I am a little thirstie, not for fear,
And yet it is a kind of fear, I say so;
Is it to be a just man now again,
And leave my flesh unthought of? 'tis departed:
I hear 'em come, who strikes first?
I stay for ye:
Enter Balbus, Chilax, Licinius.
Yet I will dye a Souldier, my sword drawn,
But against none:
Why do ye fear? come forward.
Bal. You were a Souldier Chilax.
Chil. Yes, I muster'd
But never saw the Enemy.
Lici. He's drawn,
By heaven I dare not do it.
Aeci. Why do ye tremble?
I am to die, come ye not now from Cæsar
To that end, speak?
Bal. We do, and we must kill ye,
'Tis Cæsars will.
Chil. I charge you put your sword up,
That we may do it handsomly.
Aeci. Ha, ha, ha,
My sword up, handsomly? where were ye bred?
Ye are the merriest murderers my masters
I ever met withal; Come forward fools,
Why do ye stare? upon mine honour Bawds,
I will not strike ye.