THE tragedy OF BONDUCA  

Actus primus.  

Scaena prima.  Enter Bonduca, Daughters, Hengo, Nennius, Soldiers. Bon. 
THe hardy Romans? O ye gods of Britain,  
the rust of Arms, the blushing shame of soldiers;  
are these the men that conquer by inheritance?  
the Fortune-makers? these the Julians,  Enter Caratach. 
that with the Sun measure the end of Nature,  
making the world but one Rome and one Caesar?  
Shame, how they flee! Caesar's soft soul dwells in 'em;  
their mothers got 'em sleeping, pleasure nursed 'em,  
their bodies sweat with sweet oils, loves allurements,  
not lusty Arms. Dare they send these to seek us,  
these Roman Girls? Is Britain grown so wanton?  
Twice we have beat 'em, Nennius, scattered 'em,  
and through their big-boned Germans, on whose Pikes  
the honour of their actions sit in triumph,  
made Themes for songs to shame 'em, and a woman,  
a woman beat'em, Nennius; a weak woman,  
a woman beat these Romans.  Car. 
So it seems.  
A man would shame to talk so.  Bon. 
Who's that?  Car. 
I.  Bon. 
Cousin, do you grieve my fortunes?  Car. 
No, Bonduca,  
if I grieve, 't is the bearing of your fortunes;  
you put too much wind to your sail: Discretion  
and hardy Valour are the twins of Honour,  
and nursed together, make a Conqueror:  
divided, but a talker. 'T is a truth,  
that Rome has fled before us twice, and routed;  
a truth we ought to crown the gods for, Lady,  
and not our tongues. A truth is none of ours,  
nor in our ends, more than the noble bearing:  
for then it leaves to be a virtue, Lady;  
and we that have been Victors, beat ourselves,  
when we insult upon our honours subject.  Bon. 
My valiant Cousin, is it foul to say  
what liberty and honour bid us do,  
and what the gods allow us?  Car. 
No, Bonduca,  
so what we say, exceed not what we do.  
Ye call the Romans fearful, fleeing Romans,  
and Roman Girls, the lees of tainted pleasures:  
does this become a doer? are they such?  Bon. 
They are no more.  Car. 
Where is your Conquest then?  
why are your Altars crowned with wreathes of flowers,  
the beasts with gilt horns waiting for the fire?  
the holy Druids composing songs  
of everlasting life to Victory?  
Why are these triumphs, Lady? for a May-game?  
for hunting a poor herd of wretched Romans?  
is it no more? shut up your Temples, Britain's,  
and let the Husbandman redeem his heifers;  
put out our holy fires; no Timbrel ring;  
let's home, and sleep; for such great overthrows,  
a Candle burns too bright a sacrifice,  
a glow-worm's tail too full a flame. O Nennius,  
thou hadst a noble Uncle knew a Roman,  
and how to speak him, how to give him weight  
in both his fortunes.  Bon. 
By— I think  
ye  upon these Romans, Caratach.  Car. 
Witness these wounds, I do; they were fairly given.  
I love an enemy: I was born a soldier;  
and he that in the head on 's Troop defies me,  
bending my manly body with his sword,  
I make a Mistress. Yellow-tressed Hymen  
ne'er tied a longing Virgin with more joy,  
than I am married to that man that wounds me:  
and are not all these Roman? Ten struck Battles  
I sucked these honoured scars from, and all Roman:  
ten years of bitter nights and heavy marches,  
when many a frozen storm sung thorough my cuirass,  
and made it doubtful whether that or I  
were the more stubborn metal, have I wrought thorough,  
and all to try these Romans. Ten times a night  
I have swom the Rivers, when the stars of Rome  
shot at me as I floated, and the billows  
tumbled their watery ruins on my shoulders,  
charging my battered sides with troops of Agues;  
and still to try these Romans, whom I found  
(and if I lie, my wounds be henceforth backward,  
and be you witness, gods, and all my dangers)  
as ready, and as full of that I brought  
(which was not fear nor flight) as valiant,  
as vigilant, as wise, to do and suffer,  
ever advanced as forward as the Britain's,  
their sleeps as short, their hopes as high as ours,  
ay, and as subtle, Lady. 'T is dishonour,  
and, followed, will be impudence, Bonduca,  
and grow to no belief, to taint these Romance.  
Have not I seen the Britain's—  Bond. 
What?  Car. 
Dishearted,  
run, run, Bonduca, not the quick rack swifter;  
the virgin from the hated ravisher  
not half so fearful? not a flight drawn home,  
a round stone from a Sling, a lover's wish  
ere made that haste that they have. By—  
I have seen these Britain's, that you magnify,  
run as they would have outrun time, and roaring  
basely for mercy, roaring: the light shadows  
that in a thought scur o'er the fields of Corn,  
halted on crutches to 'em.  Bon. 
O ye Powers,  
what scandals do I suffer?  Car. 
Yes, Bonduca,  
I have seen thee run too, and thee, Nennius;  
yea, run apace, both; then when Penyus  
the Roman Girl cut thorough your armed Carts,  
and drive 'em headlong on ye down the hill;  
then when he hunted ye, like Britain-Foxes,  
more by the scent then sight: then did I see  
these valiant and approved men of Britain,  
like boding Owls, creep into tods of Ivy,  
and hoot their fears to one another nightly.  Nen. 
And what did you then, Caratach?  Car. 
I fled too,  
but not so fast; your Jewel had been lost then,  
young Hengo there; he trashed me, Nennius:  
for when your fears outrun him, then stepped I,  
and in the head of all the Roman fury  
took him, and with my tough Belt to my back  
I buckled him; behind him, my sure Shield;  
and than I followed. If I say I fought  
five times in bringing off this bud of Britain,  
I lie not, Nennius. Neither had ye heard  
me speak this, or ever seen the child more,  
but that the son of virtue, Penyus,  
seeing me steer thorough all these storms of danger,  
my helm still in my hand, my sword my prow,  
turned to my so my face, he cried out nobly,  
Go, Britain, bear thy lion's whelp off safely;  
thy manly sword has ransomed thee: grow strong,  
and let me meet thee once again in arms;  
then if thou stand'st, thou art mine. I took his offer,  
and here I am to honour him.  Bon. 
O Cousin,  
from what a flight of honour hast thou checked me?  
what wouldst thou make me, Caratach?  Car. 
See, Lady,  
the noble use of others in our losses;  
does this afflict ye? Had the Romans cried this,  
and as we have done theirs, sung out these fortunes,  
railed on our base condition, hooted at us,  
made marks as far as the earth was ours, to show us  
nothing but sea could stop our flights; despised us,  
and held it equal whether banqueting  
or beating of the Britain's were more business,  
it would have galled ye.  Bon. 
Let me think we conquered.  Car. 
Do; but so think, as we may be conquered:  
and where we have found virtue, though in those  
that came to make us slaves, let's cherish it.  
There's not a blow we gave since Julius landed,  
that was of strength and worth, but like Records  
they file to after-ages. Our Registers,  
the Romans, are for noble deeds of honour;  
and shall we burn their mentions with upbraidings?  Bon. 
No more, I see myself: thou hast made me, Cousin,  
more than my fortunes durst; for they abused me,  
and wound me up so high, I swelled with glory:  
thy temperance has cured that Tympany,  
and given me health again, nay, more discretion.  
Shall we have peace? for now I love these Romans.  Car. 
Thy love and hate are both unwise ones, Lady.  Bon. 
Your reason?  Nen. 
Is not Peace the end of Arms?  Car. 
Not where the cause implies a general Conquest:  
had we a difference with some petty Isle,  
or with our neighbours (Lady) for our Landmarks,  
the taking in of some rebellious Lord,  
or making a head against Commotions,  
after a day of Blood, Peace might be argued:  
But where we grapple for the ground we live on,  
the Liberty we hold as dear as life,  
the gods we worship, and next those, our Honours,  
and with those swords that know no end of Battle:  
those men beside themselves allow no neighbour;  
those minds that where the day is claim inheritance,  
and where the sun makes ripe the fruits, their harvest,  
and where they march, but measure out more ground  
to add to Rome, and here i'th' bowels on us;  
it must not be; no, as they are our foes,  
and those that must be so until we tire 'em,  
let 's use the peace of Honour, that 's fair dealing,  
but in our ends, our swords. That hardy Roman  
that hopes to graft himself into my stock,  
must first begin his kindred under ground,  
and be allied in ashes.  Bon. 
Caratach,  
as thou hast nobly spoken, shall be done;  
and Hengo to thy charge I here deliver:  
the Romans shall have worthy Wars.  Car. 
They shall.  
And, little Sir, when your young bones grow stiffer,  
and when I see ye able in a morning  
to beat a dozen boys, and then to breakfast,  
I'll tie ye to a sword.  Heng. 
And what then, Uncle?  Car. 
Then ye must kill, Sir, the next valiant Roman  
that calls ye knave.  Hengo. 
And must I kill but one?  Car. 
An hundred, boy, I hope.  Hengo. 
I hope five hundred.  Car. 
That 's a noble boy. Come, worthy Lady,  
let's to our several charges, and henceforth  
allow an enemy both weight and worth. Exeunt.   

