As in derision of his Delicates)
Or corn not yet half ripe, and that a Banquet:
They still besiege him, being ambitious only
To come to blows, and let their swords determine
Who hath the better Cause.

_Enter_ Septi[m]ius.

_Ach._ May Victory
Attend on't, where it is.

_Achil._ We every hour
Expect to hear the issue.

_Sep._ Save my good Lords;
By _Isis_ and _Osiris_, whom you worship;
And the four hundred gods and goddesses
Ador'd in _Rome_, I am your honours servant.

_Ach._ Truth needs, _Septimius_, no oaths.

_Achil._ You are cruel,
If you deny him swearing, you take from him
Three full parts of his language.

_Sep._ Your Honour's bitter,
Confound me, where I love I cannot say it,
But I must swear't: yet such is my ill fortune,
Nor vows, nor protestations win belief,
I think, and (I can find no other reason)