_Richard Burbadge_,
_Henry Condel_,
_William Eglestone_,
_Nich. Toolie_,
_William Ostler_,
_John Lowin_,
_John Underwood_,
_Richard Robinson_.
_Actus Primus. Scæna Prima._
_Enter_ Bonduca, Daughters, Hengo, Nennius, Soldiers.
_Bon._ The hardy _Romans_? O ye gods of _Britain_,
The rust of Arms, the blushing shame of soldiers;
Are these the men that conquer by inheritance!
The Fortune-makers? these the _Julians_.
_Enter_ Caratach.
That with the Sun measure the end of Nature,
Making the World but one _Rome_ and one _Cæsar_?
Shame, how they flee! _Cæsars_ soft soul dwells in 'em;
Their Mothers got 'em sleeping, Pleasure nurst 'em,
Their Bodies sweat with sweet Oils, Loves allurements,
Not lustie Arms. Dare they send these to seek us,
These _Roman_ Girls? Is _Britain_ grown so wanton?
Twice we have beat 'em, _Nennius_ scatter'd 'em,
And through their big-bon'd _Germans_, on whose Pikes
The honour of their actions sit in triumph,
Made Themes for Songs to shame 'em, and a Woman,
A Woman beat 'em, _Nennius_; a weak Woman,
A Woman beat these _Romans_.
_Car._ So it seems.
A man would shame to talk so.
_Bon._ Who's that?
_Car._ I.
_Bon._ Cosin, do you grieve at my fortunes?
_Car._ No, _Bonduca_,
If I grieve, 'tis at the bearing of your fortunes;
You put too much wind to your sail: Discretion
And hardy valour are the twins of honour,
And nurs'd together, make a Conqueror:
Divided, but a talker. 'Tis a truth.
That _Rome_ has fled before us twice, and routed;
A truth we ought to crown the gods for, Lady,
And not our tongues. A truth is none of ours,
Nor in our ends, more than the noble bearing:
For then it leaves to be a virtue, Lady;
And we that have been Victors, beat our selves,
When we insult upon our honors subject.
_Bon._ My valiant Cosin, is it foul to say
What liberty and honor bid us do,
And what the gods allow us?
_Car._ No, _Bonduca_,
So what we say exceed not what we do.
Ye call the _Romans_ fearful, fleeing _Romans_,
And _Roman_ Girls, the lees of tainted pleasures:
Does this become a doer? are they such?
_Bon._ They are no more.
_Car._ Where is your Conquest then?
Why are your Altars crown'd with wreaths of flowers,
The beasts with gilt horns waiting for the fire?
The holy _Druides_ composing Songs
Of everlasting life to Victory?
Why are these triumphs, Lady? for a _May_-game?
For hunting a poor herd of wretched _Romans_?
Is it no more? shut up your Temples, _Britains_,
And let the Husbandman redeem his heifers;
Put out our holy fires; no Timbrel ring;
Let's home, and sleep; for such great overthrows;
A Candle burns too bright a sacrifice,
A Glow-worms tail too full of flame. O _Nennius_,
Thou hadst a noble Uncle knew a _Roman_,
And how to speak him, how to give him weight
In both his fortunes.
_Bon._ By ---- I think
Ye doat upon these _Romans_, _Caratach_.
_Car._ Witness these wounds, I do; they were fairly given,
I love an enemy, I was born a Soldier;
And he that in the head on's Troop defies me,
Bending my manly Body with his sword,
I make a Mistriss. Yellow-tressed _Hymen_
Ne'r ty'd a longing Virgin with more joy,
Than I am married to that man that wounds me:
And are not all these _Romans_? Ten struck Battels
I suck'd these honour'd scars from, and all _Roman_:
Ten years of bitter nights and heavy marches,
When many a frozen storm sung thorow my Curasse,
And made it doubtful whether that or I
Were the more stubborn metall, have I wrought thorow,
And all to try these _Romans_. Ten times a night
I have swom the Rivers, when the Stars of _Rome_
Shot at me as I floated, and the billows
Tumbled their watry ruines on my shoulders,
Charging my batter'd sides with troops of Agues;
And still to try these _Romans_, whom I found
(And if I lye, my wounds be henceforth backward,
And be you witness, gods, and all my dangers)
As ready, and as full of that I brought
(Which was not fear nor flight) as valiant,
As vigilant, as wise, to do and suffer,
Ever advanced as forward as the _Britains_,
Their sleeps as short, their hopes as high as ours.
I, and as subtil, Lady. 'Tis dishonour,
And follow'd, will be impudence, _Bonduca_,
And grow to no belief, to taint these _Romans_.
Have not I seen the _Britains_--
_Bond._ What?
_Car._ Disheartned,
Run, run, _Bonduca_, not the quick rack swifter;
The Virgin from the hated Ravisher
Not half so fearful; not a flight drawn home.
A round stone from a sling, a Lovers wish
E'r made that haste that they have. By ----
I have seen these _Britains_, that you magnifie,
Run as they would have out-run time and roaring
Basely for mercy, roaring: the light shadows,
That in a thought scur o'r the fields of Corn,
Halted on crutches to 'em.
_Bon._ O ye Powers,
What scandals do I suffer!
_Car._ Yes, _Bonduca_,
I have seen thee run too, and thee, _Nennius_;
Yea, run apace, both; then when _Penyus_
The _Roman_ Girl, cut thorow your armed Carts,
And drive 'em headlong on ye down the hill:
Then when he hunted ye like _Britain_-Foxes,
More by the scent than sight: then did I see
These valiant and approved men of _Britain_,
Like boading Owls, creep into tods of Ivie,
And hoot their fears to one another nightly.
_Nen._ And what did you then, _Caratach_?
_Car._ I fled too,
But not [so] fast; your Jewel had been lost then,
Young _Hengo_ there; he trasht me, _Nennius_:
For when your fears out-run him, then stept I,
And in the head of all the _Romans_ fury
Took him, and, with my tough Belt, to my back
I buckled him: behind him, my sure Shield;
And then I follow'd. If I say I fought
Five times in bringing off this bud of _Britain_,
I lye not, _Nennius_. Neither had ye heard
Me speak this, or ever seen the child more,
But that the Son of Virtue, _Penyus_
Seeing me steer thorow all these storms of danger,
My Helm still in my hand, my Sword my prow,
Turn'd to my foe my face, he cry'd out nobly,
Go _Britain_, bear thy Lions whelp off safely;
Thy manly sword has ransom'd thee: grow strong,
And let me meet thee once again in Arms;
Then if thou stand'st, thou art mine. I took his offer,
And here I am to honour him.
_Bon._ O Cousin,
From what a flight of honour hast thou checkt me!
What wouldst thou make me, _Caratach_?
_Car._ See, Lady,
The noble use of others in our losses:
Does this afflict ye? Had the _Romans_ cry'd this,
And as we have done theirs, sung out these fortunes,
Rail'd on our base condition, hooted at us,
Made marks as far as the earth was ours, to shew us
Nothing but sea could stop our flights; despis'd us,
And held it equal, whether banqueting
Or beating of the _Britains_ were more business,
It would have gall'd ye.
_Bon._ Let me think we conquer'd.
_Car._ Do; but so think, as we may be conquer'd:
And where we have found virtue, though in those
That came to make us slaves, let's cherish it.
There's not a blow we gave since _Julius_ landed,
That was of strength and worth, but like records,
They file to after-ages. Our Registers,
The _Romans_, are for noble deeds of honour;
And shall we burn their mentions with upbraidings?
_Bon._ No more, I see my self: thou hast made me, Cousin,
More than my fortunes durst, for they abus'd me,
And wound me up so high, I swell'd with glory:
Thy temperance has cur'd that Tympany,
And given me health again, nay, more discretion.
Shall we have peace? for now I love these _Romans_.
_Car._ Thy love and hate are both unwise ones, Lady.
_Bon._ Your reason?
_Nen._ Is not peace the end of Arms?
_Car._ Not where the cause implies a general conquest:
Had we a difference with some petty Isle,
Or with our neighbors (Lady) for our Land-marks,
The taking in of some rebellious Lord,
Or making a head against Commotions,
After a day of Blood, Peace might be argued:
But where we grapple for the ground we live on,
The Liberty we hold as dear as life,
The gods we worship, and next those, our Honors,
And with those swords that know no end of Battel:
Those men beside themselves allow no neighbor;
Those minds that where the day is, claim inheritance,
And where the Sun makes ripe the fruits, their harvest,
And where they march, but measure out more ground
To add to _Rome_, and here i'th' bowels on us;
It must not be; no, as they are our foes,
And those that must be so until we tire 'em,
Let's use the peace of Honor, that's fair dealing,
But in our ends, our swords. That hardy _Romane_
That hopes to graft himself into my stock,
Must first begin his kindred under-ground,
And be alli'd in ashes.
_Bon. Caratach_,
As thou hast nobly spoken, shall be done;
And _Hengo_ to thy charge I here deliver:
The _Romans_ shall have worthy Wars.
_Car._ They shall.
And, little Sir, when your young bones grow stiffer,
And when I see ye able in a morning
To beat a dozen boys, and then to breakfast,
I'll tye ye to a sword.
_Heng._ And what then Uncle?
_Car._ Then ye must kill, Sir, the next valiant _Romane_ that
calls ye knave.
_Hen._ And must I kill but one?
_Car._ An hundred, boy, I hope.
_Hen._ I hope five hundred.