Scaena Secunda.  Enter Junius and Petillius, two Roman Captains. Petill. 
What ailst thou, man? dost thou want meat?  Jun. 
No.  Petill. 
Clothes?  Jun. 
Neither. For heaven's love, leave me.  Petill. 
Drink?  Jun. 
Ye tire me.  Petill. 
Come, 't is drink; I know 't is drink.  Jun. 
'T is no drink.  Petill. 
I say 't is drink: for what affliction  
can light so heavy on a Soldier,  
to dry him up as thou art, but no drink?  
Thou shalt have drink.  Jun. 
Prithee, Petillius—  Petill. 
And by mine honour, much drink, valiant drink:  
never tell me, thou shalt have drink. I see,  
like a true friend, into thy wants: 'tis drink;  
and when I leave thee to a desolation,  
especially of that dry nature, hang me.  Jun. 
Why do you do this to me?  Petill. 
For I see,  
although your modesty would fain conceal it,  
which sits as sweetly on a Soldier,  
as an old side-saddle.  Jun. 
What do you see?  Petill. 
I see as far as day, that thou want'st drink.  
Did I not find thee gaping like an Oyster  
for a new tide? thy very thoughts lie bare  
like a low ebb? thy soul that rid in Sack,  
lies moored for want of liquour? Do but see  
into thyself; for by— I do:  
for all thy body 's chapped, and cracked like timber  
for want of moisture: what thou want'st there, Junius,  
and if it be not drink.  Jun. 
You have too much on 't.  Petill. 
It may be a whore too; say it be: come, meecher,  
thou shalt have both: a pretty valiant fellow,  
die for a little lap and lechery?  
no, it shall ne'er be said in our Country,  
thou didst o'th' Chincough. Hear, thou noble Roman,  
the son of her that loves a Soldier,  
hear what I promised for thee; thus I said,  
Lady, I take thy son to my companion,  
Lady, I love thy son, thy son loves war,  
the war loves danger, danger drink, drink discipline,  
which is society and lechery;  
these two beget Commanders: fear not, Lady,  
thy son shall lead.  Jun. 
'T is a strange thing, Petillius,  
that so ridiculous and loose a mirth  
can master your affections.  Petill. 
Any mirth,  
and any way, of any subject, Junius,  
is better than unmanly mustiness:  
what harm's in drink, in a good wholesome wench?  
I do beseech ye, Sir, what error? yet  
it cannot out of my head handsomely,  
but thou wouldst fain be drunk: come, no more fooling,  
the General has new wine, new come over.  Jun. 
He must have new acquaintance for it too,  
for I will none, I thank ye.  Pet. 
None, I thank ye?  
a short and touchy answer. None I thank ye:  
ye do not scorn it, do ye?  Jun. 
Gods defend Sir;  
I owe him still more honour.  Pet. 
None, I thank ye:  
no company, no drink, no wench, I thank ye.  
Ye shall be worse entreated, Sir.  Jun. 
Petillius,  
as thou art honest, leave me.  Petill. 
None, I thank ye;  
a modest and a decent resolution,  
and well put on. Yes, I will leave ye, Junius,  
and leave ye to the boys, that very shortly  
shall all salute ye, by your new surname  
of Junius none I thank ye. I would starve now,  
hang, drown, despair, deserve the forks, lie open  
to all the dangerous passes of a wench,  
bound to believe her tears, and wed her aches,  
ere I would own thy follies. I have found ye,  
your lays, and outleaps Junius, haunts, and lodges:  
I have viewed ye, and I have found ye by my skill  
to be a fool o'th' first head, Junius,  
and I will hunt ye: ye are in love, I know it:  
ye are an ass, and all the Camp shall know  
a peevish idle boy; your dame shall know it;  
a wronger of my care; yourself shall know it.  Enter Corporal Judas, and four soldiers. Iud. 
A Bean? a princely diet, a full banquet,  
to what we compass.  1 Sould. 
Fight like hogs for Acorns?  2 Sould. 
Venture our lives for pig-nuts?  Petill. 
What ail these Rascals?  3 Sould. 
If this hold, we are starved.  Iud. 
For my part, friends,  
which is but twenty Beans a day, a hard world  
for Officers, and men of action;  
and those so clipped by master mouse, and rotten:  
for understand 'em French Beans, where the fruits  
are ripened like the people, in old tubs.  
For mine own part, I say, I am starved already,  
not worth another Bean, consumed to nothing,  
nothing but flesh and bones left, miserable:  
now if this musty provender can prick me  
to honourable matters of achievement, Gentlemen,  
why there's the point.  4 Sould. 
I'll fight no more.  Petill. 
You'll hang then,  
a sovereign help for hunger. Ye eating Rascals,  
whose gods are Beef and Brews, whose brave angers  
do execution upon these, and Chibbals:  
ye dogs heads i' th' porridge pot; you fight no more?  
does Rome depend upon your resolution  
for eating mouldy piecrust?  3 Sould. 
Would we had it.  Iud. 
I may do service, Captain.  Petill. 
In a Fishmarket.  
You, Corporal Currycomb, what will your fighting  
profit the Commonwealth? do you hope to triumph,  
or dare your vamping valour, good man Cobbler,  
clap a new sole to th' Kingdom? s'death, ye dog-whelps  
you, fight, or not fight.  Jud. 
Captain.  Petill. 
Out, ye flesh-flies,  
nothing but noise and nastiness.  Jud. 
Give us meat,  
whereby we may do.  Petill. 
Whereby hangs your valour?  Jud. 
Good bits afford good blows.  Petill. 
A good position:  
how long is 't since thou eatest last? wipe thy mouth,  
and then tell truth.  Jud. 
I have not eat to th' purpose—  Petill. 
To th' purpose? what's that? half a Cow, and Garlic?  
ye Rogues, my Company eat Turf, and talk not;  
timber they can digest, and fight upon 't;  
old mats, and mud with spoons, rare meats. Your shoes, slaves,  
dare ye cry out of hunger, and those extant?  
suck your Sword-hilts, ye slaves, if ye be valiant;  
honour will make 'em marchpane: to the purpose?  
a grievous penance. Dost thou see that Gentleman,  
that melancholy Monsieur?  Jun. 
Pray ye, Petillius.  Pet. 
He has not eat these three weeks.  2 Sould. 
'has drunk the more then.  3 Sould. 
And that 's all one.  Petill. 
Nor drunk nor slept these two months.  Jud. 
Captain, We do beseech you as poor Soldiers, men that have seen good days, whose mortal stomachs may sometime feel afflictions.  Jun. 
This, Petillius,  
is not so nobly done.  Petill. 
'T is common profit;  
urge him to th' point, he'll find you out a food  
that needs no teeth nor stomach; a strange formity  
will feed ye up as fat as hens i' th' foreheads,  
and make ye fight like Fichocks, to him.  Jud. 
Captain.  Jun. 
Do you long to have your throats cut?  Petill. 
See what metal  
it makes in him: two meals more of this melancholy,  
and there lies Caratach.  Jud. 
We do beseech ye.  2 Sould. 
Humbly beseech your valour.  Jun. 
Am I only  
become your sport, Petillius?  Jud. 
But to render  
in way of general good, in preservation.  Jun. 
Out of my thoughts, ye slaves.  4 Sould. 
Or rather pity.  3 Sould 
Your warlike remedy against the maw-worms.  Jud. 
Or notable receipt to live by nothing.  Petill. 
Out with your Table-books.  Jun. 
Is this true friendship?  
and must my killing griefs make others May-games?  
Stand from my sword's point, slaves; your poor starved spirits  
can make me no oblations; else, O love,  
thou proudly blind destruction, I would send thee  
whole Hecatombs of hearts, to bleed my sorrows.  Jud. 
Alas, he lives by love, Sir, Exit Junius.  Petill. 
So he does, Sir,  
and cannot you do so too? All my Company  
are now in love, ne'er think of meat, nor talk  
of what Provant is: ay-mees, and hearty hey-hoes,  
are Salads fit for Soldiers. Live by meat,  
by larding up your bodies? 't is lewd, and lazy,  
and shows ye merely mortal, dull, and drives ye  
to fight like Camels, with baskets at your noses.  
Get ye in love; ye can whore well enough,  
that all the world knows: fast ye into Famine,  
yet ye can crawl like Crabs to wenches, handsomely.  
Fall but in love now, as ye see example,  
and follow it but with all your thoughts, probatum,  
there's so much charge saved, and your hungers ended.  
Away, I hear the General: get ye in love all, Drum afar off.  
up to the ears in love, that I may hear  
no more of these rude murmurings; and discreetly  
carry your stomachs, or I prophesy  
'a pickled rope will choke ye. Jog, and talk not. Exeunt.  Enter Swetonius, Demetrius, Decius, Drum, Colours. Swet. 
Demetrius, is the messenger dispatched  
to Penyus, to command him to bring up  
the Volans Regiment?  Dem. 
He 's there by this time.  Swet. 
And are the horse well viewed we brought from Mona?  Dec. 
The Troops are full, and lusty.  Swet. 
Good Petillius,  
look to those eating Rogues, that bawl for victuals,  
and stop their throats a day or two: provision  
waits but the wind to reach us.  Petill. 
Sir, already  
I have been tampering with their stomachs, which I find  
as deaf as Adders to delays: your clemency  
hath made their murmurs, mutinies, nay, rebellions:  
now, and they want but Mustard, they're in uproars:  
no oil but Candy, Lucitanian figs,  
and wine from Lestos, now can satisfy 'em:  
the British waters are grown dull and muddy,  
the fruit disgustful: Orontes must be sought for,  
and Apples from the happy Isles: the truth is,  
they are more curious now in having nothing,  
then if the sea and land turned up their treasures:  
this lost the Colonies, and gave Bonduca  
(with shame we must record it) time and strength  
to look into our Fortunes; great discretion  
to follow offered Victory; and last, full pride  
to brave us to our teeth, and scorn our ruins.  Swet. 
Nay, chide not, good Petillius, I confess  
my will to conquer Mona, and long stay  
to execute that will, let in these losses:  
all shall be right again, and as a pine  
rent from Oeta by a sweeping tempest,  
jointed again, and made a Mast, defies  
those angry winds that split him: so will I,  
pieced to my never-failing strength and fortune,  
steer thorough these swelling dangers, blow their prides up,  
and bear like thunder through their loudest tempests:  
they keep the field still.  Dem. 
Confident and full.  Petill. 
In such a number, one would swear they grew,  
the hills are wooded with their partisans,  
and all the valleys overgrown with darts,  
as moors are with rank rushes: no ground left us  
to charge upon, no room to strike: say fortune  
and our endeavours bring us in to 'em,  
they are so infinite, so ever springing,  
we shall be killed with killing; of desperate women,  
that neither fear, or shame ere found, the devil  
has ranked amongst 'em multitudes: say the men fail,  
they'll poison us with their petticoats: say they fail,  
they have priests enough to pray us into nothing.  Swet. 
These are imaginations, dreams of nothings,  
the man that doubts or fears.  Dec. 
I am free of both.  Dem. 
The selfsame I.  Petill. 
And I as free as any;  
as careless of my flesh, of that we call life,  
so I may lose it nobly; as indifferent  
as if it were my diet. Yet, noble General,  
it was a wisdom learned from you; I learned it,  
and worthy of a soldier's care, most worthy,  
to weigh with most deliberate circumstance  
the ends of accidents, above their offers;  
how to go on and get, to save a Roman,  
whose one life is more worth in way of doing,  
than millions of these painted wasps; how viewing  
to find advantage out; how, found, to follow it  
with counsel and discretion, lest mere fortune  
should claim the victory.  Swet. 
'Tis true, Petillius,  
and worthily remembered: the rule's certain,  
their uses no less excellent: but where time  
cuts off occasions, danger, time and all  
tend to a present peril, 't is required  
our Swords and Manhoods be best counsellors,  
our expeditions, precedents. To win, is nothing,  
where reason, time and counsel are our Camp-masters:  
but there to bear the field, than to be conquerors,  
where pale destruction takes us, takes us beaten,  
in wants, and mutinies, ourselves but handfuls,  
and to ourselves our own fears, needs a new way,  
a sudden and a desperate execution:  
here, how to save, is loss; to be wise, dangerous;  
only a present well-united strength,  
and minds made up for all attempts, dispatch it:  
disputing and delay here, cools the courage;  
necessity gives time for doubts; things infinite,  
according to the spirit they are preached to,  
rewards like them; and names for after-ages,  
must steel the Soldier; his own shame help to arm him;  
and having forced his spirit, ere he cools,  
fling him upon his enemies; sudden and swift,  
like Tigers amongst Foxes, we must fight for 't:  
Fury must be our Fortune; shame we have lost,  
spurs ever in our sides to prick us forward:  
there is no other wisdom nor discretion  
due to this day of ruin, but destruction;  
the soldier's order first, and then his anger.  Dem. 
No doubt they dare redeem all.  Swet. 
Then no doubt  
the day must needs be ours. That the proud woman  
is infinite in number, better likes me,  
than if we dealt with squadrons: half her Army  
shall choke themselves, their own swords dig their graves.  
I'll tell ye all my fears, one single valour,  
the virtues of the valiant Caratach  
more doubts me then all Britain: he's a Soldier  
so forged out, and so tempered for great fortunes,  
so much man thrust into him, so old in dangers,  
so fortunate in all attempts, that his mere name  
fights in a thousand men, himself in millions,  
to make him Roman. But no more. Petillius,  
how stands your charge?  Petill. 
Ready for all employments,  
to be commanded too, Sir.  Swet. 
'T is well governed;  
tomorrow we'll draw out, and view the Cohorts:  
i' th' mean time, all apply their Offices.  
Where's Junius?  Petill. 
In 's ,  
sick o' th' mumps, Sir.  Swet. 
How?  Petill. 
In love, indeed in love, most lamentably loving, to the tune of Queen Dido.  Dec. 
Alas poor Gentleman.  Swet. 
'T will make him fight the nobler. With what Lady?  
I'll be a spokesman for him.  Petill. 
You'll scant speed, Sir.  Swet. 
Who is't?  Petill. 
The devil's dam, Bonduca's daughter,  
her youngest, cracked i' th' ring.  Swet. 
I am sorry for him:  
but sure his own discretion will reclaim him,  
he must deserve our anger else. Good Captains,  
apply yourselves in all the pleasing forms  
ye can, unto the Soldiers; fire their spirits,  
and set 'em fit to run this action;  
mine own provision shall be shared amongst 'em,  
till more come in: tell 'em, if now they conquer,  
the fat of all the kingdom lies before 'em,  
their shames forgot, their honours infinite,  
and want for ever banished. Two days hence,  
our fortunes, and our swords, and gods be for us. Exeunt.    

Actus secundus.  

Scaena Prima.  Enter Penyus, Regulus, Macer, Drusius. Pen. 
I must come?  Ma. 
So the General commands, Sir.  Pen. 
I must bring up my Regiment?  Ma. 
Believe, Sir,  
I bring no lie.  Pen. 
But did he say, I must come?  Ma. 
So delivered.  Pen. 
How long is 't, Regulus, since I commanded  
in Britain here?  Reg. 
About five years, great Penyus.  Pen. 
The General some five months. Are all my actions  
so poor, and lost, my services so barren,  
that I 'em remembered in no nobler language  
but Must come up?  Ma. 
I do beseech ye, Sir,  
weigh but the Time's estate.  Pen. 
Yes, good Lieutenant,  
I do, and his that sways it. Must come up?  
Am I turned bare Centurion? Must, and shall,  
fit embasses to court my honour?  Ma. 
Sir—  Pen. 
Set me to lead a handful of my men  
against an hundred thousand barbarous slaves  
that have marched name by name with Rome's best doers?  
serve 'em up some other meat; I'll bring no food  
to stop the jaws of all those hungry wolfs.  
My Regiment 's mine own. I must, my language.  Enter Curius. Cur. 
Penyus, where lies the host?  Pen. 
Where Fate may find 'em.  Cur. 
Are they ingirt?  Pen. 
The battle's lost.  Cur. 
So soon?  Pen. 
No; but 't is lost, because it must be won:  
the Britain's must be Victors. Who ere saw  
a troop of bloody Vultures hovering  
about a few corrupted carcases,  
let him behold the silly Roman host,  
girded with millions of fierce Britain Swains,  
with deaths as many as they have had hopes;  
and then go thither, he that loves his shame;  
I scorn my life, yet dare not lose my name.  Cur. 
Do not you hold it a most famous end,  
when both our names and lives are sacrificed  
for Rome's increase?  Pen. 
Yes, Curius; but mark this too;  
what glory is there, of what lasting fame  
can be to Rome, or us? what full example,  
when one is smothered with a multitude,  
and crowded in amongst a nameless press?  
Honour got out of flint, and on their heads  
whose virtues, like the Sun, exhaled all valours,  
must not be lost in mists and fogs of people,  
noteless, and out of name, but rude and naked:  
nor can Rome task us with impossibilities,  
or bid us fight against a flood: we serve her,  
that she may proudly say she has good soldiers,  
nor slaves to choke all hazards. Who but fools,  
that make no difference betwixt certain dying,  
and dying well, would fling their fames and fortunes  
into this Britain-gulf, this quicksand-ruin,  
that sinking, swallows us? What noble hand  
can find a subject fit for blood there? or what sword  
room for his execution? What air to cool us,  
but poisoned with their blasting breaths and curses,  
where we lie buried quick above the ground,  
and are with labouring sweat, and breathless pain,  
killed like to slaves, and cannot kill again?  Dru. 
Penyus, mark ancient Wars, and know that then Captains weighed an hundred thousand men.  Pen. 
Drusius, mark ancient wisdom, and you'll find than  
he gave the overthrow that saved his men.  
I must not go.  Reg. 
The soldiers are desirous,  
their Eagles all drawn out, Sir.  Pen. 
Who drew up. Regulus?  
ha? speak: did you? whose bold will durst attempt this?  
drawn out? why, who commands, Sir? on whose warrant  
durst they advance?  Reg. 
I keep mine own obedience.  Dru. 
'T is like the general cause, their love of honour, relieving of their wants.  Pen. 
Without my knowledge?  
am I no more? my place but at their pleasures?  
Come, who did this?  Dru. 
By— Sir, I am ignorant.  Drum softly within: then enter Soldiers with Drum and Colours. Pen. 
What, am I grown a shadow? Hark, they march.  
I will know, and will be myself. Stand, disobedience;  
he that advances one foot higher, dies for 't.  
Run thorough the Regiment upon your duties,  
and charge 'em on command: beat back again,  
by— I'll tith'em all else.  Reg. 
We'll do our best.  Exeunt Drusius and Regulus. Pen. 
Back; cease your bawling Drums there,  
I'll beat the Tubs about your brains else. Back:  
do I speak with less fear than Thunder to ye?  
must I stand to beseech ye? home, home: ha?  
do ye stare upon me? Are those minds I moulded,  
those honest valiant tempers I was proud  
to be a fellow to, those great discretions  
made your names feared and honoured, turned to wild-fires?  
O gods, to disobedience? Command, farewell;  
and be ye witness with me, all things sacred,  
I have no share in these men's shames. March, Soldiers,  
and seek your own sad ruins; your old Penyus  
dares not behold your murders.  Sould. 
Captain.  2 Sould. 
Captain.  3 Sould. 
Dear honoured Captain.  Pen. 
Too too dear loved Soldiers,  
which made ye weary of me: and heaven yet knows,  
though in your mutinies, I dare not hate you;  
Take your own wills; 't is fit your long experience  
should now know how to rule yourselves: I wrong ye,  
in wishing ye to save your lives and credits,  
to keep your necks whole from the Axe hangs o'er ye:  
alas, I much dishonoured ye: go, seek the Britain's,  
and say ye come to glut their Sacrifices;  
but do not say I sent ye. What ye have been,  
how excellent in all parts, good, and governed,  
is only left of my Command, for story;  
what now ye are, for pity. Fare ye well.  Enter Drusius and Regulus. Dru. 
Oh turn again, great Penyus; see the Soldier in all points apt for duty.  Reg. 
See his sorrow  
for his disobedience, which he says was haste,  
and haste (he thought) to please you with. See, Captain,  
the toughness of his courage turned to water;  
see how his manly heart melts.  Pen. 
Go, beat homeward,  
there learn to eat your little with obedience,  
and henceforth strive to do as I direct ye.  Exeunt Soldiers. Ma. 
My answer, Sir.  Pen. 
Tell the great General,  
my Companies are no faggots to fill breaches;  
myself no man that must, or shall, can carry:  
bid him be wise; and where he is, he 's safe then;  
and when he finds out possibilities,  
he may command me. Commend me to the Captains.  Ma. 
All this I shall deliver.  Pen. 
Farewell, Macer. Exit Penyus.  Cur. 
Pray gods this breed no mischief.  Reg. 
It must needs,  
if stout Swetonius win; for then his anger,  
besides the soldier's loss of due, and honour,  
will break together on him.  Dru. 
He's a brave fellow;  
and but a little hide his haughtiness,  
(which is but sometimes neither, on some causes)  
he shows the worthiest Roman this day living.  
You may, good Curius, to the General  
make all things seem the best.  Cur. 
I shall endeavour:  
pray for our fortunes, Gentlemen. If we fall,  
this one farewell serves for a Funeral.  
The gods make sharp our swords, and steel our hearts;  
we dare, alas, but cannot fight our parts.  Exeunt.  

