_Leon._ I am ev'n right glad, Sir.
For by my troth, I am now grown old with idleness;
I hear we shall abroad, Sir.

_Ant._ Yes, and presently,
But who think you commands now?

_Leon._ Who commands, Sir?
Methinks mine eye should guide me: can there be
(If you your self will spare him so much honour)
Any found out to lead before your Armies,
So full of faith, and fire, as brave _Demetrius_?
King _Philips_ Son, at his years was an old Souldier,
'Tis time his Fortune be o' wing, high time, Sir,
So many idle hours, as here he loyters,
So many ever-living names he loses,
I hope 'tis he.

_Ant._ 'Tis he indeed, and nobly
He shall set forward: draw you all those Garrisons
Upon the frontiers as you pass: to those
Joyn these in pay at home, our ancient souldiers,
And as you go press all the Provinces.

_Leo._ We shall not [need];
Believe, this hopefull Gentleman
Can want no swords, nor honest hearts to follow him,
We shall be full, no fear Sir.