THE VALIANT WELSHMAN, OR THE TRUE CHRONIcle History of the life and valiant deeds of CARADOC the Great, King of Cambria, now called WALES. AS it hath been sundry times Acted by the Prince of Wales his servants.  
Written by R. A. Gent.  
LONDON, Imprinted by George Furslowe for Robert Lownes, and are to be sold at his shop at the Little North door of Paul's, 1615.   

TO THE INGENVOUS READER.  
AS it hath been a custom of long continuance, as well in Rome the Capital City, as in divers other renowned Cities of the world, to have the lives of Princes and worthy men, acted in their Theatres, and especially the conquests & victories which their own Princes and Captains had obtained, thereby to encourage their youths to follow the steps of their ancestors; which custom even for the same purpose, is tolerated in our Age, although some peevish people seem to dislike of it: Amongst so many valiant Princes of our English Nation, whose lives have already even cloyed the Stage, I searched the Chronicles of elder ages, wherein I found amongst divers renowned persons, one British Prince, who of his enemies, received the title of Valiant Britain, his name was Caradoc, he was King of Siluria, Ordonica, and March, which Countries are now called, South-Wales, North-Wales, and the Marches; and therefore being borne in Wales, and King of Wales, I called him the valiant Welshman; he lived about the year of our Lord, 70. Cornelius Tacitus in his 12. book, saith, that he held wars 9 years against all the Roman puissance; but in the end he was betrayed by Cartismanda Queen of Brigance, and so conveyed to Rome in triumph, so that the name of Caradoc was famous in Rome at that time: wherefore finding him so highly commended amongst the Romans, who were then Lords of all the world, and his enemies; I thought it fit amongst so many Worthies, whose lives have already been both acted and printed, his life having already been acted with good applause, to be likewise worthy the printing; Hoping that you will censure indifferently of it; and so I bid you farewell.   

The Actors names.  

Fortune.  
Bardh.  
Octavian King of North-Wales.  
Guinevere his daughter.  
Codigune his base son.  
The Duke of Cornwall.  
The Earl of Gloster.  
Morgan Earl of Anglesey.  
Pheander his son, the Fairy champion.  
Ratsbane his man. A juggler.  
Cadallan Prince of March, with his three sons, and his daughter Voada.  
Caradoc, Mauron and Constantine.  
Monmouth an usurper.  
Gederus King of Britain.  
Galled his brother.  
Venusius Duke of York.  
Cartismanda his wife.  
Claudius' Cesar the Emperor.  
Ostorius Scapula the Roman Lieutenant.  
Marcus Gallicus his son.  
Manlius Valens, and Cessius Nasica, 2. Tribunes of the Romans.  
A Witch, and her son Bluso.  
The Clown with a company of Rustics.  
A Shepherd.  
An old man.    

THE VALIANT WELSHMAN.  
ACTVS 1.  

SCENA 1.  Fortune descends down from heaven to the Stage, and then she calls forth four Harpers, that by the sound of their Music they might awake the ancient Bardh, a kind of Welsh Post, who long ago was there intoombed. Fortune. 
THus from the high Imperial Seat of jove,  
Rome's awful Goddess, Chance, descends to view  
This Stage and Theatre of mortal men,  
Whose acts and scenes divisible by me,  
Sometime present a swelling Tragedy  
Of discontented men: sometimes again  
My smiles can mould him to a Comic vain:  
Sometimes like Niobe, in tears I drown  
This Microcosm of man; and to conclude,  
I seal the Lease of man's beatitude:  
Amongst the several objects of my frowns,  
Amongst the sundry subjects of my smiles,  
Amongst so many Kings housde up in clay,  
Behold, I bring a King of Cambria:  
To whom great Pyrrhus, Hector poysde in scales  
Of dauntless valour, weighs not this Prince of Wales.  
Be dumb you scornful English, whose black mouths  
Have dimmed the glorious splendour of those men,  
Whose resolution merits Homer's pen:  
And you, the types of the harmonious spheres,  
Call with your silver tones, that reverend Bardh,  
That long hath slept within his quiet urn,  
And let his tongue this Welshmans Crest adorn.  The Harper's play, and the Bardh riseth from his Tomb. Bardh. 
Who's this disturbs my rest?  Fortune. 
None, Poet Laureate: but a kind request  
Fortune prefers unto thy airy shape,  
That once thou wouldst in well-tunde meeter sing  
The high-swollen fortunes of a worthy King,  
That valiant Welshman, Caradoc by name,  
That foiled the haughty Romans, cracked their fame.  Bardh. 
I well remember, powerful Deity,  
Arch-governesse of this terrestrial Globe,  
Goddess of all mutation man affords,  
That in the reign of Rome's great Emperor,  
Cleped Claudian, when the British Isle  
Was tributary to that conquering See,  
This worthy Prince survived, whose puissant might  
Was not inferior to that son of jove,  
Who, in his cradle chokte two hideous Snakes.  
Which, since my Fortune is to speak his worth,  
My utmost skill alive shall paint him forth.  Fort. 
Then to thy task, grave Bardh: tell to men's ear,  
Fame placed the valiant Welshman in the sphere. Exit.  Bardh. 
Then, since I needs must tell the high designs  
Of this brave Welshman, that succeeding times,  
In leaves of gold, may register his name,  
And rear a Pyramies unto his fame;  
This only do I crave, that in my song,  
Attention guide your ears, silence your tongue.  
Then know all you, whose knowing faculties  
Of your diviner parts scorn to insist  
On sensual objects, or on naked sense,  
But on man's highest Alps, Intelligence.  
For to plebeian wits, it is as good,  
As to be silent, as not under stood.  
Before fair Wales her happy Union had,  
Blessed Union, that such happiness did bring,  
Like to the azure roof of heaven full packed  
With those great golden Tapers of the night,  
Whose spheres sweat with their numbers infinite;  
So was it with the spacious bounds of Wales,  
Whose firmament contained two glorious sons,  
Two Kings, both mighty in their arch-commands,  
Though both not lawful in their government:  
The one Octavian was, to whom was left,  
By lineal descent, each government:  
But that proud Earl of Munmouth stealing fire,  
Of high ambition did one throne aspire,  
Which by base usurpation he detains.  
Of lawful (right) unlawful treason gains.  
Twice, in two haughty set Battalions,  
The base usurper Munmouth got the day:  
And now Octavian spurred with grief and rage,  
Conducted by a more propitious star,  
Himself in person comes to Shrewsbury,  
Where the great Earl of March, great in his age,  
But greater in the circuit of his power,  
Yet greatest in the fortunes of his sons,  
The Father of our valiant Welshman called,  
Himself, his warlike sons, and all doth bring,  
To supplant Treason, and to plant their King.  
No more I'll speak: but this old Bard entreats,  
To keep your understanding and your seats.   

ACTVS 1. SCENA 2.  Enter Octavian, King of North-wales, Gloster, Codigunes base son, Morgan, Earl of Anglesey, and his foolish son with soldiers. Octavian. 
Gloster, Lord Codigune,  
And Noble Morgan, Earl of Anglesey,  
Can the usurping name of Monmouth live  
Within the airy confines of your souls,  
And not infect the purest temprature  
Of loyalty and sworn allegiance,  
With that base Apoplexy of revolt,  
And eager appetite of sovereign might,  
Counting the greatest wrong, the greatest right?  
Full many Moons have these two aged lights  
Beheld in peaceful wise: Now, to my grief,  
When the pure oil, that fed these aged Lamps,  
Is almost spent, and dimly shines those beams,  
That in my youth darted forth spriteful rays,  
Must now die miserable and undone,  
By monstrous and base usurpation.  Codig. 
Thrice noble king, be patient, this I read,  
The Gods have feet of wool, but hands of lead:  
And therefore in revenge as sure, as slow.  
What though two Royal Armies we have lost?  
He that bears man about him, must be crossed:  
And that base Monmouth, that with his goldenhead  
Salutes the Sun, may with the Sun fall dead.  
For base Rebellion draws so short a breath,  
That in the day she moves, she moves to death:  
And like the Marigold opens with the Sun,  
But at the night her pride is shut and done.  Morgan. 
Hark you, me Lord Codigune,  
By the pones of Saint Tany, you have prattled to the King a great deal of good Physic, and for this one of her good lessons and destructions, how call you it, be God, I know not very well, I will fight for you with all the George Stones, or the Vrsa majors under the Suns. Hark you me, Kings: I pray you now, good Kings, leave your whimbling, and your great proclamations: let death come at her, and ha' can catch her, and pray God bless her. As for the Rebel Monmouth, I know very well what I will do with her. I will make Martlemas beef on her flesh, and false dice on her pones for every Coney-catcher: I warrant her for Case bobby and Metheglin: I will make her pate ring noon for all her resurrections and rebellions.  Octavian. 
But soft, what Drum is this, The Drum soundeth afar off.  
That with her silent march salutes the air?  
Herald, go see.  Herald. 
an't please your Grace, Cadallan, Earl of March  
Spurred on by duty and obsequious love,  
Repining at the Fortune of your foe,  
Whose ravening tyranny devours the lives  
Of innocent subjects, now in person comes,  
To scourge base usurpation with his sons.  Octa. 
Conduct them to our presence. Enter March.  
Welcome, brave Earl, with these thy manly sons:  
Never came rain unto the Sunne-parcht earth,  
In more auspicious time, than thy supply,  
To scourge usurping pride and sovereignty.  Cadallan. 
Oh my gracious Lord,  
Cadallan comes drawn by that powerful awe  
Of that rich Adamant his soul adores.  
The needle's point is not more willing to salute the North,  
Man joyfuller to sit enshrined in heaven,  
Then is my loyalty to aid my King.  
I know, dread Liege, that each true man should know,  
To what intent dame Nature brought him forth:  
True subjects are like Commons, who should feed  
Their King, their Country, and their friends at need.  Octa. 
Brave Earl of March, I need not here delude  
The precious time with vain capituling  
Our own hereditary right. Graves to the dead,  
Balsam to green wounds, or a soul to man  
Is not more proper, then Octavian  
To the usurped Title Monmouth holds.  
Then once more on: this be our only trust:  
Heavens suffer wrongs: but Angels guard the just. Exeunt.   