Scaena Secunda.  Enter Junius, Petillius and a Herald. Petill. 
Let him go on: stay, now he talks.  Jun. 
Why?  
why should I love mine enemy? what is beauty?  
of what strange violence, that like the plague,  
it works upon our spirits? blind they feign him,  
I am sure, I find it so.  Petill. 
A dog shall lead ye.  Jun. 
His fond affections blinder.  Petill. 
Hold ye there still.  Jun. 
It takes away my sleep,  Petill. 
Alas, poor chicken.  Jun. 
my company, content; almost my fashion.  Petill. 
Yes, and your weight too, if you follow it.  Jun. 
'Tis sure the plague, for no man dare come near me without an Antidote: 'tis far worse; Hell.  Petill. 
Thou art damned without redemption then.  Jun. 
The way to 't  
strewed with fair Western smiles, and April blushes,  
led by the brightest constellations; eyes,  
and sweet proportions, envying heaven: but from thence  
no way to guide, no path, no wisdom brings us.  Petill. 
Yes, a smart water, Junius.  Jun. 
Do I fool?  
know all this, and fool still? Do I know further,  
that when we have enjoyed our ends, we lose 'em,  
and all our appetites are but as dreams  
we laugh at in our ages.  Petil. 
Sweet Philosopher!  Jun. 
Do I know on still, and yet know nothing? Mercy gods,  
why am I thus ridiculous?  Petill. 
Motley on thee,  
thou art an arrant Ass.  Jun. 
Can red and white,  
an eye, a nose, a cheek,  Petill. 
But one cheek, Junius?  
an half-faced Mistress?  Jun. 
with a little trim,  
that wanton fools call Fashion, thus abuse me?  
take me beyond my reason? Why should not I  
dote on my horse well trapped, my sword well hatched?  
they are as handsome things, to me more useful,  
and possible to rule too. Did I but love,  
yet 'twere excusable, my youth would bear it;  
but to love there, and that no time can give me,  
mine honour dare not ask: she has been ravished  
my nature, must not know; she hates our Nation.  
Thus to dispose my spirit!  Petill. 
Stay a little,  
he will declaim again.  Jun. 
I will not love; I am a man, have reason,  
and I will use it: I'll no more tormenting,  
nor whining for a wench, there are a thousand,  Petill. 
Hold thee there boy.  Jun. 
A thousand will entreat me.  Petill. 
Ten thousand, Junius.  Jun. 
I am young and lusty,  
and to my fashion valiant; can please nightly.  Petill. 
I'll swear thy back's probatum, for I have known thee  
leap at sixteen like a strong Stallion.  Jun. 
I will be man again.  Petill. 
Now mark the working,  
the devil and the spirit tug for't: twenty pound  
upon the devil's head.  Jun. 
I must be wretched.  Petill. 
I knew I had won.  Jun. 
Nor have I so much power  
to shun my fortune.  Petill. 
I will hunt thy fortune  
with all the shapes imagination breeds, Music.  
but I will fright thy devil: Stay, he sings now.  Song, by Junius, and Petillius after him in mockage. Jun. 
Must I be thus abused?  Petill. 
Yes marry must ye.  
Let's follow him close: oh, there he is, now read it.  Herald reads. 
It is the general's command, that all sick, persons old and unable, retire within the Trenches; he that fears his liberty, to leave the Field: Fools, boys, and lovers must not come near the Regiments, for fear of their infections; especially those Cowards they call Lovers.  Jun. 
Hah?  Petill. 
Read on.  Herald. 
If any common Soldier love an Enemy, he's whipped and made a slave: If any Captain; cast, with loss of honours, flung out o'th' Army, and made unable ever after to bear the name of a Soldier.  Jun. 
The— consume ye all, Rogues. Exit Jun.  Petill. 
Let this work:  
h'as something now to chew upon: he's gone,  
come, shake no more.  Her. 
Well, Sir, you may command me,  
but not to do the like again for Europe:  
I would have given my life for a bent twopence.  
If I ere read to lovers whilst I live again,  
or come within their confines—  Petill. 
There's your payment,  
and keep this private.  Her. 
I am schooled for talking. Exit Herald.  Enter Demetrius. Petill. 
How now, Demetrius, are we drawn?  Dem. 
'Tis doing:  
Your Company stands fair; but pray ye, where's Junius?  
half his command are wanting, with some forty  
that Decius leads.  Petill. 
Hunting for victuals:  
upon my life freebooting Rogues, their stomachs  
are like a widow's lust, ne'er satisfied.  Dem. 
I wonder how they dare stir, knowing the enemy  
Master of all the Country.  Petill. 
Resolute hungers  
know neither fears, nor faiths, they tread on ladders,  
ropes, gallows, and overdo all dangers.  Dem. 
They may be hanged though.  Petill. 
There's their joyful supper,  
and no doubt they are at it.  Dem. 
But for heaven's sake,  
how does young Junius?  Petill. 
Drawing on, poor Gentleman.  Dem. 
What, to his end?  Petill. 
To th'end of all flesh: woman.  Dem. 
This Love has made him a stout soldier.  Petill. 
O, a great one,  
fit to command young goslings: but what news?  Dem. 
I think the messenger's come back from Penyus by this time, let's go know.  Petill. 
What will you say now  
if he deny to come, and take exceptions  
at some half syllable, or sound delivered  
with an ill accent, or some style left out?  Dem. 
I cannot think he dare.  Petill. 
He dare speak treason,  
dare say, what no man dares believe, dares do—  
but that's all one: I'll lay you my black armour  
to twenty crowns, he comes not.  Dem. 
Done.  Petill. 
You'll pay.  Dem. 
I will.  Petill. 
Then keep thine old use Penyus,  
be stubborn and vain glorious, and I thank thee.  
Come let's go pray for six hours: most of us  
I fear, will trouble heaven no more: two good blows  
struck home at two Commanders of the Britain's,  
and my part's done.  Dem. 
I do not think of dying.  Petill. 
'Tis possible we may live. But Demetrius,  
with what strange legs, and arms, and eyes, and noses,  
let Carpenters and Copper-smiths consider.  
If I can keep my heart whole, and my windpipe,  
that I may drink yet like a Soldier—  Dem. 
Come, let's have better thoughts; mine's on your Armour.  Petil. 
mine's in your purse, Sir: Let's go try the wager.  Exeunt.  

Scaena Tertia.  Enter Judas and his four Companions (halters about their necks) Bonduca, her Daughters, Nennius following. Bon. 
Come, hang 'em presently.  Nen. 
What made your Rogueships  
harrying for victuals here? Are we your friends?  
or do you come for Spies? tell me directly,  
Would you not willingly be hanged now? do not ye long for't?  Jud. 
What say ye? shall we hang in this vain? Hang we must,  
and 'tis as good to dispatch it merrily,  
as pull an arse like dogs to't.  1. Soul. 
Any way,  
so it be handsome.  3. Soul. 
I had as lief 'twere toothsome too: but all agree, and I'll not out Boys.  4. Soul. 
Let's hang pleasant.  Jud. 
Then pleasant be it: Captain, the truth is,  
we had as lief hang with meat in our mouths,  
as ask your pardon empty.  Bon. 
These are brave hungers.  
What say you to a leg of Beef now, sirrah?  Jud. 
Bring me acquainted with it, and I'll tell ye.  Bon. 
Torment 'em wenches: I must back; then hang 'em.  Jud. 
We humbly thank your Grace.  1. Daugh. 
The Rogues laugh at us.  2. Daugh. 
Sirrah, What think you of a wench now?  Jud. 
A wench, Lady?  
I do beseech your Ladyship, retire,  
I'll tell ye presently, ye see the time's short;  
one crash; even to the settling of my conscience.  Nen. 
Why, is't no more but up, boys?  Jud. 
Yes, ride too Captain.  
Will you but see my seat?  1. Daugh. 
Ye shall be set, Sir,  
upon a Jade shall shake ye.  Jud. 
Sheets, good Madam,  
will do it ten times better.  1. Daugh. 
Whips, good Soldier,  
which ye shall taste before ye hang, to mortify ye;  
'tis pity ye should die thus desperate.  2. Daugh. 
These are the merry Romans, the brave madcaps.  
'tis ten to one we'll cool your resolutions.  
Bring out the whips.  Jud. 
Would your good Ladyships  
would exercise 'em too.  4. Soul. 
Surely Ladies,  
we'd show you a strange patience.  Nen. 
Hang 'em, Rascals,  
they'll talk thus on the wheel. Enter Caratach.  Car. 
Now what's the matter?  
What are these fellows? what's the crime committed,  
that they wear necklaces?  Nen. 
They are Roman Rogues,  
taken a foraging.  Car. 
Is that all, Nennius?  Jud. 
Would I were fairly hanged; this is the devil,  
the kill-cow Caratach.  Car. 
And you would hang 'em.  Nen. 
Are they not enemies?  1. Soul. 
My breech makes buttons.  1. Daugh. 
Are they not our tormentors?  Car. 
Tormentors? Flea-traps.  
Pluck off your halters, fellows.  Nen. 
Take heed, Caratach,  
taint not your wisdom.  Car. 
Wisdom, Nennius?  
why, who shall fight against us, make our honours,  
and give a glorious day into our hands,  
if we dispatch our foes thus? what's their offence?  
stealing a loaf or two to keep out hunger,  
a piece of greasy bacon, or a pudding?  
do these deserve the gallows? They are hungry,  
poor hungry knaves, no meat at home left, starved:  
Art thou not hungry?  Jud. 
Monstrous hungry.  Car. 
He looks like hunger's self: get 'em some victuals, and wine to cheer their hearts, quick: Hang up poor pilchers?  2. Soul. 
This is the bravest Captain—  Nen. 
Caratach,  
I'll leave you to your will.  Car. 
I'll answer all, Sir.  2. Daugh. 
Let's up, and view his entertainment of 'em.  
I am glad they are shifted any way, their tongues else  
would still have murdered us.  1. Daugh. 
Let's up, and see it. Exeunt.  Enter Hengo. Car. 
Sit down poor knaves: why, where's this wine  
and victuals?  
who waits there?  Suit. within. 
Sir, 'tis coming.  Hen. 
Who are these Uncle?  Car. 
They are Romans, Boy.  Hen. 
Are these they  
that vex mine Aunt so? can these fight? they look  
like empty scabbards, all, no mettle in 'em,  
like men of clouts, set to keep crows from orchards;  
why, I dare fight with these.  Car. 
That's my good chicken. And how do ye?  
how do you feel your stomachs?  Jud. 
Wondrous apt, Sir,  
as shall appear when time calls.  Car. 
That's well, down with't,  
a little grace will serve your turns: eat softly,  
you'll choke ye knaves else: give 'em wine.  Jud. 
Not yet, Sir,  
we're even a little busy.  Hen. 
Can that fellow  
do any thing but eat? thou fellow.  Jud. 
Away Boy,  
away, this is no boys play.  Hen. 
By—, Uncle,  
if his valour lie in's teeth, he's the most valiant.  Car. 
I am glad to hear ye talk, Sir.  Hen. 
Good Uncle tell me,  
What's the price of a couple of crammed Romans?  Car. 
Some twenty Britain's boy; these are good soldiers,  Hen. 
Do not the cowards eat hard too?  Car. 
No more, boy.  
Come, I'll sit with you too; sit down by me, boy.  Jud. 
Pray bring your dish then.  Car. 
Hearty knaves: More meat there.  1. Soul. 
That's a good hearing.  Car. 
Stay now and pledge me.  Jud. 
This little piece Sir.  Car. 
By— square eaters,  
More meat I say: upon my conscience  
the poor Rogues have not eat this month: how terribly  
they charge upon their victuals: dare ye fight thus?  Jud. 
Believe it sir, like devils.  Car. 
Well said famine,  
Here's to thy General.  Jud. 
Most excellent Captain, I will now pledge thee.  Car. 
And tomorrow night, say to him,  
His head is mine.  Jud. 
I can assure ye Captain,  
He will not give it for this washing.  Car. 
Well said. Daughters above.  1. Daugh. 
Here's a strange entertainment: how the thieves drink.  2. Daug. 
Danger is dry, they looked for colder liquour.  Car. 
fill'em more wine, give 'em full bowls; which of you all now  
in recompense of this good, dare but give me  
a sound knock in the Battle?  Jud. 
Delicate Captain,  
to do thee a sufficient recompense,  
I'll knock thy brains out.  Car. 
Do it.  Hen. 
Thou dar'st as well be damned: thou knock his brains out,  
thou skin of man? Uncle, I will not hear this.  Jud. 
Tie up your whelp.  Hen. 
Thou kill my Uncle?  
Would I had but a sword for thy sake, thou dried dog.  Car. 
What a mettle  
this little vermin caries.  Hen. 
Kill mine Uncle?  Car. 
He shall not, child.  Hen. 
He cannot: he's a Rogue,  
an only eating Rogue: Kill my sweet Uncle?  
oh that I were a man.  Jud. 
By this wine,  
which I will drink to Captain Junius,  
who loves the Queen's most excellent majesty's little daughter  
most sweetly, and most fearfully, I will do it.  Hen. 
Uncle, I'll kill him with a great pin.  Car. 
No more, Boy.  
I'll pledge thy Captain: To ye all, good Fellows.  2. Daugh. 
In love with me? that love shall cost your lives all:  
Come Sister, and advise me; I have here  
a way to make an easy conquest of 'em,  
if fortune favour me.  Car. 
Let's see ye sweat  
tomorrow, blood and spirit, Boys, this wine  
turned to stern valour.  1. Soul. 
Hark ye Judas,  
if he should hang us after all this.  Jud. 
Let him:  
I'll hang like a Gentleman, and a Roman.  Car. 
Take away there,  
they have enough.  Jud. 
Captain, we thank you heartily  
for your good cheer, and if we meet tomorrow,  
one of us pays for't.  Car. 
Get 'em guides, their wine Enter 2d Daughter and a Servant.  
has over mastered 'em.  2. Daugh. 
That hungry fellow  
with the red beard there, give it him, and this,  
to see it well delivered.  Car. 
Farewell, knaves;  
speak nobly of us, keep your words tomorrow,  Enter a Guide. 
and do something worthy your meat. Go, guide 'em,  
and see 'em fairly onward.  Jud. 
Meaning me, Sir?  Serv. 
The same.  
The youngest daughter to the Queen entreats ye  
to give this privately to Captain Junius,  
this for your pains.  Jud. 
I rest her humble servant.  
Commend me to thy Lady. Keep your files, boys.  Serv. 
I must instruct ye farther.  Jud. 
Keep your files there.  
Order, sweet friends: faces about now.  Guide. 
Here Sir,  
here lies your way.  Jud. 
'Bless the founders, I say.  
Fairly, good soldiers, fairly march now: close, boys.  Exeunt.  

