Aec. To the rest Sir.
Pon. And like enough I blest him then as Souldiers
Will do sometimes: 'Tis true I told 'em too,
We lay at home, to show our Country
We durst goe naked, durst want meat, and mony,
And when the slave drinks wine, we durst be thirstie:
I told 'em this too, that the Trees and Roots
Were our best pay-masters; the Charity
Of longing women, that had bought our bodies,
Our beds, fires, Taylers, Nurses. Nay I told 'em,
(For you shall hear the greatest sin, I said Sir)
By that time there be wars again, our bodies
Laden with scarrs, and aches, and ill lodgings,
Heats, and perpetual wants, were fitter prayers
And certain graves, than cope the foe on crutches:
'Tis likely too, I counsell'd 'em to turn
Their warlike pikes to plough-shares, their sure Targets
And Swords hatcht with the bloud of many Nations,
To Spades, and pruning Knives, for those get mony,
Their warlike Eagles, into Daws, or Starlings,
To give an Ave Cæsar as he passes,
And be rewarded with a thousand drachma's,
For thus we get but years and beets.
Aeci. What think you,
Were these words to be spoken by a Captain,
One that should give example?
Max. 'Twas too much.
Pon. My Lord, I did not wooe 'em from the Empire,
Nor bid 'em turn their daring steel 'gainst Cæsar,
The Gods for ever hate me, if that motion
Were part of me: Give me but imployment, Sir;
And way to live, and where you hold me vicious,
Bred up in mutiny, my Sword shall tell ye,
And if you please, that place I held, maintain it,
'Gainst the most daring foes of Rome. I am honest,
A lover of my Country, one that holds
His life no longer his, than kept for Cæsar.
Weigh not (I thus low on my knee beseech you)
What my rude tongue discovered, 'twas my want,
No other part of Pontius: you have seen me,
And you my Lord, do something for my Country,
And both beheld the wounds I gave and took,
Not like a backward Traytor.
Aeci. All this language
Makes but against you Pontius, you are cast,
And by mine honour, and my love to Cæsar,
By me shall never be restor'd; In my Camp
I will not have a tongue, though to himself
Dare talk but near sedition; as I govern,
All shall obey, and when they want, their duty
And ready service shall redress their needs,
Not prating what they would be.
Pon. Thus I leave ye,
Yet shall my prayers still, although my fortunes
Must follow you no more, be still about ye,
Gods give ye where ye fight the Victory,
Ye cannot cast my wishes.
Aeci. Come my Lord,
Now to the Field again.
Max. Alas poor Pontius.— [Exeunt.