Ach. The scarlet livery of unfortunate war
  Dy’d deeply on his face.

Achil. ’Tis Labienus Caesars Lieutenant in the wars of Gaul, And fortunate in all his undertakings:  But since these Civil jars he turn’d to Pompey, And though he followed the better Cause Not with the like success.

  Pho. Such as are wise
  Leave falling buildings, flye to those that rise;
  But more of that hereafter.

Lab. In a word, Sir, These gaping wounds, not taken as a slave, Speak Pompey’s loss:  to tell you of the Battail, How many thousand several bloody shapes Death wore that day in triumph:  how we bore The shock of Caesars charge:  or with what fury His Souldiers came on as if they had been So many Caesars, and like him ambitious To tread upon the liberty of Rome:  How Fathers kill’d their Sons, or Sons their Fathers, Or how the Roman Piles on either side Drew Roman blood, which spent, the Prince of weapons, (The sword) succeeded, which in Civil wars Appoints the Tent on which wing’d victory Shall make a certain Stand; then, how the Plains Flow’d o’re with blood, and what a cloud of vulturs And other birds of prey, hung o’re both armies, Attending when their ready Servitors, (The Souldiers, from whom the angry gods Had took all sense of reason, and of pity) Would serve in their own carkasses for a feast, How Caesar with his Javelin force’d them on That made the least stop, when their angry hands Were lifted up against some known friends face; Then coming to the body of the army He shews the sacred Senate, and forbids them To wast their force upon the Common Souldier, Whom willingly, if e’re he did know pity, He would have spar’d.

  Ptol. The reason Labienus?

Lab. Full well he knows, that in their blood he was To pass to Empire, and that through their bowels He must invade the Laws of Rome, and give A period to the liberty of the world.  Then fell the Lepidi, and the bold Corvini, The fam’d Torquati, Scipio’s, and Marcelli, (Names next to Pompeys, most renown’d on Earth) The Nobles, and the Commons lay together, And Pontique, Punique, and Assyrian blood Made up one crimson Lake:  which Pompey seeing, And that his, and the fate of Rome had left him Standing upon the Rampier of his Camp, Though scorning all that could fall on himself, He pities them whose fortunes are embarqu’d In his unlucky quarrel; cryes aloud too That they should sound retreat, and save themselves:  That he desir’d not, so much noble blood Should be lost in his service, or attend On his misfortunes:  and then, taking horse With some few of his friends, he came to Lesbos, And with Cornelia, his Wife, and Sons, He’s touch’d upon your shore:  the King of Parthia, (Famous