Of Souldiers, and all glorious pomp of war,
_Pompey_ is much superiour.

_Achil._ I could give you
A Catalogue of all the several Nations
From whence he drew his powers: but that were tedious.
They have rich arms, are ten to one in number,
Which makes them think the day already won;
And _Pompey_ being master of the Sea,
Such plenty of all delicates are brought in,
As if the place on which they are entrench'd,
Were not a Camp of Souldiers, but _Rome_,
In which _Lucullus_ and _Apicius_ joyn'd,
To make a publique Feast: they at _Dirachium_
Fought with success; but knew not to make use of
_Fortunes_ fair offer: so much I have heard
_Cæsar_ himself confess.

_Ach._ Where are they now?

_Achil._ In _Thessalie_, near the _Pharsalian_ plains
Where _Cæsar_ with a handfull of his Men
Hems in the greater number: his whole troops
Exceed not twenty thousand, but old Souldiers
Flesh'd in the spoils of _Germany_ and _France_,
Inur'd to his Command, and only know
To fight and overcome; And though that _Famine_
Raigns in his Camp, compelling them to tast
Bread made of roots, forbid the use of man,
(Which they with scorn threw into _Pompeys_ Camp