.
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