Carries her Litter to lye soft, do you see that?
Invites ye like a Gamester: note that impudence,
For shame reflect upon your self, your honour,
Look back into your noble parts, and blush:
Let not the dear sweat of the hot Pharsalia,
Mingle with base Embraces; am I he
That have receiv'd so many wounds for Cæsar?
Upon my Target groves of darts still growing?
Have I endur'd all hungers, colds, distresses,
And (as I had been bred that Iron that arm'd me)