_Car._ That's a noble boy. Come, worthy Lady,
Let's to our several charges, and henceforth
Allow an enemy both weight and worth. [_Exeunt._
_Scæna Secunda._
_Enter_ Junius _and_ Petillius, _two_ Roman _Captains_.
_Pet._ What ail'st thou, man? dost thou want meat?
_Jun._ No.
_Pet._ Clothes?
_Jun._ Neither. For heavens love, leave me.
_Pet._ Drink?
_Jun._ Ye tire me.
_Pet._ Come, 'tis drink; I know 'tis drink.
_Jun._ Tis no drink.
_Pet._ I say 'tis drink: for what affliction
Can light so heavy on a Soldier,
To dry him up as thou art, but no drink?
Thou shalt have drink.
_Jun._ Prethee _Petillius_--
_Pet._ And by mine honor, much drink, valiant drink:
Never tell me, thou shalt have drink. I see,
Like a true friend, into thy wants: 'tis drink;
And when I leave thee to a desolation,
Especially of that dry nature, hang me.
_Jun._ Why do you [do] this to me?
_Pet._ For I see,
Although your modesty would fain conceal it,
Which sits as sweetly on a Soldier,
As an old side-saddle.
_Jun._ What do you see?
_Pet._ I see as far as day, that thou want'st drink.
Did I not find thee gaping like an Oyster
For a new tide? thy very thoughts lie bare
Like a low ebb? thy Soul that rid in Sack,
Lies moor'd for want of liquor? Do but see
Into thy self; for by ---- I do:
For all thy body's chapt and crackt like timber
For want of moisture, what is't thou wantst there, _Junius_,
And if it be not drink?
_Jun._ You have too much on't.
_Pet._ It may be a whore too; say it be; come, meecher,
Thou shalt have both, a pretty valiant fellow,
Die for a little lap and lechery?
No, it shall ne'r be said in our Countrey,
Thou dy'dst o'th' Chin-cough. Hear, thou noble _Roman_,
The Son of her that loves a Soldier,
Hear what I promised for thee; thus I said,
Lady, I take thy Son to my companion,
Lady, I love thy son, thy Son loves War,
The war loves danger, danger drink, drink discipline,
Which is society and lechery;
These two beget Commanders: fear not, Lady,
Thy Son shall lead.
_Jun._ 'Tis a strange thing, _Petillius_,
That so ridiculous and loose a mirth
Can master your affections.
_Petil._ Any mirth,
And any way, of any subject, _Junius_,
Is better than unmanly mustiness:
What harm's in drink, in a good wholsome wench?
I do beseech ye, Sir, what error? yet
It cannot out of my head handsomely,
But thou wouldst fain be drunk: come, no more fooling,
The General has new wine, new come over.
_Jun._ He must have new acquaintance for it too,
For I will _none, I thank ye_.
_Pet. None I thank ye?_
A short and touchie answer. _None I thank ye_:
Ye do not scorn it, do ye?
_Jun._ Gods defend, Sir;
I owe him still more honor.
_Pet. None, I thank ye_:
No company, no drink, no wench, _I thank ye_.
Ye shall be worse intreated, Sir.
_Jun. Petillius_,
As thou art honest, leave me.
_Pet. None, I thank ye_;
A modest and a decent resolution,
And well put on. Yes, I will leave ye, _Junius_,
And leave ye to the boys, that very shortly
Shall all salute ye, by your new sirname
Of _Junius None I thank ye_. I would starve now,
Hang, drown, despair, deserve the _forks_, lie open
To all the dangerous passes of a wench,
Bound to believe her tears, and wed her aches,
E'r I would own thy follies. I have found ye,
Your lays, and out-leaps _Junius_, haunts, and lodges:
I have view'd ye, and I have found ye by my skill
To be a fool o'th' first head, _Junius_,
And I will hunt ye: ye are in love, I know it:
Ye are an ass, and all the Camp shall know it.
A peevish idle boy; your Dame shall know it;
[A wronger of my care; your self shall know it.]
_Enter Corporal_ Judas, _and four Soldiers_.
_Jud._ A Bean? a Princely diet, a full Banquet,
To what we compass.
_1 Sold._ Fight like Hogs for Acorns?
_2 Sold._ Venture our lives for Pig-nuts?
_Pet._ What ail these Rascals?
_3 Sold._ If this hold, we are starv'd.
_Jud._ For my part, friends,
Which is but twenty Beans a day, a hard world
For Officers, and men of action;
And those so clipt by master Mouse, and rotten:
For understand 'em _French_ Beans, where the fruits
Are ripen'd like the people in old tubs.
For mine own part, I say, I am starv'd already.
Not worth another Bean, consum'd to nothing,
Nothing but flesh and bones left, miserable:
Now if this mustie provender can prick me
To honourable matters of atchievment, Gentlemen,
Why there's the point.
_4 Sold._ I'll fight no more.
_Petill._ You'll hang then,
A sovereign help for hunger. Ye eating Rascals,
Whose gods are Beef and Brewis, whose brave angers
Do execution upon these, and Chibbals:
Ye dogs heads i'th' porridge-pot; you fight no more?
Does _Rome_ depend upon your resolution
For eating mouldy Pie-crust?
_3 Sold._ Would we had it.
_Jud._ I may do service, Captain.
_Petill._ In a fish-market.
You, Corporal Curry-Comb, what will your fighting
Profit the Common-wealth? do you hope to triumph,
Or dare your vamping valour, goodman Cobler,
Clap a new [soal] to th' Kingdom? s'death, ye dog-whelps
You, fight, or not fight.
_Jud._ Captain.
_Petill._ Out, ye flesh-flies,
Nothing but noise and nastiness.
_Jud._ Give us meat,
Whereby we may do.
_Petill._ Whereby hangs your valour?
_Jud._ Good bits afford good blows.
_Petill._ A good position:
How long is't since thou eat'st last, wipe thy mouth,
And then tell truth.
_Jud._ I have not eat to th' purpose--
_Petill._ To th' purpose? what's that? half a Cow and Garlick?
Ye Rogues, my company eat Turf, and talk not;
Timber they can digest, and fight upon't;
Old matts, and mud with spoons, rare meats. Your shooes slaves?
Dare ye cry out for hunger, and those extant?
Suck your Sword-hilts, ye slaves, if ye be valiant,
Honor will make 'em march-pain: _to the purpose_?
A grievous penance. Dost thou see that Gentleman,
That melancholly Monsieur?
_Jun._ Pray ye, _Petillius_.
_Pet._ He has not eat these three weeks.
_2 Sold._ 'Has drunk the more then.
_3 Sold._ And that's all one.
_Petill._ Nor drunk nor slept these two months.
_Jud._ Captain, we do beseech yo[u] as poor Soldiers,
Men that have seen good days, whose mortal stomachs
May sometime feel afflictions.
_Jun._ This, _Petillius_,
Is not so nobly done.
_Petill._ 'Tis common profit;
Urge him to th' point, he'll find you out a food
That needs no teeth nor stomach; a strange furmity
Will feed ye up as fat as hens i'th' foreheads,
And make ye fight like _Fichocks_, to him.
_Jud._ Captain.
_Jun._ Do you long to have your throats cut?
_Petill._ See what metal
It makes in him: two meals more of this melancholly,
And there lies _Caratach_.
_Jud._ We do beseech ye.
_2 Sold._ Humbly beseech your valour.
_Jun._ Am I only
Become your sport _Petillius_?
_Jud._ But to render
In way of general good, in preservation.
_Jun._ Out of my thoughts, ye slaves.
_4 Sold._ Or rather pity.
_3 Sold._ Your warlike remedy against the maw-worms.
_Jud._ Or notable receipt to live by nothing.
_Petill._ Out with your Table-books.
_Jun._ Is this true friendship?
And must my killing-griefs make others _May_-games?
Stand from my swords point, slaves, your poor starv'd spirits
Can make me no oblations; else, O love,
Thou proudly blind destruction, I would send thee
Whole _Hecatom[b]s_ of hearts, to bleed my sorrows.
_Jud._ Alas, he lives by love, Sir. [_Exit_ Junius.
_Pet._ So he does, Sir,
And cannot you do so too? All my Company
Are now in love, ne'r think of meat, nor talk
Of what Provant is: _Aymees_, and _Hearty hey-hoes_,
Are Sallets fit for Soldiers. Live by meat;
By larding up your bodies? 'tis lewd, and lazie,
And shews ye meerly mortal, dull, and drives ye
To fight like Camels, with baskets at your noses.
Get ye in love; ye can whore well enough,
That all the world knows: fast ye into Famine,
Yet ye can crawl like Crabs to wenches, handsomely,
Fall but in love now, as ye see example,
And follow it but with all your thoughts, _probatum_,
There's so much charge sav'd, and your hunger's ended.
Away, I hear the General: get ye in love all, [_Drum afar off._
Up to the ears in love, that I may hear
No more of these rude murmurings; and discreetly
Carry your stomachs, or I prophesie
A pickel'd Rope will choak ye. Jog, and talk not. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ Swetonius, Demetrius, Decius, Drum, Colours.
_Swet. Demetrius_, is the messenger dispatch'd
To _Penyus_, to command him to bring up
The _Volans_ Regiment?
_Dem._ He's there by this time.
_Swet._ And are the Horse well view'd we brought from _Mona_[?]
_Dec._ The Troops are full, and lusty.
_Swet._ Good _Petillius_,
Look to those eating Rogues, that bawl for victuals,
And stop their throats a day or two: provision
Waits but the wind to reach us.