ACTVS 1. SCENA 3.  Enter Monmouth the usurper in arms with Soldiers. Mon. 
Now valiant Countrymen, once more prepare  
Your hands and hearts unto a bloody fight.  
Stern Mars begins to buckle on his helm,  
And waves his sanguine colours in the air:  
Recount, brave spirits, two glorious victories,  
Got with the death of many thousand souls.  
Think on the cause, for which we stand engaged,  
Even to the hazard of our goods and lives:  
That were Octavians forces like the stars,  
Beyond the limits of Arithmetic:  
Or equal to the mighty Xerxes' host:  
Yet like the poles, our dauntless courage stands,  
unshaken by their feeble multitudes. The Drum beats afar off.  
But soft: what Drum is this? Soldiers, look out.  
Did Cesar come, this welcome he should have,  
Strong arms, big hearts, and to conclude, a grave.  Soldiers. 
My Lord Octavian,  
Backed with the Earl of March and his three sons,  
Intends to give you battle.  Mon. 
No more, no more: fond doting Earl:  
Is not there room enough within Churchyards,  
To earth his aged body, with his sons,  
But he must hither come to make their graves?  
Drums, beat aloud. I'll not articulate.  
My soul is drowned in rage. This bloody fight  
Shall tomb their bodies in eternal night. Exeunt. Alarum.  Enter Cadallan wounded, with his sons. Caradoc. 
Rot from his cursed trunk that villains arm,  
That gave this fatal wound to reverend age.  
How fares our Princely father?  God. 
As fares the sick man, when the nights black bird  
Beats at his casements with his sable wings:  
Or as the half dead captive being condemned,  
Awaits the churlish jailers fearful call  
Out of his loathsome dungeon to his death:  
So fares it with the wounded Earl of March:  
The current of my blood begins to freeze,  
Touched by the Icy power of gelid death:  
A sad Eclipse darkens these two bright lights:  
My vital spirits faint, my pulses cease,  
And nature's frame dissolves to nature's peace,  
All by that damned usurper. He dies.  Cara. 
Eternal peace, free from the hate of men,  
Inspheare thy soul, and mount it to the stars.  
Brothers, surcease your grief, go to the field,  
Cheer up the Soldiers, whilst I single forth  
This bloody Monmouth, that I may sacrifice  
His canceled life unto my father's ghost,  
And rid the land of this Egean filth,  
His usurpation stables. Oh, 'tis good,  
To scourge with death, that crying sin of blood.  Morgan meets Caradoc going in. Morgan. 
Cousin Caradoc, well, in all these pribble prabbles, I pray you, how doth our uncle Cadallan? be God, I heard he had got a knock: if it be so, I pray you look that the lean Cannibal, what do you call him that eat up julius Caesar's and Pompeyeses: a saucy knave, that cares no more for Kings, then lousy beggars & Chimney-sweepers.  Cara. 
Why, death, man.  Morgan. 
ay, I, Death, a pox on her: as God shudge me, he will eat more Emperors and Kings at one meal, than some tailors halfpenny loaves, or Usurers decayed shentlemen in a whole year: therefore I pray you Cousin, have a care of her uncle.  Cara. 
He is in heaven already.  Morgan. 
In heaven! why did you let her go thither?  Cara. 
It is a place of rest, and Angels bliss.  Morgan. 
Angels! Cots blue-hood: I warrant her, there is ne'er a Lawyer in the whole orld, but had rather have eleven shillings, than the best Anshell in heaven. I pray you who sent her thither?  Cara. 
I cannot tell, but from his dying tongue  
He did report Monmouth the bloody means.  Morgan. 
Monmouth! jesu Christ! did he send her uncle to Saint peter's and Saint Paul's, and not suffer her cousin Morgan to bid her Nos Dhi●u? hark you, Cousin, I'll seek her out be God. Farewell, Cousin, I'll make her pring pack her Nuncle with a venshance.  Cara. 
Farewell, good Cousin; whilst I range about  
The mangled bodies of this bloody field,  
To find the Traitor forth, whose spo●ted soul  
I'll send posthaste unto that low Abyss,  
That with the snaky furies he may dwell,  
And ease Prometheus of his pains in hell. Alarm again.  Enter at one door Monmouth with Soldiers, at the other Codigune: they fight: Monmouth beats them in; then enter Caradoc at the other. Caradoc. 
Turn thee, Usurper, Harpey of this Clime,  
Ambitious villain, damned homicide.  Mon. 
Fondling, thou speakest in too mild consonants:  
Thy airy words cannot awake my spleen:  
Thou woundst the subtle body of the air,  
In whose concavity we stand immured:  
Thou givest me cordials, and not vomits now:  
Thy Physic will not work: these names thou speak'st,  
Fill up each spongy poor wiihin my flesh,  
With joy intolerable: and thy kind salutes  
Of villainy, and ambition, best befits  
The royal thoughts of Kings: Read Machiavelli:  
Princes thus would aspire, must mock at hell.  Cara. 
Out, thou incarnate Devil; guard thee, slave:  
Although thou fear'st not hell, I'll dig thy grave.  Mon. 
Stay, Prince, take measure of me first.  Cara. 
The Devil hath donè that long ago. Alarm there.  They both fight, and Caradoc killeth him. Enter Constantine. Const. 
Surcease, brave brother; Fortune hath crowned our brows  
With a victorious wreath; Their Soldiers flee,  
And all their Army is discomfited.  
The King sounds a retreat. What is the Traitor dead?  
This act hath purchased honour to our name,  
And crowned thee with immortal memory.  
Off with his head: and let the King behold,  
His greatest foe and care lies dead and cold.   

ACTVS 1. SCENA 4.  Enter 〈◊〉, Gloster, Mauron with colours and soldiers. Octa. 
Here ends the life and death of bloody war,  
Whose grave-like Paunch did never cry, Enough:  
And welcome, Peace, that long hath lined exiled,  
immured within the ivory walls of bliss.  
Ambition now hath thrown her snaky skin,  
From off her venomed back. Oh may she die,  
Congealed, and never move again to multiply.  Enter Caradoc, Morgan and Constantine. Morgan. 
God plesse her. Be God, Kings, all the Sybils in the whole orld speak not more tales and prophecies, than our Cousin Morgan: Look you now Kings, our cousin Caradoc, and our cousin Constantine, break our fasts with mince-pies and Gallimaufries of legs and arms. Is your Grace a hungry? If you be, I have prought you a calves head in wool, be God; 'tis in my Knappesacke.  Octa. 
Thanks, gentle Earl.  Mor. 
Thanks for a Pig in a poke, 'tis pleeding new; and I pray you thank our cousin Caradoc for it: for as God shudge me, he was the Caterer: be God, he did kill her with one blow in the crag, as you use to kill Coneys.  Octa. 
Why, Cousin Morgan, I use not to kill conies.  Mor. 
Do you not? Hark you me: you were a gteat deal better to kill all the conies in Wales, than they to kill her. Be God, I have known tall men as Hercules, been wounded to death, and kick up her heels in an Hospital, by the biting of a tame conies in the City: therefore your wild conies in the Suburbs, that eat of nothing but Mandrakes & Turne-her-ups, mark you me now, by Jesus, are worse than Dog days.  Octa. 
Well, Cousin, you are merry.  
But now, brave plants of that unhappy tree,  
Whom chance of war hath leveled with the earth,  
And in our cause: We cannot but lament  
The sudden downfall of that aged Earl.  
But since the will of heaven is not confined  
Unto the will of man: his soul's at rest.  
Our bounties and our love to you alive,  
Shall well confirm the love we owe him dead.  
And first, because your worthy selves shall see,  
Our Royal thoughts adore no peasants god,  
Or dunghill baseness: but in that sphere we move,  
Where honour sits coequal with high jove.  
To thee brave Knight, heavens chiefest instrument  
Of our new-born tranquillity and peace,  
We give for thy reward, this golden Fleece,  
Our Royal daughter, beauteous Guinevere,  
And after our decease, our Kingly right.  
Speak, valiant Knight, wilt thou accept of this?  Cara. 
Accept of it, great King!  
The Thracian Orpheus never entertained  
More joy in sight of his Eurydice,  
When with his silver tunes he did enchant  
The triple-headed dog, and reassumde,  
His soul's beatitude, from Pluto's Court,  
Then your devoted servant in this gift,  
Wherein such unrespected joy concurs,  
That every sense dances within his blessed circumference,  
And calls my bliss, A Newyear's gift from jove;  
And not from that which reason or discourse  
Proudly from beasts doth challenge, as from man.  
In brief, my Lord,  
Look how proud Nature in her store,  
Because she hath one Phoenix and no more,  
Whose individual substance being but one,  
Makes Nature boast of her perfection:  
So ist with me, great King; more blessed in this,  
Then man turned constellation, starred in bliss.  
Her gracious answer, and I am content.  Mor. 
Her consent, Cousin Caradoc, I warrant her there is never a Lady in England, but consent to give prike and praise to a good thing; go you together: I warrant her.  Octa. 
How now, my Lord, do you play the Priest?  Mor. 
Priests! Cads blue-hood, I should be mad fellow to make Priests: for mark you now, my Lord: the Priests say, Let no man put her asunder: that's very good. But believe me, and her will, it is a great deal better to put her between; because the one is a curse, and the fruits of the womb is a great blessing.  Octa. 
Now Princely son, reach me each other's hand.  
Here in the sight of heaven, of God and men,  
I join your Nuptial hands. Oh, may this hour  
Be guided by a fair and kind aspect.  
Let no malevolent Planet this day dart  
Her hateful influence, 'gainst these hallowed rites.  
You heavenly Pilots of the life of man,  
Oh, be propitious to this sacred cause,  
That God and men may seal it with applause.  
So now to Ceremonies. Music, sound shrill thy note:  
'Tis Hymen's holiday; Let Bacchus' float. Exeunt.  Manet solus Codigune. Codig. 
Go you unto the Church, and with your holy fires  
Perfume the Altars of your country gods,  
Whilst I in curses, swifter in pursuit,  
Then winged lightning, execrate your souls,  
And all your Hymeneal jollity,  
Now swells the womb of my invention,  
With some prodigious project, and my brain  
Italianates my barren faculties  
To Machiavellian blackness. Welshman, stand fast;  
Or by these holy raptures that inspire  
The soul of Politicians with revenge,  
Black projects, deep conceits, quaint villainies,  
By her that excommunicates my right  
Of my creation, with a bastard's name,  
And makes me stand nonsuited to a crown;  
I'll fall myself, or pluck this Welshman down.  
Cornwall, he killed thy brother. There's the base,  
Whereon my envy shall erect the frame  
Of his confusion. Gloster, I know,  
Is Nature's masterpiece of envious plots,  
The Cabinet of all adulterate ill  
Envy can hatch; with these I will begin,  
To make black envy Primate of each sin.  
Now, in the heat of all their reveling,  
Hypocrisy, Time's best complexion,  
Smooth all my rugged thoughts, let them appear  
As brothel sins benighted, darkly clear.  
Lend me thy face, good janus, let me look  
Just on Time's fashion, with a double face,  
And clad my purpose in a Fox's case. Exit.    

ACTVS 2.  

SCENA 1.  Sound Music. Enter Octavian, Caradoc, Guinevere, Gloster, Cornwall and Codigune unto the Banquet. Octa. 
Sit, Princes, and let each man, as befits  
This solemn Festival, tune his sullen senses,  
To merry Carols, and delightsome thoughts,  
Comic inventions, and such pleasant strains  
As may decipher time to be well pleased.  
All things distinguished are into their times  
And jovial hours, unfit for grave designs.  
A health unto the Bride and Bridegroom. Lords,  
Let it go round. They drink round.  Octa. 
How fares our princely Daughter?  
Me thinks, your looks are too composed for such a holiday.  Gui. 
Oh my good Lord, to put your Highness out of your suspect,  
Which your weak argument draws from my looks:  
'tis true, that heathen Sages have affirmed,  
That Nature's Tablet fixed within our look,  
Gives scope to read our hearts, as in a book.  
Yet this affirmative not always holds;  
For sometimes as the urine, that foretells  
The constitution of each temperature,  
It falsely wrongs the judgement, makes our wit  
Turn Mountybanke in falsely judging it:  
And like the outward parts of some fair whore,  
Deceives, even in the object we adore:  
My Lord, my soul's so rapt  
In contemplation of my happy choice,  
That inward silence makes it more complete,  
By how much more it is remote  
From custom of a superficial joy,  
That's merely incorporeal, a mere dream,  
To that essential joy my thoughts conceive.  Octa. 
How learnedly hath thy persuasive tongue  
Discovered a new passage unto joy,  
In mental reservation? True joy is strung  
Best with the heartstrings, sounds only in the tongue.  
But where's Sir Morgan, Earl of Anglesey?  
He promised us some pleasant masking sight,  
To crown these Nuptials with their due delight.  Enter Morgan's foolish son, Morion. Morion. 
Oh my Lord, my father is coming to your Grace, with such a many of Damsons and she Shittle-cocks: They smell of nothing in the world but Rozin and cobblers wax; such a many lights in their heels, & lungs in their hands, above all cry, i'faith.  Enter the Mask of the Fairy Queen with four Harpers; before they dance, one of them singeth a Welsh song: they dance, and then the fool, Earl Morgan's son, falleth in love with the Fairy Queen. Morion. 
By my troth, my stomach rumbleth at the very conceit of this jamall love, even from the sole of my head, to the crown of the foot. Surely, I will have more acquaintance of that Gentlewoman; me thinks she danceth like a Hobby-horse.  After the dance, a Trumpet within. Octa. 
Thanks, Cousin Morgan.  
But soft, what Trumpets this?  Constan. 
A messenger, my Lord, from King Gederus, King of britain, desires access unto your Majesty.  Octa. 
Admit him to our presence.  Enter Ambassador. Ambass. 
Health to this princely presence, and specially to great Octavian; for unto him I must direct my speech.  Octa. 
To us? then freely speak the tenor of thy speech,  
And we as freely will reply to it.  
Thy Master is a Prince, whom we affect,  
For honourable causes known to us:  
Then speak, as if the power we have to grant,  
Were tied to his desire.  Amb. 
Then know, great King, that now Gederus stands,  
As in a Labyrinth of hope and fear,  
Uncertain either of his life and Crown.  
The Roman▪ Claudius' Cesar, with an host  
Of matchless numbers, bold and resolute,  
Are marching towards Britain, armed with rage,  
For the denying Tribute unto Rome,  
By force and bloody war to conquer it,  
And either win Britain with the sword,  
Or make her stoop under the Roman yoke.  
Now, mighty King, since Britain, through the world,  
Is counted famous for a generous I'll,  
Scorning to yield to foreign servitude,  
Gederus humbly doth desire your aid,  
To back him 'gainst the pride of Roman Cesar,  
And force his Forces from the British shores:  
Which being done with speed, he vows to tie  
Himself to Wales, in bonds of amity.  Oct. 
Legate, this news hath pleased Octavian well.  
The Bryttaynes are a Nation free and bold,  
And scorn the bonds of any foreign foe;  
A Nation, that by force was ne'er subdued,  
But by base Treasons politicly forced.  
Claudius forgets, that when the British Isle  
Scarce knew the meaning of a stranger's march,  
Great julius Cesar, fortunate in arms,  
Suffered three baserepulses from the Cliffs  
Of chalky Dover:  
And had not britain to herself proved false,  
Cesar and all his Army had been toombde  
In the vast bosom of the angry sea.  
Son Caradoc, how think you of this worthy enterprise?  
Yet 'tis unfit, that on this sudden warning,  
You leave your fair wife, to the Theoric  
Of matrimonial pleasure and delight.  Cara. 
Oh my good Lord, this honourable cause  
Is able to inflame the coward breast  
Of base Thersites, to transform a man,  
That's Planet-struck with Saturn, into Mars;  
To turn the Caucasus of peasant thoughts,  
Into the burning Aetna of revenge,  
And manly Execution of the foe.  
What man is he, if Reason speak him man,  
Or honour spurs on, that immortal fame  
May canonize his Acts to after times,  
And Kingly Homers in their Swan-like tunes  
Of sphearelike Music, of sweet Poesy,  
May tell their memorable acts in verse;  
But at the name of Romans, is all war,  
All courage, all compact of manly vigour  
Totally magnanimous, fit to cope  
Even with a band of Centaurs, or a host  
Of Cretan Minotaures? Then let not me be bard:  
The way to honour's craggy, rough, and hard.  Octa. 
Go on, & prosper, brave resolved Prince.  Car. 
Fair Princess, be not you dismayed at this;  
'tis honour bids me leave you for a while.  
'Twill not long be absent. All the world,  
Except this honourable accident,  
Could not entreat, what now I must perform,  
Being ingadgde by honour. Let it suffice,  
That joy that lives with thee, without thee dies.  Guin. 
Sweet Lord, each hour whilst you return, I'll pray,  
Honour may crown you with a glorious day.  Cara. 
Then here I'll take my leave; He kisses his hand.  
First, as my duty binds, of you great King.  
Next, of you, fair Princess. He kisses her.  
Come brothers, and Lord Morgan, I must entreat  
Your company along.  Mor. 
Fare you well, great King: our Cousin ap Caradoc and I, will make Caesar's, with all her Romans, run to the Tevils' arse a peake, I warrant her. Exeunt.  
I pray you look unto her son there: be God, he hath no more wit in his pa●es, than the arrantest Cander at Coose fair. Exit.  Octa. 
Come, daughter, now let's in.  
He that loves honour, must his honour win. Exeunt.   

