Pont. What's that?
Mens honest sayings for my truth?
Aret. Oh no, Sir;
But womens honest actions for your trial.
Pont. Do you do all these things?
Phid. Do you not like 'em?
Pont. Do you ask me seriously, or trifle with me?
I am not so low yet to be your mirth.
Are. You do mistake us, Captain, for sincerely,
We ask you how you like 'em?
Pon. Then sincerely,
I tell ye I abhor 'em; they are ill ways,
And I will starve before I fall into 'em,
The doers of 'em Wretches, their base hungers
Care not whose Bread they eat, nor how they get it.
Aret. What then, Sir?
Pon. If you profess this wickedness,
Because ye have been Souldiers, and born Arms,
The Servants of the brave Æcius,
And by him put to th' Emperour, give me leave,
Or I must take it else, to say ye are Villains,
For all your Golden Coats, debosh'd, base Villains,
Yet I do wear a Sword to tell you so,
Is this the way you mark out for a Souldier,
A Man that has commanded for the Empire,
And born the Reputation of a Man?
Are there not lazie things enough call'd fools and cowards,
And poor enough to be prefer'd for Panders,
But wanting Souldiers must be Knaves too? ha!
This the trim course of life; were not ye born Bawds,
And so inherit but your Rights? I am poor,
And may expect a worse; yet digging, pruning,
Mending of broken ways, carrying of water,
Planting of Worts and Onions, any thing
That's honest, and a Mans, I'll rather chuse,
I, and live better on it, which is juster,
Drink my well gotten water with more pleasure,
When my endeavours done, and wages paid me,
Than you do wine, eat my course Bread, not curst,
And mend upon't, your diets are diseases,
And sleep as soundly, when my labour bids me,
As any forward Pander of ye all,
And rise a great deal honester; my Garments,
Though not as yours, the soft sins of the Empire,
Yet may be warm, and keep the biting wind out,
When every single breath of poor opinion
Finds you through all your Velvets.
Put us good men to th' Emperour, so we have serv'd him,
Though much neglected for it; So dare be still;
Your Curses are not ours; we have seen your fortune,
But yet know no way to redeem it: Means,
Such as we have, ye shall not want, brave Pontius,
But pray be temperate, if we can wipe out
The way of your offences, we are yours, Sir;
And you shall live at Court an honest Man too.