_Pet._ Sir, already
I have been tampring with their stomachs, which I find
As deaf as Adders to delays: your clemency
Hath made their murmurs, mutinies, nay, rebellions:
Now, and they want but Mustard, they'r in uproars
No oil but Candy, _Lusitanian_ Figs
And Wine from _Lesbos_ now can satisfie 'em:
The _British_ waters are grown dull and muddy,
The fruit disgustful: _Orontes_ must be sought for,
And Apples from the happy Isles: the truth is,
They are more curious now in having nothing,
Than if the sea and land turn'd up their treasures:
This lost the Colonies, and gave _Bonduca_
(With shame we must record it) time and strength
To look into our Fortunes; great discretion
To follow offered Victory; and last, full pride
To brave us to our teeth, and scorn our ruines.
_Swet._ Nay, chide not, good _Petillius_, I confess
My will to conquer _Mona_, and long stay
To execute that Will, let in these losses:
All shall be right again, and as a Pine
Rent from _Oeta_ by a sweeping tempest,
Joynted again, and made a Mast, defies
Those angry winds that split him: so will I,
Piec'd to my never-fai[l]ing strength and fortune,
Steer thorow these swelling dangers; plow their prides up,
And bear like thunder through their loudest tempests:
They keep the field still.
_Dem._ Confident and full.
_Pet._ In such a number, one would swear they grew,
The hills are wooded with their partisans,
And all the valleys overgrown with darts,
As moors are with rank rushes: no ground left us
To charge upon, no room to strike: say fortune
And our endeavours bring us in to 'em,
They are so infinite, so ever-springing.
We shall be kill'd with killing; of desperate Women,
That neither fear, or shame e'r found, the devil
Has rank'd amongst 'em multitudes: say the men fail,
They'll poison us with their petticoats: say they fail,
They have priests enough to pray us into nothing.
_Sw[e]t._ These are imaginations, dreams of nothing,
The man that doubts or fears.
_Dec._ I am free of both.
_Dem._ The self-same I.
_Petill._ And I as free as any;
As careless of my flesh, of that we call life,
So I may lose it nobly; as indifferent
As if it were my diet. Yet, noble General,
It was a wisdom learn'd from you; I learn'd it,
And worthy of a Soldiers care, most worthy,
To weigh with most deliberate circumstance
The ends of accidents, above their offers;
How to go on and get, to save a _Roman_,
Whose one life is more worth in way of doing,
Than millions of these painted wasps; how viewing
To find advantage out; how; how, found, to follow it
With counsel and discretion, lest meer fortune
Should claim the victory.
_Sw[e]t._ 'Tis true, _Petillius_,
And worthily remembred: the rule's certain,
Their uses no less excellent: but where time
Cuts off occasio[n]s, danger, time and all
Tend to a present peril, 'tis required
Our Swords and Manhoods be best counsellors,
Our expeditions, presidents. To win, is nothing,
Where reason, time and counsel are our Camp-masters:
But there to bear the field, then to be conquerors,
Where pale destruction takes us, takes us beaten,
I[n] wants, and mutinies, our selves but handfuls,
And to our selves, our own fears, needs a new way,
A sudden and a desperate execution:
Here, how to save, is loss; to be wise, dangerous;
Only a present well-united strength,
And minds made up for all attempts, dispatch it:
Disputing and delay here, cools the courage;
Necessity gives time for doubts; things infinite,
According to the spirit they are preach'd to,
Rewards like them; and names for after-ages,
Must steel the Soldier; his own shame help to arm him;
And having forc'd his spirit, e'r he cools,
Fling him upon his enemies; sudden and swift,
Like Tigers amongst Foxes, we must fight for't:
Fury must be our Fortune; shame we have lost,
Spurs ever in our sides to prick us forward:
There is no other wisdom nor discretion
Due to this day of ruine, but destruction;
The Soldiers order first, and then his anger.
_Dem._ No doubt they dare redeem all.
_Swet._ Then no doubt
The day must needs be ours. That the proud Woman
Is infinite in number, better likes me,
Than if we dealt with squadrons: half her Army
Shall choak themselves, their own swords dig their graves.
I'll tell ye all my fears, one single valour,
The virtues of the valiant _Caratach_
More doubts me than all _Britain_: he's a Soldier
So forg'd out, and so temper'd for great fortunes,
So much man thrust into him, so old in dangers,
So fortunate in all attempts, that his mere name
Fights in a thousand men, himself in millions,
To make him _Roman_. But no more. _Petillius_,
How stands your charge?
_Petill._ Ready for all employments,
To be commanded too, Sir.
_Swet._ 'Tis well govern'd;
To morrow we'll draw out, and view the Cohorts:
I' th' mean time, all apply their offices.
Where's _Junius_?
_Petill._ In's Cabin,
Sick o'th' mumps, Sir.
_Swet._ How?
_Petill._ In love, indeed in love, most lamentably loving,
To the tune of Queen _Dido_.
_Dec._ Alas poor Gentleman.
_Swet._ 'Twill make him fight the nobler. With what Lady?
I'll be a spokesman for him.
_Petill._ You'll scant speed, Sir.
_Swet._ Who is't?
_Petill._ The devil's dam, _Bonduca's_ daughter,
Her youngest, crackt i'th' ring.
_Swet._ I am sorry for him:
But sure his own discretion will reclaim him,
He must deserve our anger else. Good Captains,
Apply your selves in all the pleasing forms
Ye can, unto the Soldiers; fire their spirits,
And set 'em fit to run this action;
Mine own provision shall be shar'd amongst 'em,
Till more come in: tell 'em, if now they conquer,
The fat of all the kingdom lies before 'em.
Their shames forgot, their honors infinite,
And want for ever banisht. Two days hence,
Our fortunes, and our swords, and gods be for us. [_Exeunt._
_Actus Secundus. Scæna Prima._
_Enter_ Penyus, Regulus, Macer, Drusius.
_Pen._ I must come?
_Ma._ So the General commands, Sir.
_Pen._ I must bring up my Regiment?
_Ma._ Believe, Sir,
I bring no lye.
_Pen._ But did he say, I must come?
_Ma._ So delivered.
_Pen._ How long is't, _Regulus_, since I commanded
In _Britain_ here?
_Reg._ About five years, great _Penyus_.
_Pen._ The General some five months. Are all my actions
So poor, and lost, my services so barren,
That I'm remembred in no nobler language
But Must come up?
_Ma._ I do beseech ye, Sir,
Weigh but the times estate.
_Pen._ Yes, good Lieutenant,
I do, and his that sways it. Must come up;
Am I turn'd bare Centurion? Must, and shall,
Fit Embasses to court my honor?
_Ma._ Sir--
_Pen._ Set me to lead a handful of my men
Against an hundred thousand barbarous slaves
That have marcht name by name with _Romes_ best doers?
Serve 'em up some other meat; I'll bring no food
To stop the jaws of all those hungry wolfs.
My Regiment's mine own. I must, my language.
_Enter_ Curius.
_Cur. Penyus_, where lies the Host?
_Pen._ Where fate may find 'em.
_Cur._ Are they ingirt?
_Pen._ The Battel's lost.
_Cur._ So soon?
_Pen._ No; but 'tis lost, because it must be won:
The _Britains_ must be Victors. Who e'r saw
A troop of bloody vultures hovering
About a few corrupted carcasses,
Let him behold the silly _Roman_ host,
Girded with millions of fierce _B[r]itains_ Swains,
With deaths as many as they have had hopes;
And then go thither, he that loves his shame;
I scorn my life, yet dare not lose my name.
_Cur._ Do not you hold it a most famous end,
When both our names and lives are sacrific'd
For _Romes_ increase?
_Pen._ Yes, _Curius_; but mark this too;
What glory is there, or what lasting Fame
Can be to _Rome_ or us? what full example,
When one is smother'd with a multitude,
And crouded in amongst a nameless press?
Honor got out of Flint, and on their heads
Whose virtues, like the Sun, exhal'd all valours,
Must not be lost in mists and fogs of people,
Noteless, and out of name, but rude and naked:
Nor can _Rome_ task us with impossibilities,
Or bid us fight against a flood: we serve her,
That she may proudly say she has good soldiers,
Not slaves to choak all hazards. Who but fools,
That make no difference betwixt certain dying,
And dying well, would fling their Fames and Fortunes
Into this _Britain_-gulf, this quick-sand ruine,
That sinking, swallows us, What noble hand
Can find a subject fit for blood there? or what sword
Room for his execution? What air to cool us,
But poison'd with their blasting breaths and curses,
Where we lie buried quick above the ground,
And are with labouring sweat, and breathless pain,
Kill'd like to slaves, and cannot kill again?
_Dru. Penyus_, mark antient Wars, and know that then
Captains weigh'd an hundred thousand men.
_Pen. Drusius_, mark antient wisdom, and you'll find then,
He gave the overthrow that sav'd his men,
I must not go.
_Reg._ The soldiers are desirous,
Their Eagles all drawn out, Sir.
_Pen._ Who drew up, _Regulus_?
Ha? speak: did you whose bold Will durst attempt this?
Drawn out? why, who commands, Sir? on whose warrant
Durst they advance?
_Reg._ I keep mine own obedience.
_Dru._ 'Tis like the general cause, their love of honor,
Relieving of their wants.
_Pen._ Without my knowledge?
Am I no more? my place but at their pleasures?
Come, who did this?
_Dru._ By ---- Sir, I am ignorant.
[_Drum softly within; then enter_
[_Soldiers with Drum and Colours._
_Pen._ What am I grown a shadow? Harke, they march.