ACTVS 2. SCENA 2.  Enter the Bardh, or Welsh Poet. Bard. 
Thus have you seen, the vali●nt Caradoc,  
Mounting the Chariot of eternal fame,  
Whom, mighty Fortune, Regent of this Globe,  
Which Navigators call terrestrial,  
Attends upon: and like a careful Nurse,  
That sings sweet Lullabies unto her babe,  
Crowns her beloved Minion with content,  
And sets him on the highest Spire of Fame.  
Now to Gederus, King of warlike Britain,  
Oppressed with Roman Legions is he gone,  
Spurred oh with matchless resolution,  
And in the battle, as yourselves shall see,  
Fights like a Nemean Lion,  
Or like, those Giants, that to cope with jove,  
Hurled Osla upon Peleon, heaped hill on hill,  
Mountain on mountain, in their boundless rage.  
But in the mean time dreadless of treacherous plots,  
The Bastard plays his Rex, whose ancient sore  
Begins to fester, and now breaks the head  
Of that Impostume malice had begot.  
Now Cornwall, Gloster, twins of some Incubus,  
And son and heir to hell's Imperial Crown,  
The Bastard Codigune, conspire the death  
Of old Octavian. Those that fain would know  
The manner how, observe this silent show.  Enter a dumb show, Codigune, Gloster, and Cornwall at the one door: After they consult a little while, enter at the other door, Octavian, Guinevere, and Voada, the sister of Caradoc: they seem by way of entreaty, to invite them: they offer a cup of wine unto Octavian, and he is poisoned. They take Guinevere and Voada, and put them in prison. Codigune is crowned King of Wales. Bardh. 
The treacherous Bastard, with his complices,  
Cornwall and Gloster, did invite the King,  
Fair Guinevere and beauteous Voada,  
The sister of renowned Caradoc,  
Unto a sumptuous feast, whose costly outside  
Gave no suspicion to a foul intent.  
And had Cassandra (as she did at Troy  
Foretell the danger of the ●re●ian ho●se,  
That Sinon counterfeited with his tears,)  
Presaged this Treason; like to some nightly dream  
Of some superfluous brain begot in wine,  
It had been only fabulous, and extinct  
Even with the same breath, that she brought it forth,  
Like some abortive Oracle, so beguiles  
The Siren's songs, and tears of Crocodiles.  
At this great banquet, great Octavian  
Was poisoned, and the wife of Caradoc,  
Together with his beauteous sister led  
Unto a loathsome prison, and the Crown  
Invested on the head of Codigune  
The envious Bastard. Here leave we them a while:  
And now to Bryttayne let us steer the course  
Of our attention, where this worthy Sun  
That shines within the firmament of Wales,  
Was like himself, thrice welcomed, till the spleen  
Of that malicious Gloster did pursue  
In certain letters, sent to Goderus King,  
Whose sister he had married, his defame  
Wales lost, in lively Scenes we'll show the same.   

ACTVS 2. SCENA 3.  Exit Bardh. Enter Gederus, King of Britain, Prince Galled, Caradoc, Lord Morgan, Mauron and Constantine. Good. 
Once more, brave Peers of Wales, welcome to Bryttayne.  
Herein Octavian shows his kingly love,  
That in this rough sea of invasion,  
When the high swelling tempests of these times  
O'erflow our British b●●ks, and C●sar's rage,  
Like to an Inundation, drowns our land,  
To send so many warlike Soldiers,  
Conducted by the flowers of famous Wales.  
Now Cesar, when thou dar'st, we are prepared.  
Britons would rather die, then be outdared.  
But soft, what messenger is this?  Enter a Messenger with a letter. 
Speak Messenger, from whom, or whence thou comest.  Mess. 
From Wales, my Lord, sent in all post-haste,  
From noble Earl of Gloster, to your Grace,  
With this letter. Gederus reads it.  Mor. 
From Wales! I pray you, good posts and messengers, tell us, how fares all our friends, our Cousin ap Guinevere, ap Caradoc, ap Voada.  Mess. 
I know them not. He strikes him.  Morgan, 
Cads blue-hood, know not our Cousin? I'll give her such a blow on the pate, I'll make her know her cousins. Cads zwownes, he had best tell her, he knows not her nose on her face. This fellow was porne at hogs Norton, where pigs play on the Organ. Posts call you her? 'Sploud, were a simple Carpenter to build house on such posts: not know our Cousins?  Gederus. 
This letter from our brother Gloster sent,  
Entreats me, not to trust the gilded outsides  
Of these strangers. We know our brother well:  
He is a man of honourable parts,  
judicious, upon no slight surmise,  
Gives us intelligence, it shall be so.  
we'll trust a friend, afore an unknown foe.  
Prince Caradoc, you with your forces lie upon you hill;  
From whence, unless you see our Army faint,  
Or discouraged by the Roman bands,  
There keep your standing. A Drum affare off.  
Hark, Roman Cesar comes: now Brittaynes fight,  
Like Brutus' sons, for freedom and for right. Alarum.  Exeunt Gederus and his company. Caradoc, Mauron, Constantine, & Morgan 〈◊〉. Cara. 
Disgraced by letters? shifted to a hill?  
Fond King, thy words, and all the treacherous plots  
Of secret mischief, sink into the gulf  
Of my oblivion: memory, be dull,  
And think no more on these disgraceful airs,  
My fury relished. King,  
Set punies to keep hills, that scarce have read  
The first material Elements of war,  
That wink to see a canoneer give fire,  
And like an Aspen, shakes his coward joints,  
At musket shot. Within these noble veins,  
There runs a current of such high-born blood,  
Achilles well may father for his own.  
These honourable sparks of man we keep,  
Descended lineally from Hector's race,  
And must be put in action. Shall I stand,  
Like gazing Figure-flingers on the stars,  
Observing motion, and not move myself?  
Hence with that baseness. I that am a star,  
Must move, although I move irregular.  
Go you unto the hill, in some disguise.  
I'll purchase honour by this enterprise. Exeunt. Alarum.   

ACTVS 2. SCENA 4.  Enter at the one door Gederus, and Prince Galled: at the other, Claudius, and common Soldiers. They fight. Claudius beats them in. Then enters Caradoc, and pursues Claudius. Presently enters Cesar and Caradoc fighting. Claud. 
Hold, valiant Britain, hold thy warlike hands.  Cara. 
Then yield thyself, proud Roman,  
Or by those gods the Britain's do adore,  
Not all thy Roman host shall save thy life.  Clau. 
Then soldier, (for thy valour speaks thee so,)  
Know, that thou hast no common prisoner,  
But such a one, whose eminence and place  
Commands officious duty through Rome:  
Then if thy inward parts deserve no less  
In honour's eye, than thy mean habit shows,  
Release me, that a public infamy  
Fall not upon me by the scandalous host,  
Whose Critic censure, to my endless shame,  
Will run division on the chance of war,  
And brand my fortune with black obloquy:  
And by my honour, that the Romans hold  
As dear as life, or any other good  
The heavens can give to man, the battle donne,  
I'll pay my ransom in a treble some.  Ca 
Know, Roman, that a Bryttayne scorns thy gold.  
Let Midas brood adore that Deity,  
And dedicate his soul unto this saint:  
Soldiers have mines of honourable thoughts,  
More wealthy than the Indian veins of gold,  
Beyond the value of rich Tagus' shore:  
Their Eagle-feathered actions scorn to stoop  
To the base lure of usurers and slaves.  
Let painful Merchants, whose huge riding ships  
Tear up the furrows of the Indian deep,  
To shun the slavish load of poverty,  
Gape after massy gold: the wealth we crave,  
Are noble actions, and an honoured grave.  
I'll take no money, Roman:  
But since thou seemest no counterfeit impression,  
But bear'st the Royal Image of a man,  
Give me some private token from thy hands,  
That's generally known unto thy friends,  
That if by chance I come to Rome,  
I may be known to be your friend.  Claud. 
Here, worthy Bryttayne, take this golden Lion,  
And wear it about thy neck: This when thou comest,  
Will quickly find me out. Soldier, adieu.  
Cesar is bound both to the gods and you. Exit.  Enter Prince Galled. They sound a retreat. Galled. 
The Roman Eagle hangs her haggard wings,  
And all the Army's fled; all by the strength  
And opposition of one common man,  
In show, not far superior to a Soldier,  
That's hired with pay, or priest unto the field:  
But in his manly carriage, like the son  
Of some unconquered valiant Mermedon.  
Sure, 'tis some godlike spirit, that obscures  
His splendour in these base and borrowed clouds  
Of common Soldiers habit. All my thoughts  
Are wrapped in admiration, and I am deep in love  
With those perfections, only that my eye  
Beheld in that fair object. Thus have I left the field,  
To interchange a word or two with him.  
And see, in happy time he walks alone.  
Well met, brave soldier: may a Prince be bold  
To ask thy name, thy nation and thy birth?  Cara. 
Fair Prince, you question that you know already.  
I am not what I seem, but hither sent, He discloses himself.  
On honourable terms, to aid this King;  
Which he unkingly, basely did refuse,  
And in reward of this his proffered good,  
Ungratefully returned (what other Kings  
With princely donatives would recompense)  
My service with injurious contempt:  
But I, in am of this disgraceful wrong,  
Have done him right, and through the jaws of death,  
Have brought a glorious triumph to his Crown,  
And hung sweet peace about his palace gates.  
True honour should do that, which envy hates.  Galled. 
Fair Map of honour, where my reason reads  
Each navigable circle, that contains  
My happy voyage to the land of fame:  
Say, virtuous Prince, may Galled become so blest  
To follow thy fair hopes, and link his soul  
In an united league of endless love:  
Nor scorn a Prince's proffer: for by heaven,  
What I intrude, thy virtue hath enforced,  
And like the powerful Loadstone, drawn my thoughts  
To limn out virtue: for exactly done,  
By artificial nature, to the life,  
In thy fair model shadowed curiously,  
How like Pygmalion, do my passions dote  
On this fair picture! will you accept me Prince?  Cara. 
Most willingly, kind Prince:  
And may as yet this Embryo of our loves  
Grow to his manly vigour: 'tis love alone,  
That, of divided souls, makes only one.  
Who then adores not love, whose sacred power  
Unites those souls, division would devour?  
Come, gentle Prince, let us go see our friends  
I left upon you Hill, to keep our forts,  
And thence to Wales, where double joys attend  
A beauteous wife, and a most constant friend. Exeunt▪   

ACTVS 2. SCENA 5.  Enter Morion, the foolish Knight, and his man Ratsbane. Morion. 
Come, Ratsbane: Oh the intolerable pain that I suffer for the love of the Fairy Queen! my heels are all kybde in the very heat of my affection, that runs down into my legs: me thinks I could eat up a whole Broker's shop at a meal, to be eased of this love.  Rats. 
Oh master, you would have a villainous many of pawns in your belly. Why, you are of so weak a nature, you would hardly digest a Servingman's Livery in your belly, without a vomit.  Morion. 
I assure thee, thou fayest true, 'tis but gross meat. But Ratsbane, thou toldst me of a rare fellow, that can tell misfortunes, and can conjure: prithee bring me to him. I'll give him somewhat, to help me to speak with the Fairy Queen.  