Scaena quarta.  Enter Swetonius, Petillius, Demetrius, Decius, Macer. Swet. 
Bid me be wise, and keep me where I am,  
and so be safe: not come, because commanded;  
Was it not thus?  Ma. 
It was, Sir.  Petill. 
What now think ye?  Swet. 
Must come, so heinous to him, so distasteful?  Petill. 
Give me my money.  Dem. 
I confess 'tis due Sir,  
and presently I'll pay it.  Swet. 
His obedience  
so blind at his years and experience,  
it cannot find where to be tendered?  Ma. 
Sir,  
the Regiment was willing, and advanced too,  
the Captains at all points steeled up; their preparations  
full of resolve, and confidence; Youth and fire,  
like the fair breaking of a glorious day,  
guilded their Phalanx: when the angry Penyus  
stepped like a stormy cloud twixt them and hopes.  Swet. 
And stopped their resolutions?  Ma. 
True: his reason  
to them was odds, and odds so infinite,  
discretion durst not look upon.  Swet. 
Well Penyus,  
I cannot think thee coward yet; and treacherous  
I dare not think: thou hast lopped a limb off from me,  
and let it be thy glory, thou wast stubborn,  
thy wisdom, that thou leftest thy General naked:  
Yet ere the Sun set, I shall make thee see,  
all valour dwells not in thee; all command  
in one experience. Thou wilt too late repent this,  
and wish, I must come up, had been thy blessing.  Petill. 
Let's force him.  Swet. 
No, by no means; he's a torrent  
we cannot easily stem.  Petill. 
I think, a Traitor.  Swet. 
No ill words: let his own shame first revile him.  
That wine I have, see it (Demetrius)  
distributed amongst the soldiers,  
to make 'em high and lusty: when that's done,  
Petillius, give the word through, that the Eagles  
may presently advance: no man discover,  
upon his life, the enemies full strength,  
but make it of no value: Decius,  
are your starved people yet come home?  Dec. 
I hope so.  Swet. 
Keep 'em in more obedience: This is no time  
to chide, I could be angry else, and say more to ye:  
But come, let's order all: whose sword is sharpest,  
and valour equal to his sword this day,  
shall be my saint.  Petill. 
We shall be holy all then. Exeunt.  Enter Judas and his company. Jud. 
Captain, Captain, I have brought 'em off again;  
the drunkenest slaves.  Dec. 
— confound your Rogueships;  
I'll call the General, and have ye hanged all.  Jud. 
Pray who will you command then?  Dec. 
For you, sirrah,  
that are the ringleader to these devices,  
whose maw is never crammed, I'll have an engine.  Jud. 
A wench, sweet Captain.  Dec. 
Sweet Judas, even the Forks.  
where ye shall have two Lictors with two whips  
hammer your hide.  Jud. 
Captain, good words, fair words,  
sweet words, good Captain; if you like not us,  
farewell, we have employment.  Dec. 
Where hast thou been?  Jud. 
There where you dare not be with all your valour.  Dec. 
Where's that?  Jud. 
With the best goodfellow living.  1 Soul. 
The king of all good-fellows.  Dec. 
Who's that?  Jud. 
Caratach.  
Shake now, and say, we have done something worthy,  
mark me; with Caratach: By this— Caratach:  
Do you as much now and you dare: sweet Caratach.  
Ye talk of a good fellow, of true drinking;  
well, go thy ways, old Caratach: besides the drink Captain,  
the bravest running banquet of black puddings,  
pieces of glorious beef.  Dec. 
How scaped ye hanging?  Jud. 
hang's a dog's death: we are Gentlemen,  
and I say still, Old Caratach.  Dec. 
Belike then,  
you are turned Rebels all.  Jud. 
We are Roman boys all,  
and boys of mettle: I must do that Captain,  
this day, this very day.  Dec. 
Away, ye Rascal.  Jud. 
Fair words, I say again.  Dec. 
What must you do, Sir?  Jud. 
I must do that my heartstrings yern to do:  
but my word's passed.  Dec. 
What is it?  Jud. 
Why, kill Caratach.  
that's all he asked us for our entertainment.  Dec. 
More than you'll pay.  Iud. 
Would I had sold myself  
unto the skin, I had not promised it:  
for such another Caratach.  Dec. 
Come Fool,  
have ye done your Country service?  Iud. 
I have brought that  
to Captain junius.  Dec. 
How?  Iud. 
I think will do all:  
I cannot tell, I think so.  Dec. 
How? to junius?  
I'll more inquire of this: You'll fight now?  Iud. 
Promise:  
take heed of promise, Captain.  Dec. 
Away, and rank then.  Iud. 
But hark ye Captain, there is wine distributing,  
I would fain know what share I have.  Dec. 
Be gone,  
ye have too much.  Iud. 
Captain, no wine, no fighting.  
there's one called Caratach, that has wine.  Dec. 
Well Sir,  
if you'll be ruled now, and do well.  Iud. 
Do excellent.  Dec. 
Ye shall have wine, or any thing: go file;  
I'll see ye have your share: drag out your dormice,  
and stow 'em somewhere, where they may sleep handsomely,  
they'll hear a hunt's up shortly.  Iud. 
Now I love thee:  
but no more Forks nor Whips.  Dec. 
Deserve 'em not then:  
up with your men, I'll meet ye presently;  
and get 'em sober quickly.  Iud. 
Arm, arm, Bullies;  
all's right again and straight; and which is more,  
more wine, more wine: Awake ye men of Memphis,  
be sober and discreet, we have much to do boys. Exeunt.    

Actus Tertius.  

Scaena Prima.  Enter a Messenger. Mess. 
Prepare there for the Sacrifice, the Queen comes.  Music. Enter in Solemnity, the Druids singing, the second Daughter strewing flowers: then Bonduca, Caratach, Nennius, and others. Bond. 
Ye powerful gods of Britain, hear our prayers;  
hear us you great Revengers, and this day  
take pity from our swords, doubt from our valours,  
double the sad remembrance of our wrongs  
in every breast; the vengeance due to those  
make infinite and endless: on our pikes  
this day pale terror sit, horrors and ruins  
upon our executions; claps of thunder  
hang on our armed carts, and 'fore our Troops  
despair and death; shame beyond these attend 'em.  
Rise from the dust, ye relics of the dead,  
whose noble deeds our holy Druids sing,  
oh rise, ye valiant bones, let not base earth  
oppress your honours, whilst the pride of Rome  
treads on your Stocks, and wipes out all your stories.  Nen. 
Thou great Tiranes, whom our sacred Priests,  
armed with dreadful thunder, place on high  
above the rest of the immortal gods,  
send thy consuming fires and deadly bolts,  
and shoot 'em home; stick in each Roman heart  
a fear fit for confusion; blast their spirits,  
dwell in 'em to destruction; thorough their Phalanx  
strike, as thou strik'st a proud tree; shake their Bodies,  
make their strengths totter, and their topless fortunes  
unroot, and reel to ruin.  1. Daugh. 
O thou god,  
thou feared god, if ever to thy justice  
insulting wrongs, and ravishments of women,  
women derived from thee, their shames, the sufferings  
of those that daily filled thy Sacrifice  
with virgin incense, have access, now hear me,  
now snatch thy thunder up, now on these Romans,  
despisers of thy power, of us defacers,  
revenge thyself: take to thy killing anger,  
to make thy great work full, thy justice spoken,  
an utter rooting from this blessed Isle  
of what Rome is or has been.  Bon. 
Give more incense,  
the gods are deaf and drowsy; no happy flame  
rises to raise our thoughts: Pour on.  2. Daugh. 
See heaven,  
and all you powers that guide us, see, and shame  
we kneel so long for pity over your Altars;  
since 'tis no light oblation that you look for,  
no incense offering, will I hang mine eyes;  
and as I wear these stones with hourly weeping,  
so will I melt your powers into compassion.  
This tear for Prosutagus my brave Father,  
ye gods, now think on Rome; this for my Mother,  
and all her miseries; yet see, and save us:  
but now ye must be open eyed. See, heaven,  
O see thy showers stolen from thee; our dishonours,  A smoke from the Altar. 
O sister, our dishonours: can ye be gods,  
and these sins smothered?  Bon. 
The fire takes.  Car. 
It does so,  
but no flame rises. Cease your fretful prayers,  
your whinings, and your tame petitions;  
the gods love courage armed with confidence,  
and prayers fit to pull them down: weak tears  
and troubled hearts, the dull twins of cold spirits,  
they sit and smile at. Hear how I salute 'em:  
Divine Audate, thou who hold'st the reins  
of furious Battles, and disordered War,  
and proudly roll'st thy swarthy chariot wheels  
over the heaps of wounds, and carcases,  
sailing through seas of blood; thou sure-steeled sternness,  
give us this day good hearts, good enemies,  
good blows o' both sides, wounds that fear or flight  
can claim no share in; steel us both with angers,  
and warlike executions fit thy viewing;  
let Rome put on her best strength, and thy Britain,  
thy little Britain, but as great in fortune,  
meet her as strong as she, as proud, as daring;  
and then look on, thou red eyed god: who does best,  
reward with honour; who despair makes fly,  
unarm for ever, and brand with infamy:  
Grant this, divine Audate, 't is but Justice;  
and my first blow thus on thy holy Altar A flame arises.  
I sacrifice unto thee.  Bon. 
It flames out. Music.  Car. 
Now sing ye Druids. Song.  Bon. 
'Tis out again.  Car. 
H'as given us leave to fight yet; we ask no more,  
the rest hangs in our resolutions:  
tempt him no more.  Bon. 
I would know further x,  Car. 
His hidden meaning dwells in our endeavours;  
our valours are our best gods. Cheer the soldier,  
and let him eat.  Mess. 
He's at it, Sir.  Car. 
Away then;  
when he has done, let's march. Come, fear not Lady,  
this day the Roman gains no more ground here,  
but what his body lies in.  Bond. 
Now I am confident. Exeunt.  Recorders.  

Scaena Secunda.  Enter Junius, Curius, Decius. Dec. 
We dare not hazard it: beside our lives,  
it forfeits all our understandings.  Jun. 
Gentlemen,  
Can ye forsake me in so just a service,  
a service for the Commonwealth, for honour?  
Read but the Letter; you may love too.  Dec. 
Read it:  
if there be any safety in the circumstance,  
or likelihood 'tis love, we will not fail ye.  
Read it good Curius.  Cur. 
Willingly.  Jun. 
Now mark it.  Cur. reads. 
Health to thy heart, my honoured Junius,  
and all thy love requited: I am thine,  
thine everlastingly, thy love has won me,  
and let it breed no doubt; our new acquaintance  
compels this, 'tis the God's decree to bless us.  
The times are dangerous to meet; yet fail not,  
by all the love thou bear'st me I conjure thee,  
without distrust of danger, to come to me,  
for I have purposed a delivery  
both of myself and fortune this blessed day  
into thy hands, if thou thinkst good: to show thee  
how infinite my love is, even my Mother  
shall be thy prisoner, the day yours without hazard;  
for I beheld your danger like a Lover,  
a just affecter of thy faith: Thy goodness,  
I know, will use us nobly, and our marriage,  
if not redeem, yet lessen Rome's Ambition.  
I am weary of these miseries: Use my Mother,  
(if you intend to take her) with all honour,  
and let this disobedience to my parents  
be laid on love, not me. Bring with thee, Junius,  
spirits resolved to fetch me off, the noblest,  
forty will serve the turn; just at the joining  
of both the Battles, we will be weakly guarded;  
and for a guide, within this hour shall reach thee  
a faithful friend of mine: the gods, my Junius,  
keep thee, and me to serve thee: Young Bonvica.  Cur. 
This letter carries much belief, and most objections  
answered, we must have doubted.  Dec. 
Is that fellow  
come to ye for a guide yet?  Jun. 
Yes.  Dec. 
And examined?  Jun. 
Far more than that; he has felt tortures, yet  
he vows he knows no more than this truth.  Dec. 
Strange.  Cur. 
If she mean what she writes, as 't may be probable,  
'twill be the happiest vantage we can lean to.  Jun. 
I'll pawn my soul she means truth.  Dec. 
Think an hour more,  
than if your confidence grow stronger on ye,  
we'll set in with ye.  Jun. 
Nobly done; I thank ye;  
ye know the time.  Cur. 
We will be either ready  
to give ye present counsel, or join with ye.  Enter Swetonius, Petillius, and Demetrius, Macer. Jun. 
No more as ye are Gentlemen. The General.  Swet. 
Draw out apace, the enemy waits for us;  
Are ye all ready?  Jun. 
All our Troops attend, Sir.  Swet. 
I am glad to hear you say so, Junius.  
I hope ye are dispossessed.  Jun. 
I hope so too, Sir.  Swet. 
Continue so. And Gentlemen, to you now;  
To bid you fight is needless, ye are Romans,  
the name will fight itself; To tell ye who  
you go to fight against, his power, and nature,  
but loss of time: ye know it, know it poor,  
and oft have made it so. To tell ye further,  
his Body shows more dreadful than it has done,  
to him that fears, less possible to deal with,  
is but to stick more honour on your Actions,  
load ye with virtuous names, and to your memories  
tie never dying time, and fortune constant.  
Go on in full assurance, draw your swords  
as daring and as confident as Justice;  
the gods of Rome fight for ye; loud Fame calls ye,  
pitched on the topless Perinine, and blows  
to all the under world: all Nations,  
the seas, and unfrequented deserts, where the snow dwells,  
wakens the ruined monuments, and there  
where nothing but eternal death and sleep is,  
informs again the dead bones. With your virtues,  
go on, I say, valiant and wise, rule heaven,  
and all the great aspects attend 'em. Do but blow  
upon this Enemy, who, but that we want foes,  
cannot deserve that name; and like a mist,  
a lazy fog, before your burning valours  
you'll find him fly to nothing. This is all,  
We have swords, and are the sons of ancient Romans,  
heirs to their endless valours, fight and conquer.  De. Dem. 
'Tis done.  Petill. 
That man that loves not this day,  
and hugs not in his arms the noble danger,  
may he die fameless and forgot.  Swet. 
Sufficient,  
up to your Troops, and let your drums beat thunder,  
march close, and sudden like a tempest: all executions  March. 
done without sparkling of the Body: keep your phalanx  
sure lined, and pieced together; your pikes forward,  
and so march like a moving Fort: ere this day run,  
we shall have ground to add to Rome, well won. Exeunt.   

Scaena tertia.  Enter Caratach and Nennius. Nen. 
The Roman is advanced from yond 'hills brow,  
we may behold him, Caratach. A March.  Drums within at one place afar off. Car. 
Let's thither,  
I see the dust fly. Now I see the Body,  
observe 'em, Nennius; by— a handsome Body,  
and of a few, strongly and wisely jointed  
Swetonius is a Soldier.  Nen. 
As I take it,  
that's he that gallops by the Regiments,  
viewing their preparations.  Car. 
Very likely,  
he shows no less than General: see how bravely  
the Body moves, and in the head how proudly  
the captain's stick like plumes: he comes apace on;  
good Nennius go, and bid my stout Lieutenant  
bring on the first square Body to oppose 'em,  
and as he charges, open to enclose 'em:  
the Queen move next with hers, and wheel about,  
to gain their backs, in which I'll lead the Vanguard.  
We shall have bloody crowns this day, I see by 't;  
Haste thee good Nennius, I'll follow instantly.  Exit Nennius. 
How close they march, as if they grew together? March.  
no place but lined alike: sure from oppression;  
they will not change this figure: we must charge 'em,  
and charge 'em home at both ends, Van and Rear,  Drums in another place afar off. 
they never totter else. I hear our Music,  
and must attend it: Hold good sword, but this day,  
and bite hard where I hound thee, and hereafter  
I'll make a relic of thee, for young Soldiers  
to come like pilgrims to, and kiss for Conquests.  Exit.  