I will know, and will be my self. Stand, disobedience;
He that advances one foot higher, dies for't.
Run thorow the Regiment upon your duties,
And charge 'em on command: beat back again,
By ---- I'll ti'th'em all else.
_Reg._ We'll do our best. [_Exeunt_ Drusius _and_ Regulus.
_Pen._ Back; cease your bawling Drums there,
I'll beat the Tubs about your brains else. Back:
Do I speak with less fear than Thunder to ye?
Must I stand to besee[c]h ye? home, home: ha?
Do ye stare upon me? Are those minds I moulded,
Those honest valiant tempers I was proud
To be a fellow to, those great discretions
Made your names fear'd and honor'd, turn'd to wild-fires?
O gods, to disobedience? Command, farewel:
And be ye witness with me, all things sacred,
I have no share in these mens shames. March, Soldiers,
And seek your own sad ruines; your old _Penyus_
Dares not behold your murders.
_Sold._ Captain.
_2 Sold._ Captain.
_3 Sold._ Dear honour'd Captain.
_Pen._ Too too dear lov'd Soldiers,
Which made ye weary of me: and Heaven yet knows,
Though in your mutinies, I dare not hate you;
Take your own Wills; 'tis fit your long experience
Should now know how to rule your selves: I wrong ye,
In wishing ye to save your lives and credits,
To keep your necks whole from the Ax hangs o'r ye:
Alas, I much dishonour'd ye: go, seek the _Britains_,
And say ye come to glut their sacrifices;
But do not say I sent ye. What ye have been,
How excellent in all parts, good, and govern'd,
Is only left of my Command, for story;
What now ye are, for pitie. Fare ye well.
_Enter_ Drusius _and_ Regulus.
_Dru._ Oh turn again, great _Penyus_; see the Soldier
In all points apt for duty.
_Reg._ See his sorrow
For his disobedience, which he says was haste,
And haste (he thought) to please you with. See Captain,
The toughness of his courage turn'd to water;
See how his manly heart melts.
_Pen._ Go, beat homeward,
There learn to eat your little with obedience,
And henceforth strive to do as I direct ye. [_Exeunt_ Soldiers.
_Ma._ My answer, Sir.
_Pen._ Tell the Great General
My Companies are no fagots to fill breaches;
My self no man that must, or shall, can carry:
Bid him be wise; and where he is, he's safe then;
And when he finds out possibilities,
He may command me. Commend me to the Captains.
_Ma._ All this I shall deliver.
_Pen._ Farewel, _Macer_. [_Exit_ Penyus.
_Cur._ Pray gods this breed no mischief.
_Reg._ It must needs,
If stout _Suetonius_ win; for then his anger,
Besides the Soldiers loss of due, and honor,
Will break together on him.
_Dru._ He's a brave fellow;
And but a little hide his haughtiness,
(Which is but sometimes neither, on some causes)
He shews the worthiest _Roman_ this day living.
You may, good _Curius_, to the General
Make all things seem the best.
_Cur._ I shall endeavour:
Pray for our fortunes, Gentlemen, If we fall,
This one farewel serves for a Funeral.
The gods make sharp our swords, and steel our hearts;
We dare, alas, but cannot fight our parts. [_Exeunt._
_Scæna Secunda._
_Enter_ Junius, Petillius _and a_ Herald _observing_ Junius.
_Petill._ Let him go on: stay, now he talks.
_Jun._ Why?
Why should I love mine enemie? what is beauty?
Of what strange violence, that like the plague,
It works upon our spirits? blind they feign him,
I am sure, I find it so.
_Petill._ A Dog shall lead ye.
_Jun._ His fond affections blinder.
_Petill._ Hold ye there still.
_Jun._ It takes away my sleep.
_Petill._ Alas, poor chicken.
_Jun._ My company, content; almost my fashion.
_Petill._ Yes, and your weight too, if you follow it.
_Jun._ 'Tis sure the plague, for no man dare come near me
Without an Antidote: 'tis far worse; Hell.
_Petill._ Thou art damn'd without redemption then.
_Jun._ The way to't
Strew'd with fair Western smiles, and _April_ blushes,
Led by the brightest constellations; eyes,
And sweet proportions, envying heaven: but from thence
No way to guide, no path, no wisdom bring us.
_Petill._ Yes, a smart water, _Junius_.
_Jun._ Do I fool?
Know all this, and fool still? Do I know further,
That when we have enjoy'd our ends, we lose 'em,
And all our appetites are but as dreams
We laugh at in our ages.
_Petill._ Sweet Philosopher!
_Jun._ Do I know on still, and yet know nothing? Mercy gods,
Why am I thus ridiculous?
_Petill._ Motley on thee,
Thou art an arrant Ass.
_Jun._ Can red and white,
An Eye, a Nose, a Cheek.
_Petill._ But one cheek, _Junius_?
An half-fac'd Mistriss?
_Jun._ With a little trim,
That wanton fools call Fashion, thus abuse me?
Take me beyond my reason? Why should not I
Doat on my horse well trapt, my sword well hatch'd?
They are as handsome things, to me more useful,
And possible to rule too. Did I but love,
Yet 'twere excusable, my youth would bear it;
But to love there, and that no time can give me,
Mine honor dare not ask: she has been ravish'd
My nature must not know; she hates our Nation.
Thus to dispose my spirit!
_Petill._ Stay a little,
He will declaim again.
_Jun._ I will not love; I am a man, have reason,
And I will use it: I'll no more tormenting,
Nor whining for a wench, there are a thousand.
_Petill._ Hold thee there boy.
_Jun._ A thousand will intreat me.
_Petill._ Ten thousand, _Junius_.
_Jun._ I am young and lusty,
And to my fashion valiant; can please nightly.
_Petill._ I'll swear thy back's _probatum_, for I have known thee
Leap at sixteen like a strong Stallion.
_Jun._ I will be man again.
_Petill._ Now mark the working,
The devil and the spirit tug for't: twenty pound
Upon the devils head.
_Jun._ I must be wretched.
_Petill._ I knew I had won.
_Jun._ Nor have I so much power
To shun my fortune.
_Petill._ I will hunt thy fortune
With all the shapes imagination breeds, [_Musick._
But I will fright thy devil: Stay, he sings now.
_Song, by_ Junius, _and_ Petillius, _after him in mockage_.
_Jun._ Must I be thus abus'd?
_Petill._ Yes marry must ye.
Let's follow him close: oh, there he is, now read it.
Herald reads. _It is the Generals command, that all sick,
persons old and unable, retire within the Trenches; he that
fears his liberty, to leave the Field: Fools, Boys, and
Lovers must not come near the Regiments, for fear of their
infections; especially those Cowards they call Lovers._
_Jun._ Ha?
_Petill._ Read on.
Herald. _If any common Soldier love an enemy, he's whip'd_
_and made a slave: If any Captain, cast, with loss of honors,_
_flung out o'th' Army, and made unable ever after to bear the
name of a Soldier._
_Jun._ The ---- consume ye all, Rogues. [_Exit_ Jun.
_Petill._ Let this work:
H'as something now to chew upon: he's gone,
Come, shake no more.
_Her._ Well, Sir, you may command me,
But not to do the like again for _Europe_;
I would have given my life for a bent two-pence.
If I e'r read to Lovers whilst I live again,
Or come within their confines--
_Petill._ There's your payment,
And keep this private.
_Her._ I am school'd for talking. [_Exit_ Herald.
_Enter_ Demetrius.
_Petill._ How now, _Demetrius_, are we drawn?
_Dem._ 'Tis doing:
Your Company stands fair; but pray ye, where's _Junius_?
Half his command are wanting, with some forty
That _Decius_ leads.
_Petill._ Hunting for Victuals:
Upon my life free-booting Rogues, their stomachs
Are like a widows lust, ne'r satisfied.
_Dem._ I wonder how they dare stir, knowing the enemy
Master of all the Countrey.
_Petill._ Resolute hungers
Know neither fears nor faiths, they tread on ladders,
Ropes, Gallows, and overdoe all dangers.
_Dem._ They may be hang'd though.
_Petill._ There's their joyful supper,
And no doubt they are at it.
_Dem._ But for heavens sake,
How does young _Junius_?
_Petill._ Drawing on, poor Gentleman.
_Dem._ What, to his end?
_Petill._ To th' end of all flesh: woman.
_Dem._ This Love has made him a stout Soldier.
_Petill._ O, a great one,
Fit to command young Goslings: but what news?
_Dem._ I think the messengers come back from _Penyus_,
By this time, let's go know.
_Petill._ What will you say now
If he deny to come, and take exceptions
At some half syllable, or sound deliver'd
With an ill accent, or some stile left out?
_Dem._ I cannot think he dare.
_Petill._ He dare speak treason,
Dare say, what no man dares believe, dares do--But
that's a[l]l one: I'll lay you my black armor
To twenty crowns, he comes not.
_Dem._ Done.
_Petill._ You'll pay.
_Dem._ I will.
_Petill._ Then keep thine old use _Penyus_,
Be stubborn and vain glorious, and I thank thee.
Come let's go pray for six hours: most of us
I fear will trouble heaven no more: two good blows
Struck home at two Commanders of the _Britains_,
And my part's done.
_Dem._ I do not think of dying.
_Petill._ 'Tis possible we may live. But _Demetrius_,
With what strange legs, and arms, and eyes, and noses,
Let Carpenters and Copper-smiths consider.
If I can keep my heart whole, and my wind-pipe,
That I may drink yet like a Soldier--
_Dem._ Come, let's [have] better thoughts; mine's on your Armour.