Whose face like to a Butcher's doublet looks,  
Varnished with tallow of some beauteous Ox;  
Or like the aprons of some Pie-corner Cooks,  
Whose breath smells sweeter than a hunted Fox:  
Whose eyes, like two great footballs made of leather,  
Were made to heat the gods in frosty weather.   Ratsb. 
Oh, happy that man, that hath a bedfellow of these amiable parts. Oh master, if her visible parts be such, her invisible parts are able tomake an Italian run mad: he loves an armful. But master, see, here's the man I told you of.  Enter the juggler and his man. juggler. 
You know my mind, sir, be gone.  
I have observed this Idiot, and intent,  
To gull the Coxcomb: therefore I did translate  
Myself this day into this cunning shape.  
I oft have heard the fool strongly persuade  
Himself, to be the Fairy Queen's chief Love,  
And that by her he shall subdue the Turk,  
And pluck great Otoman from off his throne.  
This I will work on.  Morion. 
Sir, an't shall please you, I come to know some of that excellent skill, the world hath blisterde mine ears with.  jug. 
Sir Thomas Morion, for so are you called,  
Darling unto the beauteous Fairy Queen;  
Your fortunes shall be such, as all the world  
Shall wonder at Pheander's noble name:  
For otherwise, so are you also named.  
I know to what intent you hither come:  
You come to see your Love, the Fairy Queen.  
And talk with her here in this silent place,  
Her nimble Fairies, and herself do use  
Oft to repair: and long it will not be,  
Ere she come hither: but thus much you must know  
You must not talk to her, as to a Queen  
Of earthly substance: for she is a pure  
And simple spirit, without Elements:  
Wherefore, without any mortal thing  
That may annoy her most immortal sense,  
You must go, humbly creeping on your hands,  
Without your Doublet, Rapier, Cloak or Hose,  
Or any thing that may offend her nose.  
And see, see, yonder she comes; if you will speak with her,  
You must do as I tell you.  Enter the Fairy Queen. Morion. 
Oh help me quickly;  
Come, Ratsbane, uncase, my love is come.  He strips himself, and creeps upon his hands, with his man. 
Great Queen, thou sovereign of Pheander's heart,  
Vouchsafe a word unto thy Maiden Knight,  
That bows his guts unto thy mighty face.  Fairy Q. 
Follow me this way.  She falls down. under the Stage, and he follows her, and falls into the ditch. Morion. 
Help, Ratsbane, help, help.  Rats. 
Help? why, where are you? I thought you had been in the hole by this time; Come, give me your hand. You follow the Fairy Queen?  Mor. 
Come, come, say nothing: we'll go home like fools as we came.  
Come, my clothes, my clothes.  Rats. 
Cod's lid, clothes! Now we may go home worse fools than we came. 'Sfoot, this cunning Rascal means to set us a hay making. 'Sfoot, we are fit for the Dogge-house, we are flayde already.  Mor. 
Well, we may go home with the naked truth. It's no matter, A man's a man, though he have but a hose on his head.    

ACTVS 3.  

SCENA 1.  Enter Codigune, Gloster, and Cornwall with Soldiers up in Arms. Codig. 
Now friends and fellow Soldiers in just Arms,  
Prepare yourselves against the haughty foe,  
Who, as we hear, marches not far from hence.  
What we have done, by force we'll make it good,  
Or seal our bold attempts, with death and blood.  Glost. 
King, keep your own; maugre all opposition,  
If he come hither to demand your right,  
And with his rebel troops disturb the peace  
Of what both gods and men have made your own,  
Maintain the quarrel with your awful power,  
Be it right or wrong; behave yourself like jove,  
And strike with thunder his base insolence:  
Discourse not what is done, nor how, nor when.  
Only Kings wills are Laws for other men.  Enter a Messenger. Codig. 
What tidings brings this sweating Messenger?  Messen. 
My Lord, Prince Caradoc, returned from Britain,  
Is with his Army marching hitherwards.  Cod. 
He comes unto his death. Now, Codigune,  
Banish all timorous thoughts: think what thou art;  
A King. That word is able to infuse  
Boldness, as infinite, as that we call  
The world's first mover. Why, the name of King  
Were able to create a man of stone,  
With more than animal courage, to inspire  
Dullness, with nerued resolution.  
Then, Codigune, like Atlas, on thy back,  
Support thy kingdoms Arch, until it crack.  
March forward. Exeunt.   

ACTVS 3. SCENA 2.  Enter Caradoc, Galled, Mauron, Constantine, Lord Morgan, Earl of Anglesey, with colours and Soldiers. Cara. 
I was not wont, dear friends, to be so dull.  
I am all lead, as if my subtle soul  
Had left his lodging in this house of clay.  
Each empty corner of my faculties,  
And understanding powers, swell with dreams  
And dire presages of some future ill:  
Ghastly and fearful spectres haunt my sleep.  
And, if there be, as Heathen men affirm,  
Some godlike sparks in man's divining soul,  
Then my prophetic spirit tells me true,  
That some sad news attends my steps in Wales.  
I long to hear what mischief, or what good,  
Hath happened, since I parted from the King.  Enter Morion. Morion. 
Oh father, father, ffoot, I sweat, as if I had been buried in a Tun of hot grains.  Morg. 
Come you Coxcomb, leave your proclamations and your preambles, and tell her the naked truth.  Morion. 
My Father knows all.  
Indeed, father, the naked truth is, that the Fairy Queen robbed me of all my clothes: you might have seen me as poor as an Open-arse. But I can tell you news; the King is poisoned; Lord Codigune crowned; The Lady Guinevere, & the young Gentlewoman imprisoned.  Morgan. 
But hark you me, son Morion; is all this true, or invented of her own foolish pates and imaginashions?  Morion. 
Why, I pray you, father, when did you hear a Gentleman of Wales tell lies?  Morgan. 
Her tell her true in that; 'tis the pravest Nation under the Suns for that Hark you me, sons; be God, it is a great teal better to be a thief, than a liar, I warrant her.  Galled. 
What, Royal Prince, can chance predominate  
Over a mind, that, like the soul, retains  
A harmony of such concordant tunes?  
No sudden accident should make to jar.  
This tenement of clay, in which our soul  
Dwells in, until the Lease of life endures,  
Of learned men was well called, Microcosm,  
Or, little world: over whose mortal parts  
The stars do govern, whose immortal power  
Sometimes begets a fatal birth of woe;  
Sometimes again inverts their sullen course  
To unexpected Revels, turns our Critic hours  
To Cricket merriment; yet is there means that bars  
Their hateful influence. Wisdom rules the stars.  
You have lost a Father: Use the Athenians breath,  
Grave Solons; No man's happy until death.  Cara. 
Oh, loving Prince, thus the Physician speaks  
To the disordered Patient: thus healthful Art  
Confers with wounded Nature. 'tis a common trick,  
Men being sound, give Physic to the sick.  
Fair Prince, misconstrue not my discontent;  
I grieve not, that Octavian is deprived  
Of life; but that he hath exchanged  
His life, for such a miserable death.  
What villain, but a prodigy of nature,  
Engendered by some Comet, would have forced  
His aged soul to wander in the air?  
Bearing a packet of such ponderous sins,  
Would crack the Axel-tree of heaven to bear.  
And not have given him liberty to pray?  
But I am armed with patience. First with words  
we'll seek to conquer; and if not, by sword's.  
March round; I hear their Drums.   

ACTVS 3. SCENA 3.  Enter Codigune, Gloster, Cornwall, with colours and soldiers. Codig. 
Now, Caradoc, what ist thou canst demand?  Morg. 
Cousin Caradoc, I pray you hold her peace a little.  Codig. 
I'll hear no mad men speak.  Morg. 
Cads blu-hood, take her for Bedlams, & mad men's?  He offers to strike him. Cara. 
Be patient, Cousin. Codigune, in brief,  
I come to claim my right, that thou usurpest,  
And by sinister means, black as thy sins,  
Hast basely stolen: surrender first my wife,  
My sister, and the Kingdom of South-Wales;  
Or by the gods, to whom I stand obliged,  
In sacred bonds of Orisons and thanks,  
For life and motion: if thou refuse to do it,  
Or move that blood boils within my veins,  
At the memorial of thy hellish sin,  
I'll tear the Crown from off thy cursed head,  
And either die myself, or strike thee dead.  Cod. 
Caradoc, thou claymest South-Wales of vs.  
Nor that, nor wife, nor sister shalt thou have;  
But if thou longest for any, ask a grave.  
The high-swollen pride of Majesty and love,  
Brookes no competitors; it's thus decreed,  
Who shares with them, must for the booty bleed.  
Each Planet keeps his Orb, which being resigned,  
Perhaps, by greater lights would be outshinde.  Car. 
Sweet Patience, yet instruct my tongue awhile  
To speak the language of a temperate soul.  
Codigune, mark what I'll offer thee:  
Since that the wrongs, which basely thou hast bred  
Cannot be reconciled, but by the death  
Of millions, that must suffer for us two;  
And we the authors of what wars and blood  
Shall in her frantic outrage lavish out:  
(For 'tis a thing that honour'scornes to do,  
That multitudes should perish for us two:)  
Thou art a man, if actions like thy words,  
Be but proportionable, that disdainest  
To fight with craven baseness all on odds:  
Nor do I think thy honour so profuse,  
That guiltless men should bleed for thy abuse:  
Then, if thou darest: And once more to augment  
Thy Bastard courage, again, I dare thee fight,  
Even in a single Monomachy, hand to hand:  
And, if by chance (as man is nought but chance)  
Thou conquerest me, I will become thy slave,  
Confirm my right to thee, and to thy heirs;  
And if I overcome, do thou the like.  
How sayest thou? wilt thou accept this offer?  Cod. 
It pleases me, and here in sight of heavens,  
By all my hopes of immortality,  
I will perform what thou hast bravely spoke.  
I love thee for these honourable terms,  
And will as fearless entertain this fight,  
As a good conscience doth the cracks of jove.  Cara. 
Then as we are, Soldiers, begird us round,  
And let no man disturb the Combatants,  
Till one, or both, fall to our mother earth.  
For thus be well assured, the cause being right,  
Immortal spirits do for justice fight. Alarum.  They fight at Poleaxe, Codigune is conquered. Glost. 
Now, Gloster, fly and hide thy head with shame.  Morg. 
Cads blue-hood, peat out her praynes, for calling her Bedlams.  Cara. 
Rise. I'll spare thy life.  
Revenge sufficient for thy damned facts;  
For to a seared conscience these do well,  
Long life, men's hate, and a perpetual hell.  
Yet, that thou mayest live, to atone thy soul  
Unto the angry heavens, I freely give  
The Kingdom of North-Wales for term of life,  
To thy dispose; only reserving tribute to myself,  
In just acknowledgement of me and mine.  Cod. 
Know, Caradoc, since by the chance of war,  
I must be forced to render up that right,  
That like a slave I might have kept by might,  
I scorn thy gifts, and rather choose to live  
In the vast wilderness with fatal Owls,  
Free from the malice of base buzzard Chance,  
And there in hushed up silence raving go;  
Then earth, except be hell, no place so low.  
Then with high alms, Aside.  
I'll to the Romans, and there plot, pell-mell.  
Vessels that once are seasoned, keep their smell.  
Welshmen, farewell; and Caradoc adieu;  
Under the heavens, we have no foe but you. Exit.  Cornwall. 
Now Royal Prince, since happy victory  
Hath set a period to a bloody fight,  
Cornwall, in humble manner, here presents  
Himself and service to your Princely Grace.  Cara. 
Cornwall, although thy actions not deserve  
The least respect of us, in taking part  
With the aspiring Bastard, and the rest  
Of his adherents; yet we do omit  
All former injuries, and reunite  
Cornwall unto our love.  Corn. 
Then Princes, join with Cornwall, and enthrone  
True honour and deserts; with what's her own.  
Ascend your Chair, fair Prince.  The Trumpets flourish, omnes. They crown him. Omnes. 
Long live Caradoc, King of Wales.  Cara. 
We thank you Princes. This being done, we'll see  
Our beauteous Queen and sister both set free.  Enter Gloster solus. 
Now, Gloster, in this still and silent wood,  
Whose unfrequented paths do lead thy steps  
Unto the dismal cave of hellish fiends;  
With whom, a Witch, as ugly to confront,  
As are the fearful Furies she commands,  
lives in this solitary uncouth place;  
Begin thy damned plots, banish that threadbare thought  
Of Virtue,  
Which makes us men so senseless of our wrong,  
It makes us bear the poison of each tongue.  
No, Gloster, no; he, whose meek blood's so cool  
To bear all wrongs, is a religious fool:  
Or he that cannot finely knit revenge,  
Like to Aracne, in a curious web,  
May wounds still fit a Nightcap for his head.  
Since I am forced to fly with foul disgrace,  
And since of gods or men no hope I find,  
I'll use both hell and Fiends to ease my mind.  
Here dwells a famous Witch, who, with her son,  
As black in art, as art itself is black,  
Both memorable for their Magic skill,  
That can command stern vengeance from beneath  
The centre of the earth, for to appear  
As quick as thought. To her I'll tell the tale  
Of my revenge, and with the golden Chimes  
Of large rewards, enchant her hellish ears.  
And see: their monstrous shapes themselves appears.   