Scaena quarta.  Enter Junius, Curius, and Decius. Jun. 
Now is the time, the fellow stays.  Dec. 
What think ye?  Cur. 
I think 'tis true.  Jun. 
Alas, if 'twere a question,  
if any doubt or hazard fell into 't,  
do ye think mine own discretion so self-blind,  
my care of you so naked, to run headlong?  Dec. 
Let's take Petillius with us.  Jun. 
By no means:  
he's never wise but to himself, nor courteous,  
but where the end's his own: we are strong enough,  
if not too many. Behind yonder hill  
the fellow tells me she attends, weak guarded,  
her Mother and her Sister.  Cur. 
I would venture.  Jun. 
we shall not strike five blows for't: weigh the good,  
the general good may come.  Dec. 
Away, I'll with ye,  
but with what doubt?  Jun. 
Fear not, my soul for all. Exeunt.  Alarms, Drums and Trumpets in several places afar off, as at a main Battle.  

Scaena quinta.  Enter Drusus and Penyus above. Dru. 
Here ye may see 'em all, Sir; from this hill  
the Country shows off level.  Pen. 
Gods defend me,  
what multitudes they are, what infinites?  
the Roman power shows like a little Star  
hedged with a double halo. Now the knell rings,  Loud Shouts. 
Hark how they shout to th' battle; how the air  
totters and reels, and rends apieces, Drusus,  
with the huge volleyed clamours.  Dru. 
Now they charge.  
oh gods, of all sides, fearfully.  Pen. 
Little Rome,  
stand but this growing Hydra one short hour,  
and thou hast outdone Hercules.  Dru. 
The dust hides 'em,  
we cannot see what follows.  Pen. 
They are gone,  
gone, swallowed, Drusus; this eternal Sun  
shall never see 'em march more.  Dru. 
O turn this way,  
and see a model of the field, some forty,  
against four hundred.  Pen. 
Well fought, bravely followed;  
O nobly charged again, charged home too: Drusus,  
they seem to carry it: now they charge all, Loud.  
close, close, I say; they follow it: ye gods,  
Can there be more in men? more daring spirits?  
still they make good their fortunes. Now they are gone too,  
for ever gone: see Drusus, at their backs  
a fearful Ambush rises. Farewell valours,  
excellent valours: O Rome, Where's thy wisdom?  Dru. 
They are gone indeed, Sir.  Pen. 
Look out toward the Army,  
I am heavy with these slaughters.  Dru. 
'Tis the same still,  
covered with dust and fury. Enter the two Daughters, with Junius, Curius, Decius, and Soldiers.  2. Daugh. 
Bring 'em in,  
tie 'em, and then unarm 'em.  1. Daugh. 
Valiant Romans,  
ye are welcome to your Loves,  2. Daugh. 
Your death, fools.  Dec. 
We deserve 'em,  
and women do your worst.  1. Daug. 
Ye need not beg it.  2. Daug. 
Which is kind Junius?  Serv. 
This.  2 Dau. 
Are you my sweet heart?  
It looks ill on't: how long is 't, pretty soul,  
since you and I first loved? Had we not reason  
to dote extremely upon one another?  
How does my Love? this is not he: my chicken  
could prate finely, sing a love-song.  Jun. 
Monster.  2. Daugh. 
Oh, now it courts.  Jun. 
Armed with more malice  
than he that got thee has the devil.  2. Daugh. 
Good.  
Proceed, sweet Chick.  Jun. 
I hate thee, that's my last.  2. Daug. 
Nay, and ye love me, forward: No? Come sister,  
let's prick our answers on our arrows points,  
and make 'em laugh a little. Ye damned lechers,  
ye proud improvident fools, have we now caught ye?  
are ye i'th' noose? Since ye are such loving creatures,  
we'll be your Cupids: Do ye see these arrows?  
we'll send 'em to your wanton livers, goats.  1. Dau. 
O how I'll trample on your hearts, ye villains,  
ambitious salt-itched slaves: Rome's master sins,  
the mountain Rams topped your hot mothers.  2. Daugh. 
Dogs,  
to whose brave Founders a salt whore gave suck;  
thieves, honours hangmen, do ye grin? perdition  
take me for ever, if in my fell anger, Enter Caratach.  
I do not outdo all example.  Car. 
Where,  
where are these Ladies? ye keep noble quarter,  
your mother thinks ye dead or taken; upon which,  
she will not move her Battle. Sure these faces  
I have beheld and known, they are Roman Leaders,  
How came they here?  2. Daugh. 
A trick Sir, that we used,  
a certain policy conducted 'em  
unto our snare: we have done ye no small service;  
these used as we intend, we are for th' battle.  Car. 
As you intend? taken by treachery?  1. Daugh. 
Is't not allowed?  Car. 
Those that should gild our Conquest,  
make up a Battle worthy of our winning,  
catched up by craft?  2. Daugh. 
By any means that's lawful.  Car. 
A woman's wisdom in our triumphs? Out,  
out ye sluts, ye follies; from our swords  
filch our revenges basely? Arm again, Gentlemen:  
Soldiers, I charge ye help 'em.  2. Daugh. 
By— Uncle,  
we will have vengeance for our rapes.  Car. 
By—  
you should have kept your legs close then: dispatch there.  1. Daugh. 
I will not off thus.  Car. 
He that stirs to execute,  
or she, though it be yourselves, by him that got me,  
shall quickly feel mine anger: one great day given us,  
not to be snatched out of our hands but basely;  
and must we shame the gods from whence we have it,  
with setting snares for Soldiers? I'll run away first,  
be hooted at, and children call me coward,  
before I set up scales for Victories:  
Give 'em their swords.  2. Daug. 
O gods.  Car. 
Bear off the women  
unto their Mother.  2. Daug. 
One shot, gentle Uncle.  Car. 
One cut her fiddlestring: Beat'em off I say.  1. Dau. 
The— take this fortune.  Cara. 
Learn to spin,  
and curse your knotted hemp: go Gentlemen,  Exeunt Daughters. 
safely go off, up to your troops: be wiser,  
there thank me like tall Soldiers: I shall seek ye.  Exit Caratach. Cur. 
A noble worth.  Dec. 
Well Junius.  Jun. 
Pray ye no more.  Cur. 
He blushes, do not load him.  Dec. 
Where's your love now? Drums loud again.  Jun. 
Puff, there it flies: Come, let's redeem our follies.  Exeunt Junius, Curius, Decius. Dru. 
Awake, Sir; yet the Roman body's whole,  
I see 'em clear again.  Pen. 
Whole? 'tis not possible:  
Drusus, they must be lost.  Dru. 
By— they are whole, Sir,  
and in brave doing; see, they wheel about  
to gain more ground.  Pen. 
But see there Drusus, see,  
see that huge Battle moving from the mountains,  
their gilt coats shine like dragon's scales, their march  
like a rough tumbling storm; see them, and view 'em,  
and then see Rome no more: say they fail; look,  
look where the armed carts stand; a new Army:  
look how they hang like falling rocks, as murdering  
death rides in triumph Drusus: fell destruction  
lashes his fiery horse, and round about him  
his many thousand ways to let out souls.  
Move me again when they charge, when the mountain  
melts under their hot wheels, and from their Axletrees  
huge claps of thunder plough the ground before 'em,  
till then I'll dream what Rome was.  Enter Swetonius, Petillius, Demetrius, Macer. Swet. 
O bravely fought; honour till now ne'er showed  
her golden face i'th' field. Like lions, Gentlemen,  
y' have held your heads up this day: Where's young Junius,  
Curius, and Decius?  Petill. 
Gone to heaven, I think, Sir.  Sw. 
Their worths go with 'em: breathe a while: How do ye?  Pet. 
Well; some few scurvy wounds, my heart's whole yet.  Dem. 
Would they would give us more ground.  Swet. 
Give? we'll have it.  Petill. 
Have it? and hold it too, despite the devil.  Enter Junius, Decius, Curius. Jun. 
Lead up to th' head, and line sure: the Qs. Battle begins to charge like wildfire: Where's the General?  Swet. 
Oh, they are living yet. Come, my brave soldiers,  
come, let me power Rome's blessing on ye; Live,  
live, and lead Armies all: ye bleed hard.  Jun. 
Best:  
we shall appear the sterner to the foe.  Dec. 
More wounds, more honour.  Petill. 
Lose no time.  Swet. 
Away then,  
and stand this shock, ye have stood the world.  Petill. 
we'll grow to't.  
Is not this better now then lousy loving?  Jun. 
I am myself, Petillius.  Petill. 
'Tis I love thee. Exeunt Romans.  Enter Bonduca, Caratach, Daughters, Nennius. Car. 
Charge 'em i'th' flanks: O ye have played the fool, the fool extremely, the mad fool.  Bon. 
Why x?  Car. 
The woman fool. Why did you give the word  
unto the carts to charge down, and our people  
in gross before the Enemy? we pay for't,  
our own swords cut our throats: why?— on't,  
Why do you offer to command? the devil,  
the devil, and his dam too, who bid you  
meddle in men's affairs? Exeunt Queen, &c.  Bond. 
I'll help all.  Car. 
Home,  
home and spin woman, spin, go spin, ye trifle.  
Open before there, or all's ruin. How, Shouts within.  
now comes the tempest; on ourselves, by—  Victoria within. 
O woman, scurvy woman, beastly woman. Exeunt.  Dru. 
Victoria, Victoria.  Pen. 
How's that, Drusus?  Dru. 
They win, they win, they win; oh look, look, look, Sir, for heaven's sake look, the Britain's fly, the Britain's fly. Victoria. Enter Swetonius, Soldiers, and Captains.  Swet. 
Soft, soft, pursue it soft; excellent Soldiers,  
close, my brave fellows, honourable Romans:  
oh cool thy mettle Junius, they are ours,  
the world cannot redeem 'em: stern Petillius,  
govern the conquest nobly: soft, good Soldiers.  Enter Bonduca, Daughters, and Britain's. Bond. 
Shame, whither fly ye, ye unlucky Britain's?  
Will ye creep into your mother's wombs again? Back cowards,  
Hares, fearful Hares, Doves in your angers; leave me?  
leave your Queen desolate? her hapless children  Enter Caratach and Hengo. 
to Roman rape again and fury?  Car. 
Fly, ye buzzards,  
ye have wings enough, ye fear: get thee gone, woman,  Loud shout within. 
shame tread upon thy heels: all's lost, all's lost, hark,  
hark how the Romans ring our kneels. Ext. Bond. &c.  Hen. 
Good Uncle,  
let me go too.  Car. 
No boy, thy fortune's mine,  
I must not leave thee; get behind me; shake not,  Enter Petillius, Junius, Decius. 
I'll breech ye, if ye do boy: Come, brave Romans,  
all is not lost yet.  Jun. 
Now I'll thank thee, Caratach. Fight. Drums.  Car. 
Thou art a Soldier: strike home, home; have at ye.  Pen. 
His blows fall like huge sledges on an anvil.  Dec. 
I am weary.  Pet. 
So am I.  Car. 
Send more swords to me.  Jun. 
Let's sit and rest. Sit down.  Dru. 
What think ye now?  Pen. 
O Drusus,  
I have lost mine honour, lost my name,  
lost all that was my light: these are true Romans,  
and I a Britain coward, a base coward;  
guide me where nothing is but desolation,  
that I may never more behold the face  
of man, or mankind know me: O blind Fortune,  
hast thou abused me thus?  Dru. 
Good Sir, be comforted;  
it was your wisdom ruled ye; pray ye go home,  
your day is yet to come, when this great fortune  
shall be but foil unto it. Retreat.  Pen. 
Fool, fool, Coward. Exit Penyus & Drusus.  Enter Swetonius, Demetrius, Soldiers, Drum and Colours. Swet. 
Draw in, draw in: well have ye fought, and worthy  
Rome's noble recompense; look to your wounds,  
the ground is cold and hurtful: the proud Queen  
has got a Fort, and there she and her Daughters  
defy us once again. Tomorrow morning  
we'll seek her out, and make her know, our Fortunes  
stop at no stubborn walls: Come, sons of honour,  
true virtues heirs; thus hatched with Britain blood,  
let's us march to rest, and set in gules like Suns.  
Beat a soft march, and each one ease his neighbours.  Exeunt.   

Actus Quartus.  

Scaena Prima.  Enter Petillius, Junius, Decius, Demetrius singing. Petill. 
Smooth was his cheek,  Dec. 
And his chin it was sleek,  Jun. 
With whoop, he has done wooing.  Dem. 
Junius was this captain's name,  
A lad for a lass's viewing,  Pet. 
Full black his eye, & plump his thigh.  Dec. 
Made up for love's pursuing:  Dem. 
Smooth was his cheek,  Petill. 
And his chin it was sleek.  Jun. 
With whoop, he has done wooing.  Petill. 
O my vexed thief, art thou come home again?  
are thy brains perfect?  Jun. 
Sound as bells.  Petill. 
Thy back-worm  
quiet, and cast his sting, boy?  Jun. 
Dead, Petillius,  
dead to all folly, and now my anger only.  Pet. 
Why, that's well said: hang Cupid and his quiver,  
a drunken brawling Boy; thy honoured saint  
be thy ten shillings, Junius; there's the money,  
and there's the ware; square dealing: this but sweats thee  
like a nesh nag, and makes thee look pin buttocked;  
the other runs thee whining up and down  
like a pig in a storm, fills thy brains full of ballads,  
and shows thee like a long Lent, thy brave body  
turned to a tail of greenfish without butter.  Dec. 
When thou lov'st next, love a good cup of wine,  
a Mistress for a King, she leaps to kiss thee,  
her red and white's her own; she makes good blood,  
takes none away; what she heats sleep can help,  
without a groping Surgeon.  Jun. 
I am counselled,  
and henceforth, when I  again,—  Dem. 
Take heed,  
ye had almost paid for't.  Petil. 
Love no more great Ladies,  
thou canst not step amiss then; there's no delight in 'em;  
all's in the whistling of their snatched up silks;  
they're only made for handsome view, not handling;  
their bodies of so weak and wash a temper,  
a rough-paced bed will shake 'em all to pieces;  
a tough hen pulls their teeth out, tires their souls;  
plenae rimarum sunt, they are full of rennet,  
and take the skin off where they are tasted; shun 'em,  
they live in cullises like rotten cocks  
stewed to a tenderness, that holds no tack:  
Give me a thing I may crush.  Jun. 
Thou speak'st truly:  
the Wars shall be my Mistress now.  Petil. 
Well chosen,  
for she's a bouncing lass, she'll kiss thee at night, boy,  
and break thy pate i'th' morning.  Jun. 
Yesterday  
I found those favours infinite.  Dem. 
Wench good enough,  
but that she talks too loud.  Pet. 
She talks to th' purpose,  
which never woman did yet: she'll hold grappling,  
and he that lays on best, is her best servant:  
all other loves are mere catching of dotterels,  
stretching of legs out only, and trim laziness. Enter  
Here comes the General. Swet. Curius & Macer.  Swet. 
I am glad I have found ye:  
Are those come in yet that pursued bold Caratach?  Pet. 
Not yet Sir, for I think they mean to lodge him;  
take him I know they dare not, 'twill be dangerous.  Swet. 
Then haste Petillius, haste to Penyus,  
I fear the strong conceit of what disgrace  
h'as pulled upon himself, will be his ruin:  
I fear his soldier's fury too; haste presently,  
I would not lose him for all Britain. Give him, Petillius,  Petil. 
That that shall choke him.  Swet. 
all the noble counsel,  
his fault forgiven too, his place, his honour,  Petill. 
For me, I think, as handsome.  Swet. 
all the comfort;  
and tell the Soldier, 'twas on our command  
he drew not to the Battle.  Petil. 
I conceive Sir,  
and will do that shall cure all.  Swet. 
Bring him with ye  
before the Queen's Fort, and his Forces with him,  
there you shall find us following of our Conquest:  
Make haste.  Petil. 
The best I may. Exit.  Swet. 
And noble Gentlemen,  
Up to your Companies: we'll presently  
upon the Queen's pursuit: There's nothing done  
till she be seized; without her nothing won. Exeunt.  Short Flourish.  