_Petill._ Mine's in your purse, Sir; Let's go try the wager. [_Exeunt._
_Scæna Tertia._
_Enter_ Judas _and his four companions_ (halters about their
necks) Bonduca, _her Daughters_, Nennius _following_.
_Bon._ Come, hang 'em presently.
_Nen._ What made your Rogueships
Harrying for victuals here? Are we your friends;
Or do you come for Spies? tell me directly,
Would you not willingly be hang'd now? do not ye long for't?
_Jud._ What say ye? shall we hang in this vain? Hang we must
And 'tis as good to dispatch it merrily,
As pull an arse like dogs to't.
_1 Sold._ Any way,
So it be handsome.
_3 Sold._ I had as lief 'twere toothsome too: but all agree,
And I'll not out Boys.
_4 Sold._ Let's hang pleasantly.
_Jud._ Then pleasantly be it: Captain, the truth is,
We had as lief hang with meat in our mouths,
As ask your pardon empty.
_Bon._ These are brave hungers.
What say you to a leg of Beef now, sirrah?
_Jud._ Bring me acquainted with it, and I'll tell ye.
_Bon._ Torment 'em wenches: I must back; then hang 'em.
_Jud._ We humbly thank your Grace.
_1 Daugh._ The Rogues laugh at us.
_2 Daugh._ Sirrah, What think you of a wench now?
_Jud._ A wench, Lady?
I do beseech your Ladyship, retire.
I'll tell ye presently, ye see the time's short;
One crash; even to the setling of my conscience.
_Nen._ Why, is't no more but up, boys?
_Jud._ Yes, ride too Captain
Will you but see my seat?
_1 Daugh._ Ye shall be set, Sir,
Upon a jade shall shake ye.
_Jud._ Sheets, good Madam,
Will do it ten times better.
_1 Daugh._ Whips, good Soldier.
Which ye shall taste before ye hang, to mortifie ye;
'Tis pity ye should die thus desperate.
_2 Daugh._ These are the merry _Romans_ the brave madcaps.
'Tis ten to one we'll cool your resolutions.
Bring out the whips.
_Jud._ Would your good Ladyships
Would exercise 'em too.
_4 Sold._ Surely Ladies,
We'll shew you a strange patience.
_Nen._ Hang 'em Rascals,
They'll talk thus on the wheel. [_Enter_ Caratach.
_Car._ Now, what's the matter?
What are these fellows? what's the crime committed,
That they wear necklaces?
_Nen._ They are _Roman_ Rogues,
Taken a Forraging.
_Car._ Is that all, _Nennius_?
_Jud._ Would I were fairly hang'd; this is the devil,
The kill-cow, _Caratach_,
_Car._ And you would hang 'em.
_Nen._ Are they not enemies?
_1 Sol._ My breech makes buttons.
_1 Daugh._ Are they not our tormentors?
_Car._ Tormentors? Flea-traps.
Pluck off your halters, fellows.
_Nen._ Take heed, _Caratach_,
Taint not your wisdom.
_Car._ Wisdom, _Nennius_?
Why, who shall fight against us, make our honors,
And give a glorious day into our hands,
If we dispatch our foes thus? what's their offence?
Stealing a loaf or two to keep out hunger,
A piece of greazie bacon, or a pudding?
Do these deserve the gallows, they are hungry,
Poor hungry knaves, no meat at home left, starv'd:
Art thou not hungry?
_Jud._ Monstrous hungry.
_Car._ He looks like hungers self: get 'em some victuals,
And Wine to cheer their hearts, quick: Hang up poor pilchers?
_2 Sold._ This is the bravest Captain--
_Nen. Caratach_,
I'll leave you to your Will.
_Car._ I'll answer all, Sir.
_2 Daugh._ Let's up and view his entertainment of ['em].
I am glad they are shifted any way, their tongues else
Would still have murdred us.
_1 Daugh._ Let's up and see it. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ Hengo.
_Car._ Sit down poor knaves: why where's this Wine and Victuals?
Who waits there?
_Swet. within._ Sir, 'tis coming.
_Hen._ Who are these Uncle?
_Car._ They are _R[o]mans_, boy.
_Hen._ Are these they
That vex mine Aunt so? can these fight? they look
Like empty scabbards, all, no mettle in 'em,
Like men of clouts, set to keep crows from orchards;
Why, I dare fight with these.
_Car._ That's my good chicken. And how do ye?
How do you feel your stomachs?
_Jud._ Wondrous apt, Sir,
As shall appear when time calls.
_Car._ That's well, down wi'th't,
A little grace will serve your turns: eat softly,
You'll choak ye knaves else: give 'em Wine.
_Jud._ Not yet, Sir,
We're even a little busie.
_Hen._ Can that fellow
Do any thing but eat? thou fellow.
_Jud._ Away boy,
Away, this is no boys play.
_Hen._ By ----, Uncle,
If his valour lie in's teeth, he's the most valiant.
_Car._ I am glad to hear ye talk, Sir,
_Hen._ Good Uncle tell me,
What's the price of a couple of cramm'd _Romans_?
_Car._ Some twenty _Britains_ boy; these are good Soldiers,
_Hen._ Do not the cowards eat hard too?
_Car._ No more, boy.
Come, I'll sit with you too; sit down by me, boy.
_Jud._ Pray bring your dish then.
_Car._ Hearty knaves: More meat there.
_1 Sol._ That's a good hearing.
_Car._ Stay now and pledge me.
_Jud._ This little piece, Sir.
_Car._ By ---- square eaters,
More meat I say: upon my conscience
The poor Rogues have not eat this month: how terribly
They charge upon their victuals: dare ye fight thus?
_Jud._ Believe it, Sir, like devils.
_Car._ Well said famine,
Here's to thy General.
_Jud._ Most excellent Captain, I will now pledg thee.
_Car._ And to morrow night say to him,
His Head is mine.
_Jud._ I can assure ye Captain,
He will not give it for this washing.
_Car._ Well said. [_Daughters above._
_1 Daugh._ Here's a strange entertainment: how the thieves drink.
_2 Da[u]gh._ Danger is dry, they look'd for colder liquor.
_Car._ Fill 'em more wine, give 'em full bowls; which of you all now
In recompence of this good, dare but give me
A sound knock in the battel?
_Jud._ Delicate Captain,
To do thee a sufficient recompence,
I'll knock thy brains out.
_Car._ Do it.
_Hen._ Thou dar'st as well be damn'd: thou knock his brains out.
Thou skin of man? Uncle, I will not hear this.
_Jud._ Tie up your whelp.
_Hen._ Thou kill m[y] Uncle?
Would I had but a sword for thy sake, thou dry'd dog.
_Car._ What a mettle
This little vermin carries.
_Heng._ Kill mine Uncle?
_Car._ He shall not, child.
_Hen._ He cannot: he's a Rogue,
An only eating Rogue: Kill my sweet Uncle?
Oh that I were a man.
_Jud._ By this Wine,
Which I will drink to Captain _Junius_,
Who loves the Queens most excellent Majesties little daughter
Most sweetly, and most fearfully I will do it.
_Heng._ Uncle, I'll kill him with a great pin.
_Car._ No more, Boy.
I'll pledge thy Captain: To ye all good fellows.
_2 Daugh._ In love with me? that love shall cost your lives all:
Come Sister, and advise me; I have here
A way to make an easie conquest of 'em,
If fortune favour me.
_Car._ Let's see ye sweat
To morrow, blood and spirit, Boys, this Wine
Turn'd to stern valour.
_1 Sold._ Hark ye _Judas_,
If he should hang us after all this.
_Jud._ Let him:
I'll hang like a Gentleman and a _Roman_.
_Car._ Take away there,
They have enough.
_Jud._ Captain, we thank you heartily
For your good cheer, and if we meet to morrow,
One of us pays for't.
_Car._ Get 'em guides, their Wine
Has over-master'd 'em.
_Enter second Daughter, and a Servant._
_2 Daugh._ That hungry fellow
With the red beard there, give it him, and this,
To see it well delivered.
_Car._ Farewel knaves;
Speak nobly of us, keep your words to morrow.
_Enter a Guide._
And do something worthy your meat. Go, guide 'em,
And see 'em fairly onward.
_Jud._ Meaning me, Sir?
_Serv._ The same.
The youngest daughter to the Queen intreats ye
To give this privately to Captain _Junius_,
This for your pains.
_Jud._ I rest her humble servant,
Commend me to thy Lady. Keep your Files, boys.
_Serv._ I must instruct ye farther.
_Jud._ Keep your Files there.
Order, sweet friends: faces about now.
_Guide._ Here Sir,
Here lies your way.
_Jud._ 'Bless the Founders, I say,
Fairly, good soldiers, fairly march now: close, boys. [_Exeunt._
_Scæna Quarta._
_Enter_ Swetonius, Petillius, Demetris, Decius, Macer.
_Swet._ Bid me be wise, and keep me where I am,
And so be safe: not come, because commanded;
Was it not thus?
_Ma._ It was, Sir.
_Pet._ What now think ye?
_Swet. Must come_, so hainous to him, so distasteful?
_Pet._ Give me my money.
_Dem._ I confess 'tis due, Sir,
And presently I'll pay it.
_Swet._ His obedience.
So blind at his years and experience,
It cannot find where to be tendred?
_Ma._ Sir,
The Regiment was willing, and advanc'd too,
The Captains at all points steel'd up: their preparations
Full of resolve, and confidence; Youth and fire,
Like the fair breaking of a glorious day,
Guilded their _Phalanx_: when the angry _Penyus_
Stept like a stormy cloud 'twixt them and hopes.