ACTVS 3. SCENA 4.  Enter the Witch and her son from the Cave. Gloster. 
Thou famous Mistress of the unknown depths  
Of hell's infernal secrets, oh what reward  
Shall a dejected, miserable man,  
Chased from the confines of his native land,  
By wrong oppression, and insulting pride,  
Disgrace, contempt, and endless infamy,  
Give, for redress from thy commanding art?  Witch. 
Gloster, I know thee well, although disguised:  
Thou comest to crave our help, for thy revenge  
'Gainst Caradoc, who now hath vanquished  
The Bastard Codigune in single fight.  
Know Gloster, that our skill  
Commands the Moon drop from her silver sphere,  
And all the stars to veil their golden heads,  
At the black horror that our Charms present.  
Atlas throws down the twinkling Arch of heaven,  
And leaves his burden at our dreadful spells.  
This pendant element of solid earth,  
Shakes with amazing Earthquakes, as if the frame  
Of this vast continent would leave her poles.  
Neptune swells high, and with impetuous rage  
Dashes the haughty Argosy with winds,  
Against the crystal battlements of heaven.  
The troubled air appears in flakes of fire,  
That, till about the airs circumference,  
We make the upper Region  
Thick, full of fatal Comets, and the sky  
Is filled with fiery signs of armed men.  
Hell roars, when we are angry, and the Fiends,  
As school-boys, tremble at our Charming rod.  
Thus, when we are displeased, or malcontent,  
Both hell obeys, and every Element.  Gloster. 
Thou matchless wonder, work but my revenge,  
And by the triple Hecate, and the powers  
Your Charms adore, I'll load you with a weight  
Of gold and treasure, till you cry, No more.  
Invent, great soul of art, some stratagem,  
Whose fame may draw him to these dismal woods.  
No danger can outdare his thirsty soul  
In honourable enterprises: he is a man,  
Should hell oppose him, of such dauntless metal,  
That were but fame the end of his achievement,  
He would as boldly cope with it, as with things  
Of common danger.  Witch. 
Then Gloster, hark: Here in this dismal Grove,  
By art I will create a furious beast,  
Moved by a subtle spirit, full of force  
And hellish fury, whose devouring jaws  
Shall havoc all the borderers of Wales,  
And in short space unpeople all his Towns.  
Now, if he be a man that seeks for fame,  
And grounds his fortunes on the popular love,  
Or king-like do prefer a common good,  
Before a private loss; this famous task,  
Whose fearful rumour shall amaze the world,  
Will egg him on: where being once but come,  
He surely meets with his destruction.  
Son, to this purpose, straightway to thy book,  
Enter the Cave, and call a powerful spirit by thy skill,  
Command him instantly for to appear,  
And with thy Charms, bind him unto the shape  
Of a devouring Serpent, whilst without  
We do await his coming. Exit Magician.  Thunders and Lightning. 
Now whirl the angry heavens about the Pole,  
And in their fuming choler dart forth fires,  
Like burning Aetna, being thus enraged  
At this imperious Necromantike art.  
Dis trembles at our Magical command,  
And all the flaming vaults of hell's Abyss,  
Throw forth sulphureous flakes of scorching fire.  
The jangling hellhounds, with their hellish guises,  
Dance damned rounds, in their infernal rage.  
And to conclude, earth, water, air, and fire,  
And hell grow sick, to see man's art aspire.  
A general envy makes them male content,  
To see deep art command each element.  
See, Gloster, see, thinks he, this monstrous shape  Enter the Serpent. 
Will not abate the courage of his foe,  
And quell the haughty pride of Caradoc?  Gloster. 
Yes, mighty Artist, were he thrice inspired  
With more than human courage, he may as soon  
Conquer those matchless Giants, that were set  
To keep the Orchard of Hesperides,  
Or match the labours of great Hercules.  Enter the Serpent. It thunders. Witch. 
Go shroud thy horrid shape within this wood,  
And seize on all thou meetest. Come, Gloster, in,  
And here awhile abide within this Cave.  
Thy eyes shall see what thy vexed soul did crave. Exeunt.   

ACTVS 3. SCENA 5.  Enter Ostorius Scapula, Marcus Gallicus, Manlius Valens, Cessius Nasica, and Codigune in Arms. Ostorius. 
Now, valiant Romans, once more do we tread  
Upon the bosom of the British ground:  
And by the gods that do protect great Rome,  
we'll now acquit great Caesar's foul disgrace,  
Or die like Romans in this foray x place.  Marcus. 
Me thinks, it is a shame to Rome and us,  
That have been counted famous through the world,  
For matchless victories, and feats of arms,  
That such a petty Island should repulse  
So huge an army of the Roman strength,  
Able to sack the spacious walls of Troy,  
To level Babel's pride even with the ground:  
An I'll, that in respect of Caesar's power,  
Is like the Centre, to the ample heavens;  
A point, unto a large circumference;  
Small atoms, to the body of the Sun.  
Sure, this Welshman works by Magic spells,  
Or, 'tis impossible, if he be a man,  
Composed of flesh and blood, sinews and nerves,  
He should outdare so puissant an host.  Codig. 
Great General, that which he holds, is mine;  
And though enforced by violence and wrong,  
From that which Nature left my heritage:  
Yet, since I see such hopes, so fairly sprung  
From such an honourable head, as Rome,  
Whose fame for honour, chivalry and arms,  
Outshines all Nations with her glorious rays:  
This Caradoc, whom men do causeless fear,  
Is of condition insolent and proud,  
Ambitious, tyrannous, speckled with every vice  
The infectious time can harbour. Say, we confess him bold,  
And of a courage that grim visaged death,  
The object of true valour, cannot daunt;  
Though Proteus-like, he came in thousand shapes,  
What's he, compared to numbers infinite?  
Or that Imperial Rome, whose Eagle eyes  
Have gazed against the sun of matchless triumphs,  
Should basely fear a weak and silly Fly?  
This Welshman is all superficial,  
Without dimensions, and like a mountain swells,  
In labour only with great airy words,  
Whose birth is nothing, but a silly Mouse;  
Actions without their measure or their weight.  
Then, Romans, derogate not from the worth,  
That time in ancient Chronicles records  
Of your eternal honours got in war.  
But if you prize your honours more than life,  
Or human happiness, here's a noble cause  
Of wrong and usurpation, to erect  
A statue to your dying memory.  
Then on, great General, wave the Roman Eagle,  
Even to the Tents of haughty Caradoc,  
And with my blood I'll second this brave fight,  
Or hide my shame by death in endless night.  Ostor. 
Bravely resolved▪ Ere long, assure thyself,  
we'll seat thee in thy ancient dignity,  
And force to Cesar homage, and to Rome:  
And, though we fear not one particular man,  
Yet, for because we truly are informed,  
That Caradoc is strong and puissant,  
For ten days we intent to make a truce,  
And in the mean time to make strong our host:  
Which if he do refuse, the time expired,  
To render up thy right, which he detains;  
War, like some gnawing vulture shall attend  
Unto their final ruin, and their end.  
And to that purpose, Marcus Gallicus  
Shall as a Legate both from Rome and us,  
Instantly give them knowledge: the time's but short:  
And till the date's expired, prepare for sport. Exeunt.    

ACTVS 4.  

SCENA 1.  Enter Caradoc, Guinevere. Voada, his sister, Mauron, Constantine, Galled, Lord Morgan. Cara. 
Now, beauteous Queen & sister, though our tedious absence  
In warlike Britain, hath been the cause  
Of your imprisonment, yet, at our return,  
The gods in justice have repaid the wrong,  
Done to your beauties by base treachery,  
And forced that damned instrument of sin,  
To hide his bastard head in endless shame.  
Then, Royal Queen, (for that's a style befits  
The royal virtues of such peerless lustre)  
Ascend your Throne, whilst equally with me,  
You part, with full applause, your sovereignty.  A flourish. She is crowned. Omnes. 
Long live Queen Guinevere, Queen of Cambria.  Guin. 
Thanks, Royal Lord. Oh, may these smiling stars,  
That kindly have conjoined each other's love,  
And of two bodies lovingly made one,  
Crown all thy actions with a gracious look,  
And make thee fortunate in peace and war.  
Not all the treacherous complots of that Fiend,  
Restraint of free air, close imprisonment,  
Could with their strange appearances imprint  
Such feeling Characters of sudden woe.  
As your great conquest doth create new joy,  
And exultation of your dangers past.  Cara. 
Thanks, gentle love. Now sister Voada,  
The duty and the care that ever since  
My reason could distinguish, and that fraternal love  
Nature imposed, that many Moons and years  
Have been employed unto the good I owe  
Thy riper years, shall in this minute's space  
Be full discharged: Therefore, thrice noble friend,  
I give unto thy hand an Orient Pearl  
Of more esteem, then that, which at a health  
Great Cleopatra did carouse in wine,  
To Roman Anthony. Love her well, sweet Prince;  
Let it suffice; part of our Royal blood  
Runs through the channels of her Azure veins,  
And that she is our sister.  Galled. 
Right noble Prince, when Galled in am of this  
So Kingly and so rare a benefit,  
(In whom the mirror of bright Excellence  
So clear, and so transparently appears)  
Forgets to honour thee or her in love,  
May he live branded with some heavy curse,  
Worse than oppression of the widows right:  
Or when I shall forget to offer up  
A sacrifice of my immaculate love,  
Unto thy beauteous altar, let me have  
A base deformed object to my grave.  Voada. 
And Princely Lord, may no delightsome gale  
Of sweet content blow on this mortal state  
Of what I now possess, if from my heart  
The deep impression of my love depart.  A Trumpet within. Cara. 
Cousin Morgan, look what Trumpet's this.  Morgan. 
I warrant her, 'tis for more knocks on the pate. Romans call you her? Be God, scurvy Romans, that cannot let her alone, in her own Countries. I'll choke some of her with cause bobby, or drown her in hogsheads of Perry and Metheglin.  He goes to the door. Enter Marcus Galicus. 
I pray you, from whence come her?  Marcus. 
From Rome.  Morgan. 
From Rome! And I pray you, what a pox ails her, that you cannot keep her at home? have you any Wasps in her tails? or live Eels in her belly, you cannot keep her at home? Hark you me: I pray you, how tooth M. Cesar? tooth he need era parbour? Look you now: let him come to Wales, and her Cousin Caradoc shall trim his crowns, I warrant her.  Marc. 
I understand you not.  Morg. 
Cads nails? Could people, doth Morgan speak Hebrews or no? Understand her not?  Cara. 
Now, Roman, for thy habit speaks thee so:  
Is it to us thy message is directed?  Marc. 
Yes, Prince. And thus the Roman General says,  
If within ten days space thou wilt resign  
Thy Kingdom to the heir, Lord Codigune,  
From whom thou dost detain it wrongfully,  
Thou shalt have peace; but if thou dost deny,  
Stern war by force, shall force it presently.  Morg. 
Hark you now, Cousin, Cads blue-hood, if you had beat out her praynes, you had peene quiet. Shesu, more troubles and fexashions! what a orld is this?  Cara. 
Dares that damned Traitor ope his hellish throat  
Against our right? Or ist your Roman guise,  
To back black Treasons and conspiracies?  
Ambassador, return unto thy Lord:  
Within these ten days he shall hear from vs. Aside.  
But by the gods that do uphold the frame  
And fabric of the world, lest it should fall  
Upon the head of that damned murderer,  
It shall be to his cost. Come, let's a way.  Enter a shepherd running hastily. Shep. 
O mighty King, pity thy people's wrongs,  
And cease the clamours of both young and old,  
Whose eyes do penetrate the gates of heaven,  
To look upon the tragical mishaps,  
And bloody spoil of every passenger.  
Our sheep devoured, our shepherds daily slain,  
All by a furious Serpent, not far hence,  
Whom less, great King, you do prevent in time,  
A timeless massacre overruns your land,  
And danger waits, even at your Palace gates,  
And your selfe's as incident to death,  
As every common Hind it hath devoured.  
Therefore delay not, mighty Sovereign.  Cara. 
A Serpent? where? when? how came it thither?  
I'll not demur, Shepherd, lead on the way.  
I'll follow thee. There's danger in delay.  
Come, Cousin Morgan, go along with vs.  
Princes, farewell awhile.  Morgan. 
Cads blue-hood, fight with Tevils. I warrant her, some Ambassadors from Belzebubs shortly. Here's a great teal of sturies. I pray God plesse her from T●uils. They are a great teal worse than Marshal men, and Bum-Bayly. From all of them, Could Lord deliver her. I come, Cousin.  Guinevere. 
Good Angels guide thy dangerous enterprise,  
And bring thee back, with conquest to thy friends.  
Some powerful Spirit hover over the head  
Of my dear Lord, and guard him from the rage  
Of that fell Monster. Come, Princes, let's away.  
A woman's fears can hardly stint or stay. Exeunt.  Manet Marcus Gallicus. He looks after Voada. Marcus. 
I have not seen a beauty more divine,  
A gate more like to juno's, Queen of heaven.  
I cannot tell; but if there be a Cupid,  
Arrows and flames, that from the sacred fires  
Of love and passion, that fond men inspires  
With desperate thoughts, kindles our vain desires:  
Then in this breast their local place must be.  
Oh Love, how powerful is thy Deity,  
That binds the understanding, blinds the eye!  
Yet here's an object for the eye so rare,  
Deceit can ne'er beguile, it is so fair.  
This chase I'll keep, and either win the game,  
Or lose the golden Fleece unto my shame. Exit.   

