Yet, for long service done, reward these men,
And so they triumph, be't with whom ye will.
Whither now shall these old bloodless souls repair?
What seats for their deserts? what store of ground
For servitors to till? what colonies
To rest their bones? say, Pompey, are these worse
Than pirates of Sicilia?[612] they had houses.
Spread, spread these flags that ten years' space have conquer'd!
Let's use our tried force: they that now thwart right,
In wars will yield to wrong:[613] the gods are with us;350