Sce. What Apparition?  What Spirit have I rais’d? sure ’tis a Woman, She looks like one; now she begins to move too:  A tempting Devil, o’ my life; go off, Caesar, Bless thy self, off:  a Bawd grown in mine old days?  Bawdry advanc’d upon my back? ’tis noble:  Sir, if you be a Souldier come no nearer, She is sent to dispossess you of your honour, A Spunge, a Spunge to wipe away your Victories:  And she would be cool’d, Sir, let the Souldiers trim her!  They’ll give her that she came for, and dispatch her; Be loyal to your self.  Thou damned Woman, Dost thou come hither with thy flourishes, Thy flaunts, and faces to abuse mens manners?  And am I made the instrument of Bawdry?  I’ll find a Lover for ye, one that shall hug ye.

  Caes. Hold, on thy life, and be more temperate,
  Thou Beast.

  Sce. Thou Beast?

  Caes. Could’st thou be so inhumane,
  So far from noble Men, to draw thy Weapon
  Upon a thing divine?

  Sce. Divine, or humane,
  They are never better pleas’d, nor more at hearts ease,
  Than when we draw with full intent upon ’em.

  Caes. Move this way (Lady)
  ’Pray ye let me speak to ye.

  Sce. And Woman, you had best stand.

Caes. By the gods, But that I see her here, and hope her mortal, I should imagine some celestial sweetness, The treasure of soft love.

Sce. Oh, this sounds mangily, Poorly, and scurvily in a Souldiers mouth:  You had best be troubled with the Tooth-ach too, For Lovers ever are, and let your Nose drop That your celestial Beauty may befriend ye; At these years do you learn to be fantastical?  After so many bloody fields, a Fool?  She brings her Bed along too, she’ll lose no time, Carries her Litter to lye soft, do you see that?  Invites ye like a Gamester:  note that impudence, For shame reflect upon your self, your honour, Look back into your noble parts, and blush:  Let not the dear sweat of the hot Pharsalia, Mingle with base Embraces; am I he That have receiv’d so many wounds for Caesar?  Upon my Target groves of darts still growing?  Have I endur’d all hungers, colds, distresses, And (as I had been bred that Iron that arm’d me) Stood out all weathers, now to curse my fortune?  To ban the blood I lost for such a General?

  Caesar.  Offend no more:  be gone.

Sce. I will, and leave ye, Leave ye to womens wars, that will proclaim ye:  You’l conquer Rome now, and the Capitol With Fans, and Looking-glasses, farewel Caesar.

  Cleo. Now I am private Sir, I dare speak to ye: 
  But thus low first, for as a God I honour ye.

  Sce. Lower you’l be anon.

  Caesar.  Away.

  Sce. And privater,
  For that you covet all. [Exit.