By your thin faces, as you would be Suitors.

_2 Sol._ To _Cæsar_, for our means, Sir.

_Sep._ And 'tis fit Sir.

_3 Sol._ We are poor men, and long forgot.

_Sep._ I grieve for it:
Good Souldiers should have good rewards, and favours,
I'le give up your petitions, for I pity ye,
And freely speak to _Cæsar_.

_All_. O we honour ye.

_1 Sol._ A good man sure ye are: the Gods preserve ye.

_Sep._ And to relieve your wants the while, hold Soldiers,
Nay 'tis no dream: 'tis good gold: take it freely,
'Twill keep ye in good heart.

_2 Sol._ Now goodness quit ye.

_Sep._ I'le be a friend to your afflictions,
And eat, and drink with ye too, and we'l be merry:
And every day I'le see ye.

_1 Sol._ You are a Souldier,
And one sent from the Gods, I think.