Max. So I have now, friend,
Of my deep lamentations here's an end. [Exeunt.
[SCENE II.]
Enter Pontius, Phidias, and Aretus.
Phid. By my faith, Captain Pontius, besides pity
Of your faln fortunes, what to say I know not,
For 'tis too true the Emperour desires not,
But my best master, any souldier near him.
Aret. And when he understands, he cast your fortunes
For disobedience, how can we incline him,
(That are but under persons to his favours)
To any fair opinion? Can ye sing?
Pont. Not to please him, Aretus, for my Songs
Go not to th' Lute, or Viol, but to th' Trumpet,
My tune kept on a Target, and my subject
The well struck wounds of men, not love, or women.
Phid. And those he understands not.
Pont. He should, Phidias.
Aret. Could you not leave this killing way a little?
You must, if here you would plant your self, and rather
Learn as we do, to like what those affect
That are above us; wear their actions,
And think they keep us warm too; what they say,
Though oftentimes they speak a little foolishly,
Not stay to construe, but prepare to execute,
And think however the end falls, the business
Cannot run empty handed.
Phid. Can ye flatter,
And if it were put to you, lye a little?