_Swet._ And stopt their resolutions?
_Ma._ True: his reason
To them was ods, and ods so infinite,
Discretion durst not look upon.
_Swet._ Well _Penyus_,
I cannot think thee coward yet; and treacherous
I dare not think: thou hast lopt a limb off from me,
And let it be thy glory, thou wast stubborn,
Thy wisdom, that thou leftst thy General naked:
Yet e'r the Sun set, I shall make thee see,
All valour dwels not in thee; all command
In one experience. Thou wilt too late repent this,
And wis[h], I must come up, had been thy blessing.
_Petill._ Let's force him.
_Swet._ No, by no means; he's a torrent
We cannot easily stemme.
_Petill._ I think, a Traitor.
_Swet._ No ill words: let his own shame first revile him.
That Wine I have, see it (_Demetrius_)
Distributed amongst the soldiers,
To make 'em high and lusty: when that's done,
_Petillius_, give the word through, that the Eagles
May presently advance: no man discover,
Upon his life, the enemies full strength,
But make it of no value: _Decius_,
Are your starv'd people yet come home?
_Dec._ I hope so.
_Swet._ Keep 'em in more obedience: This is no time
To chide, I could be angry else, and say more to ye:
But come, let's o[r]der all: whose sword is sharpest,
And valour equal to his sword this day,
Shall be my Saint.
_Petill._ We shall be holy all then. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ Judas _and his company_.
_Jud._ Captain, Captain, I have brought 'em off again;
The drunkennest slaves.
_Dec._ ---- Confound your Rogueships;
I'll call the General, and have ye hang'd all.
_Jud._ Pray who will you command then?
_Dec._ For you, sirrah,
That are the ring-leader to these devises,
Whose maw is never cramm'd, I'll have an engine.
_Jud._ A wench, sweet Captain.
_Dec._ Sweet _Judas_, even the _Forks_.
Where ye shall have two _Lictors_ with two whips
Hammer your hide.
_Jud._ Captain, good words, fair words,
Sweet words, good Captain; if you like not us,
Farewell, we have imployment.
_Dec._ Where hast thou been?
_Jud._ There where you dare not be with all your valour.
_Dec._ Where's that?
_Jud._ With the best good fellow living.
_1 Sold._ The king of all good fellows.
_Dec._ Who's that?
_Jud. Caratach._
Shake now, and say, We have done something worthy,
Mark me; with _Caratach_: By this ---- _Caratach_:
Do you as much now and you dare: sweet _Caratach_.
Ye talk of a good fellow, of true drinking;
Well, go thy waies old _Caratach_: besides the drink Captain,
The bravest running Banquet of black puddings,
Pieces of glorious beef.
_Dec._ How scap'd ye hanging?
_Jud._ Hanging's a dog's death, we are Gentlemen,
And I say still, old _Caratach_.
_Dec._ Belike then,
You are turn'd Rebels all.
_Jud._ We are _Roman_ boys all,
And boys of mettle: I must do that Captain,
This day, this very day.
_Dec._ Away, ye Rascal.
_Jud._ Fair words, I say again.
_Dec._ What must you do, Sir?
_Jud._ I must do that my heart-strings yern to do:
But my word's past.
_Dec._ What is it?
_Jud._ Why, kill _Caratach_.
That's all he ask'd us for our entertainment.
_Dec._ More than you'll pay.
_Jud._ Would I had sold my self
Unto the skin I had not promis'd it:
For such another _Caratach_--
_Dec._ Come Fool,
Have ye done your Countrey service?
_Jud._ I have brought that
To Captain _Junius._
_Dec._ How?
_Jud._ I think will do all:
I cannot tell, I think so.
_Dec._ How? to _Junius_?
I'll more enquire of this: You'll fight now?
_Jud._ Promise:
Take heed of promise, Captain.
_Dec._ Away, and rank then.
_Jud._ But harke ye Captain, there is Wine distributing,
I would fain know what share I have.
_Dec._ Be gone,
Ye have too much.
_Jud._ Captain, no Wine, no fighting.
There's one call'd _Caratach_ that has Wine.
_Dec._ Well, Sir,
If you'll be rul'd now, and do well.
_Jud._ Do excellent.
_Dec._ Ye shall have Wine, or any thing: go file;
I'll see ye have your share: drag out your dormise,
And stow 'em somewhere, where they may sleep handsomly,
They'l hear a hunt's up shortly.
_Jud._ Now I love thee:
But no more _Forks_ nor Whips.
_Dec._ Deserve 'em not then:
Up with your men, I'll meet ye presently;
And get 'em sober quickly.
_Jud._ Arm, arm, Bullies;
All's right again and straight; and which is more,
More Wine, more Wine: Awake ye men of _Memphis_,
Be sober and discreet, we have much to do boys. [_Exeunt._
_Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima._
_Enter a_ Messenger.
_Mess._ Prepare there for the sacrifice, the Queen comes. [_Musick._
_Enter in solemnity the_ Druids _singing, the second Daughter_
_strewing Flowers: then_ Bonduca, Nennius, _and others_.
_Bond._ Ye powerful gods of _Britain_, hear our prayers;
Hear us you great Revengers, and this day
Take pity from our swords, doubt from our valours,
Double the sad remembrance of our wrongs
In every brest; the vengeance due to those
Make infinite and endless: on our pikes
This day pale terror sit, horrors and ruines
Upon our executions; claps of thunder
Hang on our armed carts, and 'fore our Troops
Despair and death; shame beyond these attend 'em.
Rise from the dust, ye relicks of the dead,
Whose noble deeds our holy _Druids_ sing,
Oh rise, ye valiant bones, let not base earth
Oppress your honors, whilst the pride of _Rome_
Treads on your Stocks, and wipes out all your stories.
_Nen._ Thou great _Tiranes_, whom our sacred Priests,
Armed with dreadful thunder, plac'd on high
Above the rest of the immortal gods,
Send thy consuming fires, and deadly bolts,
And shoot 'em home, stick in each _Roman_ heart
A fear fit for confusion; blast their spirits,
Dwell in 'em to destruction; thorow their _Phalanx_
Strike, as thou [str]ik'st a proud tree; shake their Bodies,
Make their strengths totter, and their topless fortunes
Unroot and reel to ruine.
_1 Daugh._ O thou god,
Thou feared god, if ever to thy justice
Insulting wrongs, and ravishments of Women,
Women deriv'd from thee, their shames, the sufferings
Of those that daily fill'd thy Sacrifice
With Virgin incense, have access, now hear me,
Now snatch thy thunder up, now on these _Romans_,
Despisers of thy power, of us defacers,
Revenge thy self, take to thy killing anger,
To make thy great work full, thy justice spoken,
An utter rooting from this blessed Isle
Of what _Rom[e]_ is or has been.
_Bon._ Give more incense,
The gods are deaf and drowsie; no happy flame
Rises to raise our thoughts: Pour on.
_2 Daugh._ See heaven,
And all you pow'rs that guide us, see, and shame
We kneel so long for pity over your Altars;
Since 'tis no light oblation that you look for,
No incense offering, will I hang mine eyes;
And as I wear these stones with hourly weeping,
So will I melt your pow'rs into compassion.
This tear for _Prosutagus_ my brave Father,
Ye gods, now think on _Rome_; this for my Mother,
And all her miseries; yet see, and save us;
But now ye must be open-ey'd. See; heaven,
Oh see thy show'rs stoln from thee; our dishonours,
[_A smoak from the Altar._
Oh Sister, our dishonors: can ye be gods,
And these sins smother'd?
_Bon._ The fire takes.
_Car._ It does so,
But no flame rises. Cease your fearful prayers,
Your whinings, and your tame petitions;
The gods love courage arm'd with confidence,
And prayers fit to pull them down: weak tears
And troubled hearts, the dull twins of cold spirits,
They sit and smile at. Hear how I salute 'em:
Divine _Andate_, thou who hold'st the reins
Of furious Battels, and disordred War,
And proudly roll'st thy swarty chariot wheels
Over the heaps of wounds and carcasses,
Sailing through seas of blood; thou sure-steel'd sternness,
Give us this day good hearts, good enemies,
Good blowes o' both sides, wounds that fear or flight
Can claim no share in; steel us both with angers,
And warlike executions fit thy viewing;
Let _Rome_ put on her best strength, and thy _Britain_,
Thy little _Britain_, but as great in fortune,
Meet her as strong as she, as proud, as daring;
And then look on, thou red ey'd god: who does best,
Reward with honor; who despair makes flie,
Unarm for ever, and brand with infamy:
Grant this, divine _Andate_, 'tis but justice;
And my first blow thus on thy holy Altar [_A flame arises._
I sacrifice unto thee.
_Bon._ It flames out. [_Musick._
_Car._ Now sing ye _Druides_. [_Song._
_Bon._ 'Tis out again.
_Car._ H'as given us leave to fight yet; we ask no more,
The rest hangs in our resolutions:
Tempt her no more.
_Bon._ I would know farther Cosen.
_Car._ Her hidden meaning dwels in our endeavors;
Our valors are our best gods. Cheer the Soldier,
And let him eat.
_Mes._ He's at it, Sir.
_Car._ Away then;
When he has done, let's march. Come, fear not Lady,
This day the _Roman_ gains no more ground here,
But what his body lies in.
_Bond._ Now I am confident. [_Exeunt Recorders._
_Scæna Secunda._
_Enter_ Junius, Curius, Decius.