ACTVS 4. SCENA 2.  Enter Shepheard, Caradoc, Morgan. Cara. 
Now, shepherd, are we yet within the ken  
Of this fell monster?  Sheph. 
Not yet, my Lord: and yet, me thinks, this place should not be far.  Cara. 
Then here we'll stay: it may be, being hungry,  
The dreadful monster now will seek his prey, Enter old man.  
And range towards vs. Come, let's walk about.  Old man. 
Stay venturous Prince, and from an old man's hand,  
receive the means, that sacred heavens decree,  
To rid thy Land from this perplexity.  
No force of sword can conquer hellish fiends,  
By black enchantments made to take thy life:  
Thou mayst with greater ease cleave rocks asunder,  
Or with thy hands break Adamants in twain,  
Which nought but blood of Goats can mollify,  
Then pierce the scales of this infernal Monster.  
About thee take this precious sovereign herb,  
That Mercury to wise Ulysses gave,  
To keep him from the rage of Circe's charms.  
This precious herb, maugre the force of hell,  
From blackest sorcery keeps sound and well.  
Farewell, great Prince. Exit.  Cara. 
Thanks, gentle Father. And see, the Serpent comes.  Enter the Serpent. Caradoc shows the herb. The Serpent flies into the Temple. Caradoc runs after. It thunders. 
Now Caradoc, pursue this hellish Fiend.  He drags the Magicians out by the heels. 
Cursed impostor, damned Engineer of plots,  
As black in cursed purposes, as night,  
When by your hellish charms, she mourns in black  
And sable vestments; tell me, thou son of darkness,  
Where that Inventor of mischievous ills  
Gloster remains.  Bluso. 
There in that cave: but he is fled from thence,  
And being frantic with the horrid sight  
Of fearful apparitions, in despair  
Runs up and down these solitary Groves,  
Where shortly Furies, with their devilish haunts,  
Will lead him to a sad and violent death.  Cara. 
Wert thou the author? tell upon thy life.  Bluso, 
No, Prince: for in this horrid Cave  
There lives my aged mother, deep in skill  
Of Magic Exorcisms, as the art itself  
Exceeds the boundless depth of human wit.  
With her the Earl conspired, to draw you hither  
By this invention.  Cara. 
Rise, come forth, thou ugly Hag, from thy dark Cell. He plucks the Witch out by the heels.  
Cousin Morgan, throw her into the flames  
Of the burning Temple.  He carries her, and throws her in. Morgan. 
I warrant her. By shesu, 'tis a hot whore.  Cara. 
On this condition do I give thee life,  
That first, if such an hellish art as this  
May serve to virtuous uses, then direct  
The scope of all thy skill, to aid poor men,  
Distressed by any casualty or chance,  
And specially our friends.  Bluso. 
This Bluso vows to keep inviolable.  Cara. 
Come, Cousin Morgan, Kings in this are known,  
That for their subjects lives, neglect their own.   

ACTVS 4. SCENA 3.  Enter a company of Rustics bearing the body of Gloster. Cara. 
How now, Sirs, what heavy spectacle affronts our eyes?  Clown. 
Come, my masters, every man his part, he shall be examined, ere we part with him.  Neighb. 
'tis fit, neighbour, for he that has no more care of himself, what will he have of another fellow?  Cara. 
Whose body is that, my friends?  Clown. 
'tis not a body, Sir, 'tis but a carcase, sir, some Gentleman it seems; for if he had been a poor man, that labours for his living, he would have found somewhat else to do, and not to have hanged himself.  Cara. 
Alack, alack, a wretched case.  Clown. 
Nay truly, never bestow pity on him, that could not pity himself.  Bluso. 
'tis Gloster's body, noble Caradoc.  Cara. 
A traitors body, than heavens justice shown.  
That in contriving mischief for his own.  Mor. 
If his head were taken from his shoulders, 'twere very well, and pole his head on a high nag.  Clown. 
You may pole his head here, if it please you, but truly it is not worth the labour, for it is a fleece of the lowzest hair that ever was hanged.  Morg. 
You are a prattling Coxcomb, I would have his head mounted on a pole, for all false knaves to see and behold.  Clow. 
Why sir, you may see it now, and the rest shall see it hereafter.  Mor. 
The rest sir, mercy upon us, do you reckon me a false knave? by S. Davie, I will melt a stone of tallow from your kidneys.  Cara. 
Nay, good Sir Morgan.  Morg. 
Pray you Cousin, let me go.  Clow. 
Let your Cousin, let him come, you shall have diggon of Chymr●de, I warrant you.  Morg. 
Hark you, hark you Cousin, he speaks British, by shesu, I not strike him now, if he call me three knaves more. God plesse us, if he do not speak as good British, as any is in Troy-walles. Give me both your right hands, I pray you, let us be friends for ever and ever.  Clown. 
Sir, you shall be friends with a man of credit then: for I have a hundredth pound in black and white, simple as I stand here: and simple as I stand here, I am one of the Crowner's quest at this time.  Omnes. 
ay, for, simple as we all stand here, we are no less at this time.  Clown. 
And it may be, as simple as we are here, if we say, he shall be buried, he shall, and if we say not, it may not be neither.  Morg. 
But he is dead, whether you will or no.  Clo. 
Not so, for he died with my good will, for I never wept for him.  Morg. 
And his body shall be dust, whether you will, or no.  Clo. 
It may be not neither, as in our wisdoms we shall conclude, perhaps we'll burn him, than he shall be burned to ashes.  Mor. 
By S. davies, it is very true.  Cl. 
For anter, not so neither, we'll sell him to the Apothecaries for mummy. For anter not so neither, it may be we'll hang him up for the crows meats, and then he shallbe turned to that that falls upon their heads, that has no new clothes at Whitsuntide.  Morg. 
Hold your tongue there, I beseech you.  Clo. 
You must take it as it falls, and as the foolish Fates, and so the quest decrees.  Car. 
Leave it to themselves, they cannot dispose too ill of the remainder of so black a villain. Our hideous work is done. Exit Caradoc & Morgan.  Manent Rustics. Clo. 
My masters, and fellow questmen, this is the point, we are to search out the course of law, whether this man that has hanged himself, be accessary to his own death or no.  1. Nei. 
'tis a hard case burlady neighbours, to judge truly.  2. Nei. 
Sure, I do think he is guilty.  Clo. 
Take heed, your conscience must be umpler in the case. I put this point to you, whether every one that hangs himself, be willing to die or no?  2. Neig. 
ay, I, sure he is willing.  Cl. 
I say no, for the hangman hangs himself, and yet he is not willing to die.  3. Neig. 
How does the hangman hang himself?  Cl. 
I marry does he, sir; for if he have not a man to do his office for him, he must hang himself: ergo, every man that hangs himself is not willing to die.  1. Neigh. 
He says very true indeed: but now sir, being dead, who shall answer the King for his subject?  Clo. 
Marry sir, he that hanged his subject.  2. Nei. 
That was himself.  3. Neighb. 
No sir, I do think it was the halter that hanged him.  Clo. 
ay, in a sort, but that was, se offendendo, for it may be, he meant to have broke the halter, and the halter held him out of his own defence.  1. Neigh. 
But is not the Ropemaker in danger that made it?  Clo. 
No, for he goes backward, when 'tis made, and therefore cannot see before, what will come after; neither is the halter in fault, for he might urge the halter, nolens volens, (as the learned say) neither is he in fault, because his time was come that he should be hanged: and therefore I do conclude, that he was conscious and guiltless of his own death: Moreover, he was a Lord, and a Lord in his own precinct has authority to hang and draw himself.  2. Nei. 
Then neighbour, he may be buried.  Cl. 
Of great reason, always he that is alive must die, and he that is dead must be buried.  2. Neigh. 
Yet truly in my conscience, he does not deserve to be buried.  Cl. 
Oh, you speak partiously neighbour Crabtree, not deserve to be buried? I say, he deserves to be buried alive that hangs himself.  3. Neig. 
But for his clothes neighbour.  Cl. 
His clothes are the Hangman's.  2. Neigh. 
Why then he must have them himself.  Cl. 
This is a shrewd point of law, this might he do now, because he would save charges, and defeat the Hangman: this must be well handled, did he make a Will?  3 Neigh. 
No, he died detestable.  Cl. 
Why then, they fall to his right heir male, for a female cannot inherit no breeches, unless she wears them in her husband's days.  1. Neigh. 
But where shall we find him?  Cl. 
'tis true, well then for want of issue, they fall to the chief mourner; I will be he to save you all harmless, I will take his clothes upon mine own back, I will begin with his cloak, do you take every man his quarter, and I will follow with dole and lamenration.  2. Neigh. 
Then thus the verdict is given up.  Clow. 
ay, I.  3. Neigh. 
Alas Neighbour, how mournfully you speak already  Clow. 
It is the fashion so to do.  Clown. 
Bear up the body of our hanged friend,  
Silk was his life, a halter was his end:  
The Hangman hangs too many (graceless else)  
Then why should any man, thus hang himself?  
If any ask, why I in tears thus swim?  
Know, I mourn for his clothes, and not for him.  Exeunt.  

ACTVS 4. SCENA 4.  Enter Bardh, or Chorus. Bardh. 
Thus have you seen a man, whose daring thoughts,  
Even hell itself, the treasury of terrors,  
Whose very shapes make Nature look aghast,  
Cannot outface. Now once more turn your eyes,  
And view the sudden mutabilities,  
That wait upon the greatest favourite  
That ever Fortune favoured with her love,  
Stern Caradoc, virtuously returned,  
Hoping to see his beauteous Queen and friends,  
His sister Voada, whom he had left  
With treacherous Cornwall, who villain-like betrayed  
The Town and Voada, as yet a maid,  
Unto the hands of Marcus Gallicus,  
Son to the Roman General, who, as we saw,  
Was far enamoured of that warlike Dame,  
And to the Roman Band conducts her safe,  
Whilst Galled, her husband, flies to save his life,  
And in disguise, seeks the Magician forth,  
Entreating him by prayers, sighs and tears,  
To help him by his Art, whilst Caradocs' fair Queen,  
Together with her daughter, made escape,  
And fled unto her Lord, who being enraged,  
His manly courage doubled his resolve,  
The Roman host pursuing of his Queen  
And her young daughter. Who, when Caradoc espied,  
Armed with a strength invincible, he fought  
In single opposition 'gainst an host:  
Which famous battle, because histories,  
Above the rest, to his immortal fame,  
Have quoted forth, willing to give it life  
And everlasting motion, with the rest  
Shall be in lively Scenes by him expressed. Alarum.   