Scaena Secunda.  Enter Caratach and Hengo. Car. 
How does my Boy?  Hen. 
I would do well, my heart's well;  
I do not fear.  Car. 
My good boy.  Hen. 
I know, Uncle,  
we must all die; my little brother died,  
I saw him die, and he died smiling: sure,  
there's no great pain in't Uncle. But pray tell me,  
Whither must we go when we are dead?  Car. 
Strange questions!  
why, to the blessedest place Boy: ever sweetness  
and happiness dwells there.  Hen. 
Will you come to me?  Car. 
Yes, my sweet boy.  Hen. 
Mine Aunt too, and my cousins?  Car. 
All, my good child.  Hen. 
No Romans, Uncle?  Car. 
No, boy.  Heng. 
I should be loath to meet them there.  Car. 
No ill men,  
that live by violence, and strong oppression,  
come thither: 't is for those the gods love, good men.  Heng. 
Why, then I care not when I go; for surely  
I am persuaded they love me: I never  
blasphemed 'em, Uncle, nor transgressed my parents;  
I always said my prayers.  Car. 
Thou shalt go, then,  
indeed thou shalt.  Heng. 
When they please.  Car. 
That's my good boy.  
Art thou not weary, Hengo?  Heng. 
Weary, Uncle?  
I have heard you say you have marched all day in Armour.  Car. 
I have, boy.  Hengo. 
Am not I your kinsman?  Car. 
Yes.  Heng. 
And am not I as fully allied unto you  
in those brave things, as blood?  Car. 
Thou art too tender.  Heng. 
To go upon my legs? they were made to bear me:  
I can play twenty mile a day; I see no reason  
but, to preserve my Country and myself,  
I should march forty.  Car. 
What, wouldst thou be  
living to wear a man's strength?  Heng. 
Why a Caratach,  
a Roman-hater, a scourge sent from heaven Drum.  
to whip these proud thieves from our kingdom. Hark,  
hark, Uncle, hark, I hear a Drum.  Enter Judas and his people to the door. Iud. 
Beat softly,  
softly, I say; they are here: who dare charge?  1 Sould. 
He  
that dares be knocked o' th' head: I'll not come near him.  Iud. 
Retire again, and watch then. How he stares!  
h' as eyes would kill a dragon: mark the boy well;  
if we could take or kill him. A— on ye,  
how fierce ye look? see how he broods the boy;  
the devil dwells in's scabbard. Back, I say,  
apace, apace, h' as found us. They retire.  Car. 
Do ye hunt us?  Heng. 
Uncle, good Uncle see, the thin starved Rascal,  
the eating Roman, see where he threads the thickets:  
kill him, dear Uncle, kill him; one good blow  
to knock his brains into his breech: strikes head off,  
that I may piss in 's face.  Car. 
Do ye make us Foxes?  
Here, hold my charging-staff, and keep the place, boy.  
I am at bay, and like a bull I'll bear me.  
Stand, stand, ye Rogues, ye Squirrels. Exit.  Heng. 
Now he pays 'em:  
O that I had a man's strength.  Enter judas, &c. Iud. 
Here's the boy;  
mine own, I thank my Fortune.  Heng. 
Uncle, uncle;  
famine is fallen upon me, uncle.  Iud. 
Come, Sir,  
yield willingly, your uncle 's out of hearing;  
I'll tickle your young tail else.  Heng. 
I defy thee,  
thou mock-made man of mat: charge home, sirrah:  
hang thee, base slave, thou shakest.  Iud. 
Upon my conscience  
the boy will beat me: how it looks, how bravely,  
how confident the worm is: a scabbed boy  
to handle me thus? yield, or I cut thy head off.  Heng. 
Thou dar'st not cut my finger: here 't is, touch it.  Iud. 
The boy speaks sword and buckler. Prithee yield, boy:  
come, here 's an apple; yield.  Heng. 
By— he fears me.  
I'll give you sharper language: When, ye coward,  
when come ye up?  Iud. 
If he should beat me—  Heng. 
When, Sir?  
I long to kill thee; come, thou canst not scape me,  
I have twenty ways to charge thee; twenty deaths  
attend my bloody staff.  Iud. 
Sure 't is the devil,  
a dwarf, devil in a doubler.  Heng. 
I have killed a Captain, sirrah, a brave Captain, and when I have done. I have kicked him thus. Look here, see how I charge this staff.  Iud. 
Most certain  
this boy will cut my throat, yet.  Enter two soldiers, running. 1 Sould. 
Flee, flee, he kills us.  2 Sould. 
He comes, he comes.  Iud. 
The devil take the hindmost.  Heng. 
Run, run, ye Rogues, ye precious Rogues, ye rank Rogues.  
'a comes, 'a comes, 'a comes, 'a comes: that 's he, boys.  
What a brave cry they make?  Enter Caratach, with a head. Car. 
How does my chicken?  Heng. 
'Faith, uncle, grown a Soldier, a great Soldier;  
for by the virtue of your charging-staff,  
and a strange fighting face I put upon 't,  
I have outbraved hunger.  Car. 
That's my boy, my sweet boy.  
Here, here's a Roman 's head for thee.  Heng. 
Good provision.  
Before I starve, my sweet-faced Gentleman,  
I'll try your favour.  Car. 
A right complete soldier.  
Come, chicken, let's go seek some place of strength  
(the Country 's full of Scouts) to rest a while in,  
thou wilt not else be able to endure.  
The journey to my Country, fruits, and water,  
must be your food a while, boy.  Heng. 
Any thing:  
I can eat moss, nay, I can live on anger,  
to vex these Romans. Let 's be wary, Uncle.  Car. 
I warrant thee; come cheerfully.  Heng. 
And boldly. Exeunt.   

Scaena Tertia.  Enter Penyus, Drusus, and Regulus. Reg. 
The soldier shall not grieve ye.  Pen. 
Pray ye forsake me;  
look not upon me, as ye love your Honours;  
I am so cold a coward, my infection  
will choke your virtues like a damp else.  Dru. 
Dear Captain.  Reg. 
Most honoured Sir.  Pen. 
Most hated, most abhorred;  
say so, and than ye know me, nay, ye please me.  
O my dear credit, my dear credit.  Reg. 
Sure  
his mind is dangerous.  Dru. 
The good gods cure it.  Pen. 
My honour got thorough fire, thorough stubborn, breaches  
thorough battles that have been as hard to win as heaven,  
thorough death himself, in all his horrid trims,  
is gone for ever, ever, ever, Gentlemen,  
and now I am left to scornful tales and laughters,  
to hootings at, pointing with fingers, That's he,  
that's the brave Gentleman forsook the battle,  
the most wise Penyus, the disputing coward.  
O my good sword, break from my side, and kill me;  
cut out the coward from my heart.  Reg. 
Ye are none.  Pen. 
He lies that says so: by— he lies, lies basely,  
baser than I have done. Come, soldiers, seek me,  
I have robbed ye of your virtues: Justice, seek me,  
I have broke my fair obedience, lost: shame take me,  
take me, and swallow me, make ballads of me;  
shame, endless shame: and pray do you forsake me.  Dru. 
What shall we do?  Pen. 
Good Gentlemen forsake me:  
you were not wont to be commanded. Friends, pray do it,  
and do not fear; for as I am a coward  
I will not hurt myself: when that mind takes me,  
I'll call to you, and ask your help. I dare not.  Enter Petillius. Petill. 
Good morrow, Gentlemen; where's the Tribune?  Reg. 
There.  Dru. 
Whence come ye, good Petillius?  Petill. 
From the General.  Dru. 
With what, for heaven's sake?  Petill. 
With good counsel, Drusus,  
and love, to comfort him.  Dru. 
Good Regulus  
step to the soldier, and allay his anger;  
for he is wild as winter.  Exeunt Drusius and Regulus. Petill. 
O, are ye there? have at ye. Sure he 's dead,  
it cannot be he dare out live this fortune:  
he must die, 't is most necessary; men expect it;  
and thought of life in him, goes beyond coward.  
Forsake the field so basely? fie upon 't:  
so poorly to betray his worth? so coldly  
to cut all credit from the soldier? sure  
if this man mean to live, as I should think it  
beyond belief, he must retire where never  
the name of Rome, the voice of Arms, or Honour  
was known or heard of yet: he 's certain dead,  
or strongly means it; he 's no Soldier else,  
no Roman in him; all he has done, but outside,  
fought either drunk or desperate. Now he rises.  
How does Lord Penyus?  Pen. 
As ye see.  Petill. 
I am glad on 't;  
continue so still. The Lord General,  
the valiant General, great Swetonius—  Pen. 
No more of me is spoken; my name's perished.  Petill. 
He that commanded fortune and the day  
by his own valour and discretion,  
when, as some say, Penyus refused to come,  
but I believe 'em not, sent me to see ye.  Pen. 
Ye are welcome; and pray see me; see me well,  
ye shall not see me long.  Petill. 
I hope so, Penyus;  
the gods defend, Sir.  Pen. 
See me, and understand me: This is he  
left to fill up your triumph; he that basely  
whistled his honour off to th' wind; that coldly  
shrunk in his politic head, when Rome like reapers  
sweat blood, and spirit, for a glorious harvest,  
and bound it up, and brought it off: that fool,  
that having gold and copper offered him,  
refused the wealth, and took the waste: that soldier  
that being courted by loud fame and fortune,  
labour in one hand, that propounds us gods,  
and in the other, glory that creates us,  
yet durst doubt, and be damned.  Petill. 
It was an error.  Pen. 
A foul one, and a black one.  Petill. 
Yet the blackest  
may be washed white again.  Pen. 
Never.  Petill. 
Your leave, Sir,  
and I beseech ye note me; for I love ye,  
and bring along all comfort: Are we gods,  
allied to no infirmities? are our natures  
more than men's natures? when we slip a little  
out of the way of virtue, are we lost?  
is there no medicine called Sweet mercy?  Pen. 
None, Petillius;  
there is no mercy in mankind can reach me,  
nor is it fit it should; I have sinned beyond it.  Petill. 
Forgiveness meets with all faults.  Pen. 
'T is all faults,  
all sins I can commit, to be forgiven:  
't is loss of whole man in me, my discretion  
to be so stupid, to arrive at pardon.  Petill. 
O but the General—  Pen. 
He's a brave Gentleman,  
a valiant, and a loving; and I dare say  
he would, as far as honour durst direct him,  
make even with my fault: but 't is not honest,  
nor in his power: examples that may nourish  
neglect and disobedience in whole bodies,  
and totter the estates and faiths of armies,  
must not be played withal; nor out of pity  
make a General forget his duty:  
nor dare I hope more from him then is worthy.  Petill. 
What would ye do?  Pen. 
Die.  Petill. 
So would sullen children,  
women that want their wills, slaves, disobedient,  
that fear the law, die. Fie, great Captain; you  
a man to rule men, to have thousand lives  
under your regiment, and let your passion  
betray your reason? I bring you all forgiveness,  
the noblest kind commends, your place, your honour.  Pen. 
Prithee no more; 't is foolish: didst not thou?  
by— thou didst, I overheard thee, there,  
there where thou standst now, deliver me for rascal,  
poor, dead, cold coward, miserable, wretched,  
if I outlived this ruin?  Petill. 
I?  Pen. 
And thou didst it nobly,  
like a true man, a soldier: and I thank thee,  
I thank thee, good Petillius; thus I thank thee.  Petill. 
Since ye are so justly made up, let me tell ye  
'tis fit ye die indeed.  Pen. 
O how thou lovest me!  Petill. 
For say he had forgiven ye; say the people's whispers  
were tame again, the time run out for wonder,  
what must your own Command think, from whose Swords  
ye have taken off the edges, from whose valours  
the due and recompense of Arms; nay, made it doubtful  
whether they knew obedience? must not these kill ye?  
Say they are won to pardon ye, by mere miracle  
brought to forgive ye; what old valiant Soldier,  
what man that loves to fight, and fight for Rome,  
will ever follow you more? dare ye know these ventures?  
if so, I bring ye comfort; dare ye take it?  Pen. 
No, no, Petillius, no.  Petill. 
If your mind serve ye,  
ye may live still; but how? yet pardon me,  
you may outwear all too; but when? and certain  
there is a mercy for each fault, if tamely  
a man will take 't upon conditions.  Pen. 
No, by no means: I am only thinking now, Sir,  
(for I am resolved to go) of a most base death,  
fitting the baseness of my fault. I'll hang,  Petill. 
Ye shall not; you're a Gentleman I honour,  
I would else flatter ye, and force ye live,  
which is far baser. Hanging? 't is a dog's death,  
an end for slaves.  Pen. 
The fitter for my baseness.  Petill. 
Besides, the man that 's hanged, preaches his end, and sits a sign for all the world to gape at.  Pen. 
That's true: I'll take a fitter poison.  Petill. 
No,  
't is equal ill; the death of rats, and women,  
lovers, and lazy boys, that fear correction.  
Die like a man.  Pen. 
Why my sword then.  Petill. 
ay, if your sword be sharp, Sir,  
there 's nothing under heaven that 's like your sword;  
your sword 's a death indeed.  Pen. 
It shall be sharp, Sir.  Petill. 
Why Mithridates was an arrant ass  
to die by poison, if all Bosphorus  
could lend him swords: your sword must do the deed:  
't is shame to die choked, fame to die and bleed.  Pen. 
Thou hast: confirmed me: and, my good Petillius,  
tell me no more I may live.  Petill. 
'T was my Commission;  
but now I see ye in a nobler way,  
a way to make all even.  Pen. 
Farewell, Captain:  
be a good man, and fight well: be obedient:  
command thyself, and then thy men. Why shakest thou?  Petill. 
I do not, Sir.  Pen. 
I would thou hadst, Petillius:  
I would find something to forsake the world with  
worthy the man that dies: a kind of earthquake  
thorough all stern valours but mine own.  Petill. 
I feel now  
a kind of trembling in me.  Pen. 
Keep it still,  
as thou lov'st virtue, keep it.  Petill. 
And brave Captain,  
the great and honoured Penyus.  Pen. 
That again:  
O how it heightens me! again, Petillius.  Petill. 
Most excellent Commander.  Pen. 
Those were mine,  
mine, only mine.  Petill. 
They are still.  Pen. 
Then to keep 'em  
for ever falling more, have at ye, heavens,  
ye everlasting powers, I am yours: The work's done,  
that neither fire, nor age, nor melting envy  
shall ever conquer. Carry my last words  
to the great General: kiss his hands, and say,  
My soul I give to heaven, my fault to justice  
which I have done upon myself: my virtue,  
if ever there was any in poor Penyus,  
made more, and happier, light on him. I faint.  
And where there is a foe, I wish him fortune.  
I die: lie lightly on my ashes, gentle earth.  Petill. 
And on my sin. Farewell, great Penyus,  noise within. 
the soldier is in fury. Now I am glad  
't is done before he comes. This way, for me,  
the way of toil; for thee, the way of honour. Exit.  Enter Drusus and Regulus, with soldiers. Sould. 
Kill him, kill him, kill him.  Dru. 
What will ye do?  Reg. 
Good soldiers, honest soldiers.  Sould. 
Kill him, kill him, kill him.  Dru. 
Kill us first; we command too.  Reg. 
Valiant Soldiers,  
consider but whose life ye seek. O Drusus,  
bid him be gone, he dies else. Shall Rome say  
(ye most approved soldiers) her dear children  
devoured the fathers of the fights? shall rage  
and stubborn fury guide those swords to slaughter,  
to slaughter of their own, to Civil ruin?  Dru. 
O let 'em in: all 's done, all 's ended, Regulus,  
Penyus has found his last eclipse. Come, Soldiers,  
come, and behold your miseries: come bravely,  
full of your mutinous and bloody angers,  
and here bestow your darts. O only Roman,  
O father of the Wars.  Reg. 
Why stand ye stupid?  
where be your killing furies? whose sword now  
shall first be sheathed in Penyus? do ye weep?  
Howl out, ye wretches, ye have cause: howl ever.  
Who shall now lead ye fortunate? whose valour  
preserve ye to the glory of your Country?  
who shall march out before ye, coyed and courted  
by all the mistresses of War, care, counsel,  
quick-eyed experience, and victory twined to him?  
who shall beget ye deeds beyond inheritance  
to speak your names, and keep your honours living,  
when children fail, and time that takes all with him,  
build houses for ye to oblivion?  Dru. 
O ye poor desperate fools: no more now, soldiers;  
go home, and hang your arms up; let just rot'em;  
and humble your stern valours to soft prayers;  
for ye have sunk the frame of all your virtues;  
the sun that warmed your bloods is set for ever:  
I'll kiss thy honoured cheek. Fare well, great Penyus,  
thou thunderbolt, farewell. Take up the body:  
tomorrow morning to the Camp convey it.  
there to receive due Ceremonies. That eye  
that blinds himself with weeping, gets most glory.  Exeunt with a dead march.  

