SCENE V.

_Enter_ Geta, _Guard_, _Souldiers_.

_Get._ I'll swear the Peace against 'em, I am hurt, Run for a Surgeon, or I faint.

_1 Guard._ Bear up, man, 'Tis but a scratch.

_Get._ Scoring a man o'r the Coxcomb Is but a scratch with you! ---- o' your occupation, Your scurvy scuffling trade; I was told before My face was bad enough; but now I look Like bloody Bone, and raw head, to fright Children; I am for no use else.

_2 Guard._ Thou shalt fright men.

_1 Guard._ You look so terrible now; but see your face In the Pummel of my Sword.

_Get._ I dye, I am gone. Oh my sweet physiognomy.

_Enter three_ Persians.

_2 Guard._ They come, Now fight, or dye indeed.

_Get._ I will 'scape this way; I cannot hold my Sword; what would you have Of a maim'd man?

_1 Guard._ Nay, then I have a goad To prick you forward, Oxe.

_2 Guard._ Fight like a Man, Or dye like a Dog.

_Get._ Shall I, like _Cæsar_, fall Among my friends? no mercy? _Et tu Brute?_ You shall not have the honour of my death, I'll fall by the Enemy first.

_1 Guard._ O brave, brave _Geta_, [Persians _driven off_. He plays the Devil now.

_Enter_ Niger.

_Nig._ Make up for honour, The _Persians_ shrink. The passage is laid open, Great _Dioclesian_, like a second _Mars_, His strong arm govern'd by the fierce _Bellona_, Performs more than a man; his shield struck full Of _Persian_ Darts, which now are his defence Against the Enemies Swords, still leads the way. Of all the _Persian_ Forces, one strong Squadron,

[_Alarm's continued._

In which _Cosroe_ in his own person fights, Stands firm, and yet unrouted; Break thorow that, The day, and all is ours. [_Retreat._

_All._ Victory, Victory. [_Exeunt. Flourish._