_Dec._ We dare not hazard it: beside our lives,
It forfeits all our understandings.
_Jun._ Gentlemen,
Can ye forsake me in so just a service,
A service for the Common-wealth, for honor?
Read but the Letter; you may love too.
_Dec._ Read it:
If there be any safety in the circumstance,
Or likelihood 'tis love, we will not fail ye.
Read it good _Curius_.
_Cur._ Willingly.
_Jun._ Now mark it.
_Cur. reads._ Health to thy heart, my honoured _Junius_,
And all thy love requited: I am thine,
Thine everlastingly, thy love has won me,
And let it breed no doubt; our new acquaintance
Compels this, 'tis the gods decree to bless us.
The times are dangerous to meet; yet fail not,
By all the love thou bear'st me I conjure thee,
Without distrust of danger, to come to me,
For I have purpos'd a delivery
Both of my self and fortune this blest day
Into thy hands, if thou thinkst good: to shew thee
How infinite my Love is, even my Mother
Shall be thy prisoner, the day yours without hazard;
For I beheld your danger like a Lover,
A just affecter of thy faith: Thy goodness,
I know, will use us nobly, and our Marriage
If not redeem, yet lessen _Romes_ Ambition.
I'm weary of these miseries: Use my Mother,
(if you intend to take her) with all honour,
And let this disobedience to my parents
Be laid on love, not me. Bring with thee, _Junius_,
Spirits resolv'd to fetch me off, the noblest,
Forty will serve the turn; just at the joyning
Of both the battels, we will be weakly guarded;
And for a guide, within this hour shall reach thee
A faithful friend of mine: the gods, my _Junius_,
Keep thee, and me to serve thee: young _Bonvica_.
_Cur._ This letter carries much belief, and most objections
Answer'd, we must have doubted.
_Dec._ Is that fellow
Come to ye for a guide yet?
_Jun._ Yes.
_Dec._ And examin'd?
_Jun._ Far more then that; he has felt tortures, yet
He vows he knows no more than this truth.
_Dec._ Strange.
_Cur._ If she mean what she writes, as't may be probable,
'Twill be the happiest vantage we can lean to.
_Jun._ I'll pawn my soul she means truth.
_Dec._ Think an hour more,
Then if your confidence grow stronger on ye,
We'll set in with ye.
_Jun._ Nobly done; I thank ye;
Ye know the time.
_Cur._ We will be either ready
To give ye present counsell, or joyn with ye.
_Enter_ Swetonius, Petillius, _and_ Demetrius, Macer.
_Jun._ No more as ye are Gentlemen. The general.
_Swet._ Draw out apace, the enemy waits for us;
Are ye all ready?
_Jun._ All our Troops attend, Sir.
_Swet._ I am glad to hear you say so, _Junius_.
I hope ye are dispossest.
_Jun._ I hope so too, Sir.
_Swet._ Continue so. And Gentlemen, to you now;
To bid you fight is needless, ye are _Romans_,
The name will fight it self; To tell ye who
You go to fight against, his power, and nature,
But loss of time: [ye] know it, know it poor,
And oft have made it so. To tell ye farther,
His Body shows more dreadful than it has done,
To him that fears, less possible to deal with,
Is but to stick more honor on your actions,
Load ye with virtuous names, and to your memories
Tye never dying time, and fortune constant.
Go on in full assurance, draw your swords
As daring and as confident as justice;
The gods of _Rome_ fight for ye; loud Fame calls ye,
Pitch'd on the topless Apenine, and blows
To all the under world: all Nations,
The seas, and unfrequented deserts, where the snow dwels,
Wakens the ruin'd monuments, and there
Where nothing but eternal death and sleep is,
Informs again the dead bones. With your virtues,
Go on, I say, valiant and wise, rule heaven,
And all the great aspects attend 'em. Do but blow
Upon this enemy, who, but that we want foes,
Cannot deserve that name; and like a myst,
A lazie fog, before your burning valors
You'll find him fly to nothing, This is all,
We have swords, and are the sons of antient _Romans_,
Heirs to their endless valors, fight and conquer.
_De. Dem._ 'Tis done.
_Petill._ That man that loves not this day,
And hugs not in his arms the noble danger,
May he dye fameless and forgot.
_Swet._ Sufficient,
Up to your Troops, and let your drums beat thunder,
March close, and sudden like a tempest: all executions [_March._
Done without sparkling of the Body: keep your phalanx
Sure lin'd, and piec'd together; your pikes forward,
And so march like a moving Fort: ere this day run,
We shall have ground to add to _Rome_, well won. [_Exeunt._
_Scæna Tertia._
_Enter_ Caratach _and_ Nennius.
_Nen._ The _Roman_ is advanc'd from yound' hills brow,
We may behold him, _Caratach_. [_A March._
[_Drums within at one place afar off._
_Car._ Let's thither,
I see the dust flie. Now I see the body,
Observe 'em, _Nennius_, by ---- a handsome Body,
And of a few, strongly and wisely joynted:
_Swetonius_ is a Souldier.
_Nen._ As I take it,
That's he that gallops by the Regiments,
Viewing their preparations.
_Car._ Very likely,
He shews no less than General: see how bravely
The Body moves, and in the head how proudly
The Captains stick like plumes: he comes apace on;
Good _Nennius_ go, and bid my stout Lieutenant
Bring on the first square Body to oppose 'em,
And as he charges, open to inclose 'em:
The Queen move next with hers, and wheel about,
To gain their backs, in which I'll lead the Vantguard.
We shall have bloody crowns this day, I see by't;
Hast thee good _Nennius_, I'll follow instantly. [_Exit Nennius._
How close they march, as if they grew together! [_March._
No place but lin'd alike: sure from oppression;
They will not change this figure: we must charge 'em,
And charge 'em home at both ends, Van and Rere,
[_Drums in another place afar off._
They never totter else. I hear our Musick,
And must attend it: Hold good sword, but this day,
And bite hard where I hound thee, and hereafter
I'll make a relique of thee, for young Souldiers
To come like Pilgrimes to, and kiss for Conquests. [_Exit._
_Scæna Quarta._
_Enter_ Junius, Curius, _and_ Decius.
_Jun._ Now is the time, the fellow stays.
_Dec._ What think ye?
_Cur._ I think 'tis true.
_Jun._ Alas, if 'twere a question,
If any doubt or hazzard fell into't,
Do ye think mine own discretion so self-blind,
My care of you so naked, to run headlong?
_Dec._ Let's take _Petillius_ with us.
_Jun._ By no means:
He's never wise but to himself, nor courteous,
But where the end'[s] his own: we are strong enough,
If not to[o] many. Behind yonder hill
The fellow tells me she attends, weak guarded,
Her Mother and her Sister.
_Car._ I would venture.
_Jun._ We shall not strike five blows for't, weigh the good,
The general good may come.
_Dec._ Away, I'll with ye,
But with what doubt?
_Jun._ Fear not, my soul for all. [_Exeunt._
[_Alarms, Drums and Trumpets in several_
[_places afar off, as at a main Battell._
_Scæna Quinta._
_Enter_ Drusus _and_ Penyus _above_.
_Dru._ Here ye may see 'em all, Sir; from this hill
The Country shews off levell.
_Pen._ Gods defend me,
What multitudes they are, what infinites!
The _Roman_ power shews like a little Star
Hedg'd with a double hollo. Now the knell rings, [_Loud shouts._
Heark how they shout to th' battel; how the air
Totters and reels, and rends apieces, _Drusus_,
With the huge vollied clamours.
_Dru._ Now they charge.
Oh gods, of all sides, fearfully.
_Pen._ Little _Rome_,
Stand but this growing _Hydra_ one short hour,
And thou hast out-done _Hercules_.
_Dru._ The dust hides 'em,
We cannot see what follows.
_Pen._ They are gone,
Gone, swallow'd, _Drusus_, this eternal Sun
Shall never see 'em march more.
_Dru._ O turn this way,
And see a modell of the field, some forty,
Against four hundred.
_Pen._ Well fought, bravely follow'd;
O nobly charg'd again, charg'd home too: _Drusus_,
They seem to carry it: now they charge all, [_Loud._
Close, close, I say; they follow it: ye gods,
Can there be more in men? more daring spirits?
Still they make good their fortunes. Now they are gone too,
For ever gone: see _Drusus_ at their backs
A fearful Ambush rises. Farewell valours,
Excellent valours: O _Rome_, where's thy wisdome?
_Dru._ They are gone indeed, Sir.
_Pen._ Look out toward the Army,
I am heavy with these slaughters.
_Dru._ 'Tis the same still,
Covered with dust and fury.
_Enter the two Daughters, with_ Junius,
Curius, Decius, _and_ Souldiers.
_2 Daugh._ Bring 'em in,
Tie 'em, and then unarm 'em.
_1 Daugh._ Valiant _Romans_,
Ye are welcome to your Loves.
_2 Daugh._ Your death, fools.
_Dec._ We deserve 'em,
And women do your worst.
_1 Daugh._ Ye need not beg it.
_2 Daugh._ Which is kind _Junius_?
_Serv._ This.
_2 Daugh._ Are you my sweet heart?
It looks ill on't: how long is't, pretty soul,
Since you and I first lov'd? Had we not reason
To doat extreamly upon one another?
How does my Love? this is not he: my chicken
Could prate finely, sing a love-song.
_Jun._ Monster.
_2 Daugh._ Oh, now it courts.
_Jun._ Arm'd with more malice
Then he that got thee has the divell.