Scaena Quarta.  Enter Swetonius, Junius, Decius, Demetrius, Curius, and Soldiers: Bonduca, two daughters, and Nennius, above. Drum and Colours. Swet. 
Bring up the Catapults and shake the wall,  
we will not be outbraved thus.  Nen. 
Shake the earth,  
ye cannot shake our souls. Bring up your Rams,  
and with their armed heads, make the Fort totter,  
ye do but rock us into death. Exit Nennius.  Jun. 
See Sir,  
see the Icenian Queen in all her glory  
from the strong battlements proudly appearing,  
as if she meant to give us lashes.  Dec. 
Yield, Queen.  Bond. 
I am unacquainted with that language, Roman.  Swet. 
Yield, honoured Lady, and expect our mercy,  Exit Decius. 
we love thy nobleness.  Bond. 
I thank ye, ye say well;  
but mercy and love are sins in Rome and hell.  Swet. 
Ye cannot scape our strength; ye must yield, Lady,  
ye must adore and fear the power of Rome.  Bond. 
If Rome be earthly, why should any knee  
with bending adoration worship her?  
She's vicious; and your partial selves confess,  
aspires the height of all impiety:  
therefore 'tis fitter I should reverence  
the thatched houses where the Britain's dwell  
in careless mirth, where the blessed household gods  
see nought but chaste and simple purity.  
'Tis not high power that makes a place divine,  
nor that the men from gods derive their line.  
But sacred thoughts in holy bosoms stored,  
make people noble, and the place adored.  Swet. 
Beat the wall deeper.  Bond. 
Beat it to the centre,  
we will not sink one thought.  Swet. 
I'll make ye.  Bond. 
No.  2. Dan. 
O mother, these are fearful hours: speak gently  Enter Petillius. 
to these fierce men, they will afford ye pity.  Bond. 
pity? thou fearful girl; 'tis for those wretches  
that misery makes tame. Wouldst thou live less?  
Wast not thou born a Princess? Can my blood,  
and thy brave father's spirit, suffer in thee  
so base a separation from thyself,  
as mercy from these Tyrants? Thou lov'st lust sure,  
and longest to prostitute thy youth and beauty  
to common slaves for bread. Say they had mercy;  
the devil a relenting conscience:  
the lives of king's rest in their Diadems,  
which to their bodies lively souls do give,  
and ceasing to be Kings, they cease to live.  
Show such another fear, and—  
I'll fling thee to their fury.  Swet. 
He is dead then?  Petill. 
I think so certainly; yet all my means, Sir,  
even to the hazard of my life—  Swet. 
No more:  
we must not seem to mourn here.  Enter Decius. Dec. 
There's a breach made,  
is it your will we charge, Sir?  Swet. 
Once more mercy,  
mercy to all that yield.  Bond. 
I scorn to answer:  
Speak to him girl; and hear thy sister.  1. Daugh. 
General,  
hear me, and mark me well, and look upon me  
directly in my face, my woman's face,  
whose only beauty is the hate it bears ye;  
see with thy narrowest eyes, thy sharpest wishes,  
into my soul, and see what there inhabits;  
see if one fear, one shadow of a terror,  
one paleness dare appear but from my anger,  
to lay hold on your mercies. No, ye fools,  
poor Fortune's fools, we were not born for triumphs,  
to follow your gay sports, and fill your slaves  
with hoots and acclamations.  Petill. 
Brave behaviour.  1 Daugh. 
The children of as great as Rome, as noble,  
our names before her, and our deeds her envy;  
must we gild o'er your Conquest, make your State,  
that is not fairly strong, but fortunate?  
No, no, ye Romans, we have ways to scape ye,  
to make ye poor again, indeed our prisoners,  
and stick our triumphs full.  Petill. 
's death, I shall love her.  1 Daugh. 
To torture ye with suffering, like our slaves;  
to make ye curse our patience, wish the world  
were lost again, to win us only, and esteem  
the end of all ambitions.  Bond. 
Do ye wonder?  
we'll make our monuments in spite of fortune,  
in spite of all your Eagles wings: we'll work  
a pitch above ye; and from our height we'll stoop  
as fearless of your bloody fears; and fortunate,  
as if we preyed on heartless doves.  Swet. 
Strange stiffness.  
Decius, go charge the breach. Exit Decius.  Bond. 
Charge it home, Roman,  
we shall deceive thee else. Where 's Nennius?  Enter Nennius. Nen. 
They have made a mighty breach.  Bond. 
Stick in thy body,  
and make it good but half an hour.  Nen. 
I'll do it.  1 Daugh. 
And then be sure to die.  Nen. 
It shall go hard else.  Bond. 
Fare well with all my heart; we shall meet yonder,  
where few of these must come.  Nen. 
Gods take thee, Lady.  Exit Nennius. Bond. 
Bring up the swords, and poison.  Enter one with swords, and a great cup. 2 Daugh. 
O my fortune!  Bond. 
How, how, ye whore?  2 Daugh. 
Good mother, nothing to offend ye.  Bond. 
Here, wench:  
behold us, Romans.  Swet. 
Mercy yet.  Bond. 
No talking:  
puff; there goes all your pity. Come, short prayers,  
and let 's dispatch the business: you begin,  
shrink not; I'll see ye do 't.  2 Daugh. 
O gentle mother,  
O Romans, O my heart; I dare not.  Swet. 
Woman, woman,  
unnatural woman.  2 Daugh. 
O persuade her, Romans:  
alas, I am young, and would live. Noble mother,  
can ye kill that ye gave life? are my years  
fit for destruction?  Swet. 
Yield, and be a Queen still,  
a mother, and a friend.  Bond. 
Ye talk: come, hold it,  
and put it home.  1 Daugh. 
Fie, sister, fie,  
what would you live to be?  Bond. 
A whore still.  2 Daugh. 
Mercy.  Swet. 
Hear her, thou wretched woman.  2 Daugh. 
Mercy, mother:  
O whither will you send me? I was once  
your darling, your delight.  Bond. 
O gods,  
fear in my family? do it, and nobly.  2 Daugh. 
O do not frown then.  1 Daugh. 
Do it, worthy sister:  
't is nothing, 't is a pleasure; we'll go with ye.  2 Daugh. 
O if I knew but whither.  1 Daugh. 
To the blessed,  
where we shall meet our father.  Swet. 
Woman.  Bond. 
Talk not.  1 Daugh. 
Where nothing but true joy is.  Bond. 
That 's a good wench, mine own sweet girl; put it close to thee.  2 Daugh. 
O comfort me still, for heaven's sake.  1 Daugh. 
Where eternal  
our youths are, and our beauties; where no Wars come,  
nor lustful slaves to ravish us.  2 Daugh. 
That steels me:  
a long farewell to this world.  Bond. 
Good: I'll help thee.  1 Daugh. 
The next is mine.  
Show me a Roman Lady in all your stories,  
dare do this for her honour: they are cowards,  
eat coals like compelled Cats: your great Saint Lucrece  
died not for honour; Tarquin topped her well,  
and mad she could not hold him, bled.  Petill. 
By—  
I am in love: I would give an hundred pound now  
but to lie with this woman's behaviour. O the devil.  1 Daugh. 
Ye shall see me example. All your Rome,  
if I were proud, and loved ambition;  
if I were lustful, all your ways of pleasure;  
if I were greedy, all the wealth ye conquer—  Bond. 
Make haste.  1 Daugh. 
I will. Could not entice to live  
but two short hours this frailty: would ye learn  
how to die bravely, Romans, to fling off  
this case of flesh, lose all your cares for ever?  
live as we have done, well, and fear the gods,  
hunt Honour, and not Nations with your swords,  
keep your minds humble, your devotions high;  
so shall ye learn the noblest part, to die.  Bond. 
I come, wench; to ye all Fates hangmen; you  
that case the aged destinies, and cut  
the threads of Kingdoms, as they draw 'em: here,  
here 's a draught would ask no less than Caesar  
to pledge it for the glory's sake.  Cur. 
Great Lady.  Swet. 
Make up your own conditions.  Bond. 
So we will.  Swet. 
Stay.  Dem. 
Stay.  Swet. 
Be any thing.  Bond. 
A Saint, Swetonius,  
when thou shalt fear, and die like a slave. Ye fool,  
ye should have tied up, death first, when ye conquered,  
ye sweat for us in vain else: see him here,  
he 's ours still, and our friend; laughs at your pities;  
and we command him with as easy reins  
as do our enemies. I feel the poison.  
Poor vanquished Romans, with what matchless tortures  
could I now rack ye? But I pity ye,  
desiring to die quiet: nay, so much  
I hate to prosecute my victory,  
that I will give ye counsel ere I die.  
If you will keep your Laws and Empire whole,  
place in your Roman flesh a Britain soul.  Enter Decius. Swet. 
Desperate and strange.  Dec. 
'T is won, Sir, and the Britain's  
all put to th' sword.  Swet. 
Give her fair Funeral;  
she was truly noble, and a Queen.  Petill. 
— take it,  
a love-mange grown upon me? what, a spirit?  Iun. 
I am glad of this, I have found ye.  Petill. 
In my belly,  
O how it tumbles?  Iun. 
Ye good gods, I thank ye. Exeunt.    

Actus Quintus.  

Scaena Prima.  Enter Caratach upon a rock, and Hengo by him, sleeping. Car. 
Thus we afflicted Britain's climb for safeties,  
and to avoid our dangers, seek destructions;  
thus we awake to sorrows. O thou woman,  
thou agent for adversities, what curses  
this day belong to thy improvidence?  
to brittany by thy means, what sad millions  
of widows weeping eyes? The strong man's valour  
thou hast betrayed to fury; the child's fortune  
to fear, and want of friends: whose pieties  
might wipe his mournings off, and build his sorrows  
a house of rest by his blessed ancestor:  
the virgins thou hast robbed of all their wishes,  
blasted their blowing hopes, turned their songs,  
their mirthful Marriage songs to Funerals,  
the Land thou hast left a wilderness of wretches.  
The boy begins to stir: thy safety made,  
would my soul were in heaven.  Heng. 
O noble Uncle,  
look out; I dreamed we were betrayed.  a soft dead march within. Car. 
No harm, boy;  
't is but thy emptiness that breeds these fancies;  
thou shalt have meat anon.  Heng. 
A little, Uncle,  
and I shall hold out bravely. What are those?  
look, Uncle, look, those multitudes that march there?  
they come upon us stealing by.  Car. 
I see 'em;  
and prithee be not fearful.  Heng. 
Now ye hate me,  
would I were dead.  Car. 
Thou know'st I love thee dearly.  Heng. 
Did I ere shrink yet, Uncle? were I a man now,  
I should be angry with ye.  Enter Drusus, Regulus, and Soldiers, with penyus' Hearse, Drums and Colours. Car. 
My sweet chicken,  
see, they have reached us, and as it seems they bear  
some soldier's body, by their solemn gestures,  
and sad solemnities; it well appears too  
to be of eminence. Most worthy Soldiers,  
let me entreat your knowledge to inform me  
what noble body that is which you bear  
with such a sad and ceremonious grief,  
as if ye meant to woo the world and nature  
to be in love with death? Most honourable  
excellent Romans, by your ancient valours,  
as ye love fame, resolve me.  Sould. 
'T is the body  
of the great Captain Penyus, by himself  
made cold and spiritless.  Car. 
O stay, ye Romans,  
by the religion which you owe those gods  
that lead ye on to Victories, by those glories  
which made even pride a virtue in ye.  Dru. 
Stay:  
what 's thy will, Caratach?  Car. 
Set down the body,  
the body of the noblest of all Romans,  
as ye expect an offering at your graves  
from your friends sorrows, set it down a while,  
that with your griefs an enemy may mingle;  
a noble enemy that loves a Soldier;  
and lend a tear to virtue: even your foes,  
your wild foes, as you called us, are yet stored  
with fair affections, our hearts fresh, our spirits,  
though sometimes stubborn, yet when virtue dies,  
soft and relenting as a virgin's prayers.  
O set it down.  Dru. 
Set down the body, soldiers.  Car. 
Thou hallowed relic, thou rich diamond  
cut with thine own dust; thou for whose wide fame  
the world appears too narrow, man's all thoughts,  
had they all tongues, too silent; thus I bow  
to thy most honoured ashes; though an enemy,  
yet friend to all thy worths: sleep peaceably;  
happiness crown thy soul, and in thy earth  
some Laurel fix his seat, there grow, and flourish,  
and make thy grave an everlasting triumph.  
Fare well all glorious Wars, now thou art gone,  
and honest Arms adieu: all noble Battles  
maintained in thirst of honour, not of blood,  
fare well for ever.  Heng. 
Was this Roman, Uncle,  
so good a man?  Car. 
Thou never knew'st thy father.  Heng. 
He died before I was born.  Car. 
This worthy Roman  
was such another piece of endless honour,  
such a brave soul dwelled in him: their proportions  
and faces were not much unlike, boy: excellent natures,  
see how it works into his eyes, mine own boy.  Heng. 
The multitudes of these men, and their fortunes,  
could never make me fear yet: one man's goodness—  Car. 
O now thou pleasest me: weep still, my child,  
as if thou sawst me dead; with such a flux  
or flood of sorrow: still thou pleasest me.  
And worthy soldiers, pray receive these pledges,  
these hatchments of our griefs, and grace us so much  
to place 'em on his Hearse. Now if ye please,  
bear off the noble burden; raise his pile  
high as Olympus, making heaven to wonder  
to see a star upon earth outshining theirs.  
And ever loved, ever living be  
thy honoured and most sacred memory.  Dru. 
Thou hast done honestly, good Caratach,  
and when thou diest, a thousand virtuous Romans  
shall sing thy soul to heaven. Now march on, soldiers.  Exeunt. A dead march. Car. 
Now dry thine eyes, my boy.  Heng. 
Are they all gone?  
I could have wept this hour yet.  Car. 
Come, take cheer,  
and raise thy spirit, child: if but this day  
thou canst bear out thy faintness, the night coming  
I'll fashion our escape.  Heng. 
Pray fear not me;  
indeed I am very hearty.  Car. 
Be so still;  
his mischiefs lessen, that controls his ill.  Exeunt.  