ACTVS 4. SCENA 5.  Enter Caradoc in haste, Guinevere, her daughter, and Morgan. Morg. 
Cads blue-hood, Cousin, take her to her heels: was never in such tanshers. Will her not stir? why look you now, the Romans come upon her with as many men, as Mercers keep Wenshes; or Wenshes decayed shentlemen. Hark you: I'll call her Cousin Mauron, and our Cousin Constantine, and come to her presently.  Cara. 
Damned Cornwall, mayst thou sink to hell for this,  
Wracked by the Furies on Ixion's wheel,  
And whipped with steel for this accursed treason. Alarum.  Enter the Romans with their Soldiers. Ostor. 
Yield thee, proud Welshman, or we'll force thee yield.  Cara. 
Art thou a Roman, and canst speak that language,  
The mother tongue of fugitives and slaves?  
No, Romans: spare these two; and if I fly,  
The Roman host shall bear me company.  They fight, sometimes Caradoc rescueth his Wife, sometimes his daughter, and killeth many of the Romans, & at last, they beat him in, and take his Wife and Daughter. Ostorius. 
Come, Lady, you must go along with vs.  Guin. 
Even where you will, if Caradoc survive,  
My dying soul and joys are yet alive. Exeunt.  Enter Caradoc disguised in a Soldiers habit. Cara. 
Fashion thyself, thou great and glorious light,  
To my disguise, and mask thy sub till sight,  
That peeps through every cranny of the world;  
Put on thy nightgown of black foggy clouds,  
And hide thy searching eye from my disgrace.  
Oh Cornwall, Cornwall, this thy treacherous act,  
That hath eclipsed the glory of great Wales,  
Shall to succeeding ages tell thy shame,  
And honour sound, to hear of cornewal's name.  
The gods with forked thunder strike thy wrong,  
And men in shameful Ballads sing thy fact,  
That basely thus hast recompensed thy King.  
But curses are like arrows shot upright.  
That often times on our own heads do light:  
And many times ourselves in rage prove worst.  
The Fox ne'er better thrives, but when accursed.  
This is a time for policy to move,  
And lackey with discretion, and not rage.  
My thoughts must now be suited to my shoot;  
And common patience must attend the helm,  
And steer my reason to the Cape of hope.  
At York the noble Prince Venusius dwells,  
That bears no small affection to ourself,  
To him I'll write a letter, whose contents  
Shall certify th'affairs concern myself,  
Which I myself in this disguise will bear,  
And sound the depth of his affection,  
Which if but like a friend, he lend his hand,  
I'll chase the Romans from this famous land. Exit.   

ACTVS 4. SCENA 6.  Enter Galled in a shepherds habit, and Bluso the Magician. Galled. 
Dear Bluso, thus far have my weary steps,  
Through passages, as craggy as the Alps,  
Silent and unknown ways, as intricate,  
As are the windings of a Labyrinth,  
Searched out the uncouth Cell of thy abode.  
The Roman host have seized my beauteous wife,  
And with the rude and ruggy hand of force,  
As Paris kept bright Helen from the greeks,  
Denying ransom, more like Cannibals  
Then honourable Romans, keep her still.  
And never more shall Galled enjoy the sight  
Of his soul's flourishing object, till thy skill,  
Exceeding human possibilities,  
Work her enlargement, and my happiness.  Bluso. 
Fair Prince, I were ingrateful unto him,  
That next to heaven, preserved, and gave me life:  
And more, by solemn oath I am obliged,  
In forfeit of my soul, and hope of bliss,  
To use the skill I have, to virtuous ends;  
Amongst the which, this is the capital.  
Then doubt not, Prince, but ere this night be spent,  
She shall be free, and you shall rest content.  Galled. 
Thanks, learned Bluso, this thy courtesy  
Hath bound Prince Galled, in endless bonds of love,  
To thee, and to thy art. Now stretch thy spells,  
And make the winds obey thy fearful Charms.  
Strike all the Romans with amazing terror  
At our approaches: let them know,  
That hell's broke loose, and Furies rage's below.   

ACTVS 4. SCENA 7.  Enter Venusius, Duke of York, with other attendants, and his wife Cartamanda. Venu. 
I long have missed those honourable wars,  
Which warlike Rome against the Britain's hold:  
But since we hear, and that by true report,  
And credible intelligence from many,  
Who lately have returned from the Camp,  
That Wales and Rome begin fresh bleeding war,  
I do intend with speed to see the Army,  
And pay my love, as tribute unto Rome.  
But yet I grieve, that such intestine jar  
Is fallen betwixt such an heroic Prince,  
As is the King of Wales, and powerful Rome.  
The Romans do in multitudes exceed,  
He, well instructed in true fortitude,  
A Graduate in Martial discipline,  
And needs no Tutor: for in pupil age  
He was brought up in honours rudiments,  
And learned the elements of warlike Arts.  
Then much I muse, why Cesar should begin,  
That scarce hath ended with the British wars;  
Or who's the Author of these firebrands  
Dissension thus hath kindled.  Cart. 
It may be, noble husband, the desire  
Of Principality and Kingly rule,  
As yet is boundless and uncircumscribde:  
But if our reason's eye could see ourselves,  
That's nearest to us, and not like prospectives,  
Behold afar off, great men were themselves:  
Or, if like Philip King of Macedon,  
Whose boundless mind of sovereign Majesty  
Was like a Globe, whose body circular  
Admits no end, seeing by chance, the length  
Of the impression, which his body made  
Upon the sands, and only by a fall,  
Wondered, that such a little space contained  
The body, when the mind was infinite,  
And in this Moral plainly did foresee  
The longitude of man's mortality.  
But soft, what Souldiour's this?  Enter Caradoc disguised. Cara. 
an't please you, Madam, from the King of Wales,  
I bring this letter to Venusius,  
Your Royal husband.  Venu. 
Come, soldier, prithee let me see:  
I long to hear from noble Caradoc. He reads it.  Carta. 
Say, soldier, camest thou from Wales?  
What news betwixt the Welshmen and the Romans?  Cara. 
Madam, a glorious victory to Rome,  
The Town of Gloster vildly being betrayed  
By cornewal's complots and conspiracies,  
Even in the dead of night: and to augment  
His Treasons to the height of his desert,  
Even in the absence of his Lord and King,  
Whilst Caradoc, at his return, in rage,  
Though single, and environed round with foes,  
Fought like a Lybian Lion: But to conclude,  
Not Hercules against a multitude.  
And thus at odds was forced to flee the place.  Venu. 
Soldier, come hither, where is Caradoc?  Cara. 
In Wales, my Lord, and stays for your reply.  Venu. 
Soldier, I wish, if wishes could prevail,  
Thy princely Master were with us awhile,  
Till all these clouds of black contention  
Were either overblown, or else dissolved.  
Fame hath not left a man, more fit for talk  
Or disputation in bright honours schools,  
Then is thy noble Master. When I behold  
His noble portraiture but in conceit,  
Me thinks, I see the real thing itself  
Of perfit Honour and Nobility,  
And not fantastically apprehend  
Only the airy fictions of the brain.  
I now repent, that thus long I have spent  
My honour and my time, in aiding Rome,  
And thus far have digressed from Nature's laws,  
To aid a foreign Nation 'gainst mine own.  
Were but thy Master here, he soon should see,  
He hath his wish, and Wales her liberty.  Caradoc puts off his disguise. Cara. 
Then know, kind Prince, that thus I have presumed,  
To put thy honoured love unto the test,  
In this disguise, and with auricular boldness  
Have heard your tale of professed amity.  
And noble friend, than here stands Caradoc,  
Who now is come petitioner to thy aid,  
Betrayed unto the Romans by a villain.  
And whilst by dint of sword I fearless passed,  
Thorough the Legions of the puissant host.  
My Queen and daughter they have prisoners ta'en,  
Whose memory quickens my dangers past,  
And adds new fuel to my bleeding soul.  
Then, if thou be'st not verbal, but thy tongue  
Is with a single string strung to thy heart,  
All Wales shall honour thee and thy desert.  Venu. 
Brave Prince, as welcome to Venusius,  
As sleep to wearied Nature. But now the time  
Fits not for frivolous compliments. Awhile  
Repose yourself with me, where you shall be  
As secret, as men would keep their sins  
From the world's eye, whilst in the mean time, I  
Prepare my forces. Wife, view this noble Prince:  
This is that man, that, in despite of Rome,  
This nine years space hath bravely waged war,  
And now by Treason's forced unto his friends.  
Then, wife, as thou dost tender our regard,  
Respect this Prince, and keep him privately,  
Until I do return. Farewell, noble Prince. Exit.  Carta. 
Welcome, great Prince. Here think yourself secure,  
As in a Sanctuary, from your foes.  
My husband oftentimes hath worn out time,  
Discoursing of your worths superlative:  
And I am proud of such a worthy guest.  Cara. 
Lady, I shall be troublesome: but ere long,  
I hope once more to meet this traitorous host,  
And seal my wrongs with ruin of my foes.  
Fame wrongs the Romans with these noble styles  
Of honour, and unseconded deserts.  
These attributes are only fit for men,  
That Godlike should be qualified with hate  
Of such infectious sins as Treasons are.  
Weake-pated Romans! what fidelity  
Can be in Traitors, who are so unjust,  
That their own Country is deceived in trust?  
Come, Madam, will you show the way? Exeunt.    

ACTVS 5.  

SCENA 1.  Enter Bluso the Magician, and Galled. Galled. 
Now, Bluso, thus far have we by thy Art,  
Even to their private lodgings, fearless past  
Invisible to any mortal eye.  
But, Bluso, tell me, are we yet arrived  
At our expected Haven?  Bluso. 
This is her Chamber: here will we stand unseen,  
And yet see all that pass.  
'tis almost dead of night: and now begins  
Sleep, with her heavy rod to charm the eyes  
Of human dullness. Here stand we yet awhile,  
And in this silent time observe the love,  
The Roman General's son bears to your wife,  
Who long hath borne the siege of his hot lust:  
And now behold, like bloody Tarquin comes,  Enter Marcus Gallicus, with a candle in his hand, and his sword drawn. 
Being nonsuited, to satisfy the heat  
Of his insatiate and immoderate blood,  
That boiling runs through his adulterous veins.  
A little while give way unto his practice,  
And when we see a time, prevent his purpose.  Mar. 
Night, that doth basely keep the door of sin,  
And hide gross murders and adulteries,  
With all the mortal sins the world commits,  
From the clear eyesight of the morning Sun:  
Thou, that ne'er changest colour for a sin,  
Worse than Apostasy, stand sentinel this hour,  
And with thy Negro's face veil my intent,  
Put out thy golden candles with thy fogs,  
And let original darkness, that is fled  
With Chaos to the Centre, guard my steps.  
How hushed is all things! and the world appears  
Like to a Churchyard full of dead.  
Death's picture, Sleep, looks, as if passing bells  
Went for each vital spirit, and appears,  
As if our souls had took their general flight,  
And cheated Nature of her motion.  
Then on, unto thy practice: none can descry  
Thy black intent, but night and her black eye.  He goes to her bed upon the Stage, and looks upon her. 
Behold the local residence of love,  
Even in the Rosy tincture of her cheek.  
I am all fire, and must needs be quenched,  
Or the whole house of nature will be burnt.  
Fair Voada, awake: 'tis I, awake. He awakes her.  Voad. 
Am I adreamd? Or, do I wake indeed?  
I am betrayed. Fond Lord, what make you here  
At this unseasonable time of night?  
Is't not enough that you importune  
Each hour in the day? but in the night,  
When every creature nods his sleepy head,  
You seek the shipwreck of my spotless honour?  
For shame forbear, and clear a Romans name,  
From the suspicion of so foul a sin.  
Perhaps you'll say, that you are flesh and blood.  
Oh my good Lord, were you but only so:  
It were no sin, but natural instinct:  
And then that noble name that we call man,  
Should undistinguished pass, even like a beast.  
But man was made divine, with such a face,  
As might behold the beauty of the stars,  
And all the glorious workmanship of heaven.  
Beasts only are the subjects of bare sense:  
But man hath reason and intelligence.  
Beast's fowls die with them: but man's soul's divine:  
And therefore needs must answer for each crime.  Marcus. 
Thy speeches are like oil unto a flame.  
I must enjoy thee. If thou wilt yield to me,  
I'll be thy friend for ever: but if denied,  
By force I will attempt, what by fair means  
I cannot compass. Besides, thou art my captive,  
And stand'st a suitor for thy liberty.  Voada. 
ay, for my body: but my soul is free.  Galled. 
I can no longer hear these arguments.  
Come, Bluso, help me to convey her hence.  They tumble Marcus over the bed, and take her away. Mar. 
What Fury hath deprived me of my joy,  
And crossed my blood, even in the heat of lust?  
What, is she gone? Oh all you sacred powers,  
Remit this sin, unacted, but by thought:  
And by those heavenly patrons of chaste minds,  
Virtue, like to my soul, shall wholly be  
Diffused through every member. Thus powers above  
do, with unknown means, scourge unlawful love. Exit.  Enter Cartamanda with her Secretary. Carta. 
Already I have posted to the General,  
To tell him, Caradoc is in our hands,  
And bid him make haste: for this, ere the day,  
A woman's wit shall serve for to betray.  
And see, he comes. Welcome, thrice-honoured Lord.  Enter General with his Army. 
Warily, Soldiers; there his Chamber is,  
And he not yet a-bed. Beset him round.  
What wars have missed, a woman shall confound. Exit.  The General draws the Curtains, and finds Caradoc a reading. Ostorius. 
Now Caradoc, thy life is in our hands:  
Behold, thou art in girt with a whole host.  
And couldst thou borrow force of beasts and men,  
Thou couldst by no means scape.  Cara. 
What! Soldiers in every corner set?  
The Roman General. I am betrayed.  
Inhospitable woman, this with your sex began:  
The Serpent taught you to betray poor man.  
When God, like Angels, man created first,  
God man him blest, but woman most accursed.  
And since that time, the chiefest good in women▪  
Is to beguile most men, and true to few men.  
Yet Romans, know, that Caradoc here stands,  
In bold defiance, were you like the sands.  Ostor. 
Assault him then.  They fight, and Caradoc beats and overthrown many of them. Ostor. 
Hold, noble Welshman.  
Thou seest it is impossible to scape,  
Hadst thou the strength of mighty Hercules.  
If thou wilt yield, I vow by all the gods  
That do protect Cesar and mighty Rome,  
By all the honours that the Roman power  
Have won, since Romulus did build their walls,  
Because thou art a man unparaleld,  
Of honourable courage, I'll engage  
My life for thine to Cesar for thy freedom.  
Cesar himself admires thy fortitude,  
And will with honour welcome thee at Rome.  
He is a King, whom baseness never touched,  
And scorns to pluck a Lion by the beard,  
Being a carcase. Speak, will you trust our oath?  Caradoc flings down his Arms. Cara. 
I take thy word, great General.  
And think not, for any fear of death,  
I prostitute my life to Caesar's hands:  
But for I know, Cesar is like a King,  
And cannot brook a base mechanic thought:  
But for to see those famous towers of Rome,  
This golden Lion shall enlarge me soon.  Ostor. 
Then, Manlius Valens, you shall bear him thither;  
And for your guard, take the ninth Legion,  
Surnamed, The valiant: and by the way,  
At London stays his daughter, wife and brother:  
Let them to Cesar bear him company. Exit Caradoc.  
Farewell, brave Prince. Now Romans once again,  
Seing the Welshman's glory is eclipsed,  
Let us provide to meet Lord Morgan,  
And Lord Constantine,  
Venusius, and the rest that gather head,  
And seat Prince Codigune in what's his right,  
That now have gathered strong and fresh supply.  
This battle shall add honour to our name,  
And with triumphant Laurel crown our fame. Exeunt.   