_2 Daugh._ Good.
Proceed, sweet chick.
_Jun._ I hate thee, that's my last.
_2 Daug._ Nay, and ye love me, forward: No? Come sister,
Let's prick our answers on our arrows points,
And make 'em laugh a little. Ye damn'd Leachers,
Ye proud improvident fools, have we now caught ye?
Are ye i'th' noose? Since ye are such loving creatures,
We'll be your _Cupids_: Do ye see these arrows?
We'll send them to your wanton livers, goats.
_1 Dau._ O how I'll trample on your hearts, ye villains,
Ambitious salt-itch slaves: _Romes_ master sins,
The mountain Rams topt your hot mothers.
_2. Daugh._ Dogs,
To whose brave founders a salt whore gave suck;
Theeves, honors hangmen, do ye grin? perdition
Take me for ever, if in my [fell] anger, [_Enter_ Caratach.
I do not out-do all example.
_Car._ Where,
Where are these Ladies? ye keep noble quarter,
Your Mother thinks ye dead or taken; upon which,
She will not move her Battel. Sure these faces
I have beheld and known, they are _Roman_ Leaders,
How came they here?
_2. Daugh._ A trick Sir, that we us'd,
A certain policy conducted 'em
Unto our snare: we have done ye no small service;
These us'd as we intend, we are for th' battel,
_Car._ As you intend? taken by treachery?
_1. Daugh._ Is't not allow'd?
_Car._ Those that should gild our Conquest,
Make up a Battel worthy of our winning,
Catch'd up by craft?
_2. Daugh._ By any means that's lawfu[l].
_Car._ A womans wisdom in our triumphs? out,
Out ye sluts, ye follies; from our swords
Filch our revenges basely? arm again, Gentlemen:
Soldiers, I charge ye help 'em.
_2. Daugh._ By ---- Uncle,
We will have vengeance for our rapes.
_Car._ By ----
You should have kept your legs close then: dispatch there.
_1. Daug._ I will not off thus.
_Car._ He that stirs to execute,
Or she, though it be your selves, by him that got me,
Shall quickly feel mine anger: one great day given us,
Not to be snatch'd out of our hands but basely;
And we must shame the gods from whence we have it,
With setting snares for Soldiers? I'll run away first,
Be hooted at, and children call me coward,
Before I set up scales for Victories:
Give 'em their swords.
_2 Daugh._ O gods.
_Car._ Bear off the women
Unto their Mother.
_2 Dau._ One shot, gentle Uncle.
_Car._ One cut her fiddle-string: Bear 'em off I say.
_1 Dau._ The ---- take this fortune.
_Car._ Learn to spin,
And curse your knotted hemp: go Gentlemen, [_Exeunt Daughters._
Safely go off, up to your Troops: be wiser,
There thank me like tall Soldiers: I shall seek ye. [_Exit Caratach._
_Cur._ A noble worth.
_Dec._ Well _Junius_.
_Jun._ Pray ye no more.
_Cur._ He blushes, do not load him.
_Dec._ Where's your love now? [_Drums loud again._
_Jun._ Puffe, there it flies: Come, let's redeem our follies.
[_Exeunt Junius, Curius, Decius._
_Dru._ Awake, Sir; yet the _Roman_ Bodie's who[l]e,
I see 'em clear again.
_Pen._ Whole? 'tis not possible:
_Drusus_ they must be lost.
_Dru._ By ---- they are whole, Sir,
And in brave doing; see, they wheel about
To gain more ground.
_Pen._ But see there, _Drusus_, see,
See that huge Battel moving from the mountains,
Their gilt coats shine like Dragons scales, their march
Like a rough tumbling storm; see them, and view 'em,
And then see _Rome_ no more: say they fail; look,
Look where the armed carts stand; a new Army:
Look how they hang like falling rocks, as murdring
Death rides in triumph _Drusus_: fell destruction
Lashes his fiery horse, and round about him
His many thousand ways to let out souls.
Move me again when they charge, when the mountain
Melts under their hot wheels, and from their Ax'trees
Huge claps of thunder plough the ground before 'em,
Till then I'll dream what _Rome_ was.
_Enter_ Swetonius, Petillius, Demetrius, Macer.
_Swet._ O bravely fought; honor till now nere show'd
Her golden fa[c]e i'th' field. Like Lions, Gentlemen,
Y'have held your heads up this day: Where's young _Junius_,
_Curius_ and _Decius_?
_Petill._ Gone to heaven, I think, Sir.
_Sw._ Their worths go with 'em: breathe a while: How do ye?
_Pet._ Well; some few scurvy wounds, my heart's whole yet.
_Dem._ Would they would give us more ground.
_Swet._ Give? we'll have it.
_Petill._ Have it? and hold it too, despight the devill.
_Enter_ Junius, Decius, Curius.
_Jun._ Lead up to th' head, and line: sure the Qs. Battell
Begins to charge like wild-fire: where's the General?
_Swet._ Oh, they are living yet. Come my brave soldiers,
Come, let me pour _Romes_ blessing on ye; Live,
Live, and lead Armies all: ye bleed hard.
_Jun._ Best:
We shall appear the sterner to the foe.
_Dec._ More wounds, more honor.
_Petill._ Lose no time.
_Swet._ Away then,
And stand this shock, ye have stood the world.
_Petill._ Wee'll grow to't.
Is not this better than lowsie loving?
_Jun._ I am my self, _Petillius_.
_Petill._ 'Tis I love thee. [_Exeunt_ Romans.
_Enter_ Bonduca, Caratach, Daughters, Nennius.
_Car._ Charge 'em i'th' flanks: O ye have plaid the fool,
The fool extreamly, the mad fool.
_Bon._ Why Cosin?
_Car._ The woman fool. Why did you give the word
Unto the carts to charge down, and our people
In gross before the Enemy? we pay for't,
Our own swords cut our throats: why? ---- on't;
Why do you offer to command? the divell,
The divell, and his dam too, who bid you
Meddle in mens affairs? [_Exeunt Queen, &c._
_Bond._ I'll help all.
_Car._ Home,
Home and spin woman, spin, go spin, ye trifle.
Open before there, or all's ruine. How, [_Showts within._
Now comes the Tempest; on our selves, by ---- [_Victoria within._
O woman, scurvie woman, beastly woman. [_Exeunt._
_Dru. Victoria, Victoria._
_Pen._ How's that, _Drusus_?
_Dru._ They win, they win, they win; oh look, look, look, Sir,
For heavens sake look, the _Britains_ fly, the _Britains_ fly.
_Victoria._
_Enter_ Swetonius, Soldiers, _and_ Captains.
_Swet._ Soft, soft, pursue it soft; excellent Soldiers,
Close, my brave fellows, honorable _Romans_:
Oh cool thy mettle _Junius_, they are ours,
The world cannot redeem 'em: stern _Petillius_,
Govern the conquest nobly: soft, good Soldiers. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ Bonduca, Daughters, _and_ Britains.
_Bond._ Shame, whither flie ye, ye unlucky _Britains_?
Will ye creep into your mothers wombs again? Back cowards.
Hares, fearful Hares, Doves in your angers; leave me?
Leave your Queen desolate? her hapless children.
_Enter_ Caratach _and_ Hengo.
To _Roman_ rape again and fury?
_Car._ Flye, ye buzzards,
Ye have wings enough, ye fear: get thee gone, woman,
[_Loud shout within._
Shame tread upon thy heels; all's lost, all's lost, heark,
Heark how the _Romans_ ring our knels. [_Ext. Bond., &c._
_Hen._ Good Uncle,
Let me go too.
_Car._ No boy, th[y] fortune's mine,
I must not leave thee; get behind me; shake not,
_Enter_ Petillius, Junius, Decius.
I'll breech ye, if ye do boy: Come, brave _Romans_,
All is not lost yet.
_Jun._ Now I'll thank thee, _Caratach_. [_Fight. Drums._
_Car._ Thou art a Soldier: strike home, home, have at ye.
_Pen._ His blows fall like huge sledges on an anvil.
_Dec._ I am weary.
_Pet._ So am I.
_Car._ Send more swords to me.
_Jun._ Let's sit and rest. [_Sit down._
_Dru._ What think ye now?
_Pen._ O _Drusus_,
I have lost mine honor, lost my name,
Lost all that was my light: these are true _Romans_,
And I a _Britain_ coward, a base Coward;
Guide me where nothing is but desolation,
That I may never more behold the face
Of Man, or Mankind know me: O blind Fortune,
Hast thou abus'd me thus?
_Dru._ Good Sir, be comforted;
It was your wisdom rul'd ye; pray ye go home,
Your day is yet to come, when this great fortune
Shall be but foil unto it. [_Retreat._
_Pen._ Fool, fool, Coward. [_Exit_ Penyus _and_ Drusus.
_Enter_ Swetonius, Demetrius, _Soldiers, Drum and Colours_.
_Swet._ Draw in, draw in: well have you fought, and worthy
_Romes_ noble recompence; look to your wounds,
The ground is cold and hurtful: the proud Queen
Has got a Fort, and there she and her Daughters
Defie us once again. To morrow morning
Wee'll seek her out, and make her know, our Fortunes
Stop at no stubborn walls: Come, sons of honor,
True virtues heirs; thus hatch'd with _Britain_ blood,
Let's march to rest, and set in gules like Suns.
Beat a soft march, and each one ease his neighbours. [_Exeunt._
_Actus Quartus. Scæna Prima._
_Enter_ Petillius, Junius, Decius, Demetrius _singing_.