Ven.
Now darting Parthia art thou struck, and now
Pleas'd Fortune does of Marcus Crassus death
Make me revenger. Bear the King's Son's Body
Before our Army, thy Pacorus, Orodes,
Pays this for Marcus Crassus.

Rom.
Noble Ventidius,
Whilst yet with Parthian Blood thy Sword is warm,
The Fugitive Parthians follow. Spurn through Media,
Mesapotamia, and the shelters, whither
The routed fly. So thy grand Captain Antony
Shall set thee on triumphant Chariots, and
Put Garlands on thy Head.

Ven.
Oh Silius, Silius,
I have done enough. A lower Place, note well
May make too great an act. For learn this, Silius,
Better to leave undone, than by our deed
Acquire too high a Fame, when him we serve's away.
Cæsar and Antony have ever won

More in their Officer, than Person. Sosius,
One of my place in Syria, his Lieutenant,
For quick accumulation of renown,
Which he atchiev'd by th' minute, lost his favour.
Who does i'th' Wars more than his Captain can,
Becomes his Captain's Captain: And Ambition,
The Soldier's Virtue, rather makes choise of loss
Than gain, which darkens him.
I could do more to do Anthonius good,
But 'twould offend him; and in his offence,
Should my performance perish.

Rom.
Thou hast, Ventidius, that, without the which
A Soldier and his Sword grants scarce distinction:
Thou wilt write to Antony.

Ven.
I'll humbly signifie what in his Name,
That magical word of War, we have effected,
How with his Banners, and his well paid ranks,
The ne'er-yet beaten Horse of Parthia,
We have jaded out o'th' Field.

Rom.
Where is he now?

Ven.
He purposeth to Athens; whither with what haste
The weight we must convey with's, will permit:
We shall appear before him. On there, pass along. [Exeunt.

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