ACTVS 5. SCENA 3.  Enter Venusius, Constantine, and Lord Morgan, with Soldiers in Arms. Venu. 
Thus, noble Lords, Venusius armed comes,  
In love to Wales, and that much wronged Prince,  
Who now at York, lives private from his foes,  
From whence we now will call him, and awake  
His ancient courage, that long time hath slept,  
Upon the downy pillows of repose.  
Good Angels, guide us: this our latest strife  
Shall set a period to our death or life.  Const. 
Me thinks, right noble Lord, yet I presage  
The horror of this battle we intent,  
Will cost a mass of blood; nor do I stand  
Firmly resolved: and the least spark of valour  
Turns to a Flame of Magnanimity.  
Oh, were my brother Caradoc but here,  
Our minds were made invincible, all our thoughts  
Were fixed on warlike Music, or any thing  
Beyond a common venture. And see, in time  
Our princely brother, and our sister comes.  Enter Galled, Bluso, and Voada. 
Welcome, dear brother, how escaped you danger,  
And purchased such a happy liberty?  Galled. 
All that I have, I freely do ascribe  
Unto this learned man, whose secret Art,  
Beyond the strain of deep Philosophy,  
Or any natural science under heaven,  
Possessed me of this jewel of my soul,  
And through the Roman host invisible,  
Conveyed us both safe, as you see we are.  Morgan. 
Hark you me, you remember our Cousin Caradoc and Morgan, do you not? Give me your hands. Be God, I shall love the Tevill, till breath's in her body, for this trick. Be God, he hath done more good than any justice of Peace this seven years, for all her stocks and whipping posts. Hark you me now.  Const. 
Hark, hark, the Romans march to us with speed▪  
Now Royal Princes, think on our wild disgrace,  
Their Treasons, falsehoods, and conspiracies;  
And double resolution whet your rage.  
Oh Caradoc, there's nothing wants but thee,  
And now too late to buckle on thy Arms.  
If in this bloody skirmish I survive,  
Triumphs shall crown the glorious brow of Wales.  
Bastard, begot at the back door of nature,  
Cornwall the author of these bleeding wounds,  
That many a wretch shall suffer for their wrongs.  
Behold, we come armed with a triple rage,  
To scourge your base indignities with steel.  
Noble Prince Galled, here in our brother's stead,  
Conduct our Army forth as General.  
Romans, come on, your pride must catch a fall.   

ACTVS 5. SCENA 4.  Enter Ostorius, Marcus Gallicus, Cessius, Codigune, Cornwall with Soldiers. Ostor. 
Now Britain's, though the wrongs done to this Prince.  
And to ourselves, deserve a sharp revenge;  
Yet, for we pity the effusion  
And havoc that these cruel broils intent,  
Once more in peace we crave this Princes right,  
Which your weak Army can no way detain.  
Perhaps you stand upon the idle hopes  
Of Caradoc: Know then, you are deceived:  
For he's our prisoner, and to Rome is sent  
With Manlius Valens to the Emperor.  
Then yield yourselves, or try the chance of war.  Galled. 
Then so we will, base Romans.  
Henceforth, in stead of honourable names,  
Succeeding times shall brand your slavish thoughts,  
With the black coals of treasons and defame.  
Princes, since now you know the worst of all,  
Let vengeance teach your valiant minds to mount  
Above a common pitch, inspire your souls  
With the remorseless thoughts of blood and death;  
And this day spit defiance in the face  
Of treacherous Rome, and think on this disgrace.  Codig. 
Stay, Prince, and let me speak.  Galled. 
Some Cannon shot ram up thy damned throat.  
Peace, hellhound, for thou singest a ravens note. Alarum.  They fight, and beat in the Romans. Enter at one door Galled, and at the other Codigune. Galled. 
Well met, thou Fiend of hell: by heaven I'll die,  
Or be revenged for all thy treachery.  Codig. 
Weak Prince, first keep a diet for a time,  
To add fresh vigour to thy feeble limbs,  
And then, perhaps, we'll teach thee how to fight.  Galled. 
Villain, the heavens have strength enough against Treason.  They fight. Galled killeth Codigune. Enter Cornwall at one door, and Morgan at the other. Morg. 
God pless her. Cornewals, be God, you are as arrant a Knave, as any Proker in Longlanes. Hark you me, I'll fight with her for all her treasons and conjurations.  They fight, and Morgan killeth Cornwall. Morg. 
Fare you well, Cousin Cornwall, I pray you commend us to Pluto's and Proserpina's, and tell all the Tevils of your affinity and acquaintance, I thank them for our Cousin Galled.  Enter at one door the Roman Standard-bearer of the Eagle, and at the other door, Constantine. Const. 
Lay down that haggard Eagle, and submit  
Thy Roman Colours to the Britain's hands:  
Or by that mighty Mover of the Orb,  
That scourges Rome's Ambition with revenge,  
I'll pluck her haughty feathers from her back,  
And with her, bury thee in endless night.  Standerdb. 
Know, Britain's, threats unto a Roman breast,  
Swell us with greater force, like fire suppressed▪  
If thou wilt have her, win her with thy Arms.  They fight, and Constantine winneth the Eagle, & waveth it about. Const. 
Thus, not in honour, but in foul disgrace,  
We wave the Roman Eagle spite of foes,  
Or all the puissant Army of proud Rome.  Enter Marcus Gallicus. Marc. 
Proud Welshman, redeliver up that Bird,  
Whose silver wings thou flutterest in the air;  
The varvels that she wears, belong to Rome,  
And Rome shall have, or I'll pawn my blood.  Const. 
Roman, behold, even in disgrace of this and thee,  
And all the factious rout of treacherous Rome,  
I'll keep this Eagle; win it if thou darest.  They fight, and are both slain. Enter Galled, Voada, Venusius, Morgan. Galled. 
Sound a Retreat. This day was bravely fought.  
Cornwall and Codigune, whose infectious breath  
Engendered noisome plagues of blood and death,  
With all the Roman host is put to flight.  
Thus by the hand of heaven, our peace is won,  
And all our foes sunk to confusion.   

ACTVS 5. SCENA 5.  Enter first the Praetorian bands armed; they stand in rows: then enter Mauron, Guinevere, her daughter Helena, and Caradoc bound: they pass over the Stage. Then enter Cesar, the Empress, with the Senate. Cesar. 
Now famous Rome, that lately lay obscured  
In the dark clouds of British infamy,  
Appears victorious in her conquering Robes,  
And like the Sun, that in the midst of heaven  
Reflects more glory on the teeming earth:  
So fares it with triumphant Rome this day.  
Bring forth these British Captives: Let them kneel  
For mercy, and submit to Caesar's doom.  Enter Mauron, Guinevere, her daughter, and Caradoc: They all bend their knees to Cesar▪ except Caradoc. Cesar. 
What's he that scorns to bow, when Cesar bids?  Cara. 
Cesar, a man, that scorns to bow to jove,  
Were he a man like Cesar: such a man,  
That neither cares for life, nor fears to die.  
I was not borne to kneel, but to the Gods,  
Nor basely bow unto a lump of clay▪  
In adoration of a clod of earth.  
Were Cesar Lord of all the spacious world,  
Even from the Arctic, to the Antarctic poles,  
And but a man; in spite of death and him,  
I'd keep my legs upright, honour should stand  
Fixed as the Centre, at no Kings command.  
Thou mayest as well enforce the foaming surge  
Of high-swollen Neptune, with a word retire,  
And leave his flowing tide, as make me bow.  
Thinks Cesar, that this petty misery  
Of servile bonds, can make true honour stoop?  
No, 'tis enough for sycophants and slaves,  
To crouch to Tyrants, that fear their graves.  
I was not borne when flattery begged land,  
And eat whole Lordships up with making legs.  
Let it suffice: were Cesar thrice as great,  
I'd neither bow to Rome, him nor his seat.  Cesar. 
So brave a Britain hath not Cesar heard.  
But soft; I am deceived, but I behold  
The golden Lion hang about his neck,  
That I delivered to a valiant Soldier,  
That ransomless released me of my bonds.  
Great spirit (for thy tongue bewrays no less)  
If Cesar may entreat thee, kindly tell,  
Where, or from whom hadst thou that golden lion,  
That hangs about thy neck?  Car. 
From Cesar, or from such another man,  
That seemed no less in power then Cesar is,  
Whom I took captive, (and so Cesar was)  
And ransomless sent back unto his Tents.  
Then, if in all he like to Cesar be,  
Cesar, I am deceived, but thou art he.  Ce. 
But he that took me, was a common soldier.  Car. 
No, Cesar: but disguised I left my troops,  
Being forbidden by the British King,  
To fight at all, and rushed into the host,  
Where, from thy hands I took this golden lion.  Ces. 
Thy words confirm the truth. For this brave deed,  
And kind courtesy showed to Cesar in extremes,  
We freely give you all your liberties,  
And honourably will return you home  
With everlasting peace and unity.  
And this shall Cesar speak unto thy Fame,  
The valiant Welshman merits honours name.  Flourish. Exeunt. Enter Bardh. Bardh. 
Time cuts off our valiant Welshmans worth,  
When longer Scenes more amply might have shown▪  
But that the Story's tedious to rehearse,  
And we in danger of impatient ears,  
Which too long repetition might beget.  
Here leave we him with Cesar full of mirth:  
And now of you old Bardh entreats to tell,  
In good or ill, our Story doth excel.  
If ill, then go I to my silent Tomb,  
And in my shroud sleep in the quiet earth,  
That did intend to give a second birth.  
But if it please, than Bardh shall tune his strain,  
To sing this Welshmans praises once again▪  
Bells are the dead man's music: ere I go,  
Your Clappers sound will tell me I, or no. Exit.    

EPILOGUE.  
We are your Tenants, and are come to know,  
Whether the Rent we paid, hath pleased or no.  
If not, our Lease is void: but 'tis your Lands;  
And therefore you may seal it with your hands.  
FINIS.