Scaena secunda.  Enter Petillius. Petill. 
What do I ail, i' th' name of heaven? I did but see her,  
and see her die: she stinks by this time strongly,  
abominably stinks: she was a woman,  
a thing I never cared for: but to die so,  
so confidently, bravely, strongly; O the devil,  
I have the bots, by—; she scorned us, strangely,  
all we could do, or durst do; threatened us  
with such a noble anger, and so governed  
with such a fiery spirit—; the plain bots;  
a— upon the bots, the love-bots: hang me,  
hang me even out o' th' way, directly hang me.  
O penny pipers, and most painful penners  
of bountiful new ballads, what a subject,  
what a sweet subject for your silver sounds,  
is crept upon ye?  Enter Junius. Jun. 
Here he is; have at him. Sings.  
She set the sword unto her breast,  
great pity it was to see,  
That three drops of her life-warm blood,  
run trickling down her knee.  
Art thou there, bonny boy? and i'faith how dost thou?  Petill. 
Well, gramercy, how dost thou? h' as found me,  
scented me out: the shame the devil owed me,  
h' as kept his day with. And what news, Junius?  Jun. 
It was an old tale ten thousand times told,  
of a young Lady was turned into mould,  
her life was lovely, her death it was bold.  Petill. 
A cruel rogue; now h' as drawn pursue on me,  
he hunts me like a devil. No more singing;  
thou hast got a cold: come, let's go drink some Sack, boy.  Jun. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.  Petill. 
Why dost thou laugh?  
what Mares nest hast thou found?  Jun. 
Ha, ha, ha.  
I cannot laugh alone: Decius, Demetrius,  
Curius: O my sides. Ha, ha, ha, ha,  
the strangest jest.  Petill. 
Prithee no more.  Jun. 
The admirablest fooling.  Petill. 
Thou art the prettiest fellow.  Jun. 
Sirs.  Petill. 
Why Junius,  
prithee away, sweet Junius.  Jun. 
Let me sing then.  Petill. 
Whoa, here's a stir now: sing a song o' six pence, by— (if) prithee;— on 't: Junius.  Jun. 
I must either sing, or laugh.  Petill. 
And what 's your reason?  Jun. 
What 's that to you?  Petill. 
And I must whistle.  Jun. 
Do so.  
O, I hear 'em coming.  Petill. 
I have a little business.  Jun. 
Thou shalt not go, believe it: what a Gentleman of thy sweet conversation?  Petill. 
Captain Junius,  
sweet Captain, let me go with all celerity;  
things are not always one: and do not question,  
nor jeer, nor gibe: none of your doleful ditties,  
nor your sweet conversation: you will find than  
I may be angered.  Jun. 
By no means, Petillius;  
anger a man that never knew passion?  
'tis most impossible: a noble Captain,  
a wise and generous Gentleman?  Pet. 
Tom puppy,  
leave this way to abuse me: I have found ye,  
but for your mother's sake I will forgive ye.  
Your subtle understanding may discover  
(as you think) some trim toy to make you merry;  
some straw to tickle ye; but do not trust to 't;  
you're a young man, and may do well; be sober;  
carry yourself discreetly.  Enter Decius, Demetrius, Curius. Jun. 
Yes forsooth.  Dem. 
How does the brave Petillius?  Jun. 
Monstrous merry:  
we two were talking what a kind of thing  
I was when I was in love; what a strange monster  
for little boys and girls to wonder at;  
how like a fool I looked.  Dec. 
So they do all,  
like great dull slavering fools.  Jun. 
Petillius saw too.  Pet. 
No more of this; 'tis scurvy: peace.  Jun. 
How nastily,  
indeed how beastly all I did became me?  
how I forgot to blow my nose? there he stands,  
an honest and a wise man; if himself  
(I dare avouch it boldly, for I know it)  
should find himself in love—  Petill. 
I am angry.  Jun. 
Surely his wise self would hang his beastly self,  
his understanding self so mawl his asse-self—  Dec. 
He's bound to do it; for he knows the follies,  
the poverties, and baseness that belongs to 't,  
h' as read upon the reformations long.  Petill. 
He has so.  Jun. 
'T is true, and he must do 't:  
nor is it fit indeed any such coward—  Petill. 
You'll leave prating.  Jun. 
Should dare come near the Regiments, specially  
those curious puppies (for believe there are such)  
that only love behaviours: those are dog-whelps,  
dwindle away, because a woman dies well;  
commit with passions only: fornicate  
with the free spirit merely: you, Petillius,  
for you have long observed the world.  Petill. 
Dost thou hear?  
I'll beat thee damnably within these three hours:  
go pray; may be I'll kill thee. Farewell, Jack daws. Exit.  Dec. 
What a strange thing he's grown?  Jun. 
I am glad he is so:  
and stranger he shall be, before I leave him.  Cur. 
Is 't possible her mere death—  Jun. 
I observed him,  
and found him taken, infinitely taken  
with her bravery: I have followed him,  
and seen him kiss his sword since, court his scabbard,  
call dying, dainty dear; her brave mind, mistress;  
casting a thousand ways, to give those forms,  
that he might lie with 'em, and get old Armours:  
he had got me o' th' hip once: it shall go hard, friends,  
but he shall find his own coin.  Enter Macer. Dec. 
How now Macer?  
is Judas yet come in? Enter Judas.  Mac. 
Yes, and has lost  
most of his men too. Here he is.  Cur. 
What news?  Jud. 
I have lodged him; rouse him he that dares.  Dem. 
Where, Judas?  Jud. 
On a steep rock, i' th' woods, the boy too with him,  
and there he swears he will keep his Christmas, Gentlemen,  
but he will come away with full conditions,  
bravely, and like a Britain: he paid part of us,  
yet I think we fought bravely: for mine own part,  
I was four several times at half sword with him,  
twice stood his partisan: but the plain truth is,  
he's a mere devil, and no man: i' th' end he swinged us,  
and swinged us soundly too: he fights by Witchcraft:  
yet for all that I see him lodged,  Jun. 
Take more men,  
and scout him round. Macer, march you along.  
What victuals has he?  Jud. 
Not a piece of Biscuit,  
not so much as will stop a tooth; nor water,  
more than they make themselves: they lie  
just like a brace of bear-whelps, close, and crafty,  
sucking their fingers for their food.  Dec. 
Cut off then  
all hope of that way: take sufficient forces.  Jun. 
But use no foul play, on your lives: that man  
that does him mischief by deceit, I'll kill him.  Macer. 
He shall have fair play, he deserves it.  Jud. 
Hark ye,  
what should I do there then? you are brave Captains,  
most valiant men; go up yourselves; use virtue,  
see what will come on 't: pray the Gentleman  
to come down, and be taken. Ye all know him,  
I think ye have felt him too: there ye shall find him,  
his sword by his side, plums of a pound weight by him  
will make your chops ache: you'll find it a more labour  
to win him living, then climbing of a crow's nest.  Dec. 
Away, and compass him; we shall come up  
I am sure within these two hours. Watch him close.  Macer. 
He shall flee thorough the air, if he escape us.  A sad noise within. Jun. 
What's this loud lamentation?  Mac. 
The dead body  
of the great Penyus is new come to th' Camp Sir.  Dem. 
Dead!  Macer 
By himself, they say.  Jun. 
I feared that fortune.  Cur. 
Peace guide him up to heaven.  Jun. 
Away good Macer. Exeunt Macer and Judas.  Enter Swetonius, Drusus, Regulus, Petillius. Swet. 
If thou be'st guilty,  
some sullen plague thou hat'st most light upon thee:  
the Regiment return on Junius,  
he well deserves it.  Petill. 
So.  Swet. 
Draw out three Companies,  
yours Decius, Junius, and thou Petillius,  
and make up instantly to Caratach,  
he's in the wood before ye; we shall follow  
after due ceremony done to the dead,  
the noble dead: Come, let's go burn the body.  Exeunt all but Petillius. Petill. 
The Regiment given from me; disgraced openly;  
in love too with a trifle to abuse me?  
A merry world, a fine world: served seven years  
to be an ass o' both sides, sweet Petillius,  
you have brought your hogs to a fine market: you are wise, Sir,  
your honourable brainpan full of crotchets,  
an understanding Gentleman; your projects  
cast with assurance ever: wouldst not thou now  
be banged about the pate, Petillius?  
answer to that sweet soldier; surely, surely,  
I think ye would; pulled by the nose, kicked; hang thee,  
thou art the arrantest rascal: trust thy wisdom  
with any thing of weight; the wind with feathers.  
Out ye blind puppy; you command? you govern?  
dig for a groat a day, or serve a swineherd;  
too noble for thy nature too. I must up;  
but what I shall do there, let time discover. Exit.   

Scaena tertia.  Enter Macer and Judas, with meat and a bottle. Mac. 
Hang it o'th' side o'th' rock, as though the Britain's  
stole hither to relieve him; who first ventures  
to fetch it off, is ours. I cannot see him.  Jud. 
He lies close in a hole above, I know it,  
gnawing upon his anger: ha? no, 'tis not he,  Macer 
'Tis but the shaking of the boughs.  Jud. 
— shake 'em,  
I am sure they shake me soundly. There.  Macer 
'Tis nothing.  Jud. 
Make no noise: if he stir, a deadly tempest  
of huge stones fall upon us: 'tis done: away close. Exit.  Enter Caratach. Car. 
Sleep still, sleep sweetly child, 'tis all thou feedest on.  
No gentle Britain near; no valiant charity  
to bring thee food? poor knave, thou art sick, extreme sick,  
almost grown wild for meat; and yet thy goodness  
will not confess, nor show it. All the woods  
are double lined with soldiers; no way left us  
to make a noble scape: I'll sit down by thee,  
and when thou wakest, either get meat to save thee,  
or lose my life i'th' purchase. Good gods comfort thee.  Enter Junius, Decius, Petillius, Guide. Guide 
Ye are not far off now, Sir.  Jun. 
Draw the Companies  
the closest way thorough the woods; we'll keep on this way.  Guide 
I will Sir: half a furlong more you'll come  
within the sight o'th' Rock; keep on the left side,  
you'll be discovered else: I'll lodge your Companies  
in the wild vines beyond ye.  Dec. 
Do ye mark him?  Jun. 
Yes, and am sorry for him.  Petill. 
Junius,  
pray let me speak two words with you.  Jun. 
Walk afore,  
I'll overtake ye straight.  Dec. 
I will. Exit.  Jun. 
Now, Captain.  Petill. 
You have oft told me, you have loved me, Junius.  Jun. 
Most sure I told you truth then.  Petill. 
And that love  
should not deny me any honest thing.  Jun. 
It shall not.  Petill. 
Dare ye swear it?  
I have forgot all passages between us  
that have been ill, forgiven too, forgot you.  Jun. 
What would this man have? By— I do, Sir, so it be fit to grant ye.  Petill. 
'Tis most honest.  Jun. 
Why, then I'll do it.  Petill. 
Kill me.  Jun. 
How?  Petill. 
Pray kill me.  Jun. 
Kill ye?  Pet. 
ay, kill me quickly, suddenly,  
now kill me.  Jun. 
On what reason? ye amaze me.  Pet. 
If ye do love me, kill me, ask me not why:  
I would be killed, and by you.  Jun. 
Mercy on me,  
What ails this man? Petillius.  Petill. 
Pray ye dispatch me,  
ye are not safe whilst I live: I am dangerous,  
troubled extremely, even to mischief, Junius,  
an enemy to all good men: fear not, 'tis justice;  
I shall kill you else.  Jun. 
Tell me but the cause,  
and I will do it.  Petill. 
I am disgraced, my service  
slighted, and unrewarded by the General,  
my hopes left wild and naked; besides these,  
I am grown ridiculous, an ass, a folly  
I dare not trust myself with: Prithee kill me.  Jun. 
All these may be redeemed as easily  
as you would heal your finger.  Petill. 
Nay—  Jun. 
Stay, I'll do it,  
you shall not need your anger: But first, Petillius,  
you shall unarm yourself; I dare not trust  
a man so bent to mischief.  Petill. 
There's my sword;  
and do it handsomely.  Jun. 
yes, I will kill ye,  
believe that certain: but first I'll lay before ye  
the most extreme fool ye have played in this,  
the honour purposed for ye, the great honour  
the General intended ye,  Petill. 
How?  Jun. 
And then I'll kill ye,  
because ye shall die miserable. Know Sir,  
the Regiment was given me, but till time  
called ye to do some worthy deed might stop  
the people's ill thoughts of ye for Lord Penyus,  
I mean his death. How soon this time's come to ye,  
and hasted by Swetonius? Go, says he,  
Junius and Decius, and go thou Petillius;  
distinctly, thou Petillius, and draw up,  
to take stout Caratach: there's the deed purposed,  
a deed to take off all faults, of all natures:  
And thou Petillius; Mark it, there's the honour,  
and that done, all made even.  Petill. 
Stay.  Jun. 
No, I'll kill ye.  
He knew thee absolute, and full in soldier,  
daring beyond all dangers, found thee out  
according to the boldness of thy spirit,  
a subject, such a subject.  Petill. 
Hark ye Junius,  
I will live now.  Jun. 
By no means. Wooed thy worth,  
held thee by the chin up, as thou sank'st, and showed thee  
how honour held her arms out: Come, make ready,  
since ye will die an ass.  Petil. 
Thou wilt not kill me.  Jun. 
By— but I will Sir: I'll have no man dangerous  
live to destroy me afterward. Besides, you have gotten  
honour enough, let young men rise now. Nay,  
I do perceive too by the General, (which is  
one main cause ye shall die) howe'er he carry it,  
such a strong doting on ye, that I fear,  
you shall command in chief: how are we paid then?  
Come, if you will pray, dispatch it.  Petill. 
Is there no way?  Jun. 
Not any way to live.  Petill. 
I will do any thing,  
redeem myself at any price: good Junius,  
let me but die upon the Rock, but offer  
my life up like a Soldier.  Jun. 
You will seek then  
to outdo every man.  Petill. 
Believe it Junius,  
you shall go stroke by stroke with me.  Jun. 
You'll leave off too,  
as you are noble, and a soldier,  
for ever these mad fancies.  Petill. 
Dare ye trust me?  
By all that's good and honest.  Jun. 
There's your sword then,  
and now come on a new man: Virtue guide thee. Exeunt.  Enter Caratach and Hengo on the Rock. Car. 
Courage my Boy, I have found meat: look Hengo,  
look where some blessed Britain, to preserve thee,  
has hung a little food and drink: cheer up Boy,  
do not forsake me now.  Hengo. 
O Uncle, Uncle,  
I feel I cannot stay long: yet I'll fetch it,  
to keep your noble life: Uncle, I am heart whole,  
and would live.  Car. 
Thou shalt, long I hope.  Hen. 
But my head, Uncle:  
methinks the Rock goes round. Enter Macer & Jud.  Macer. 
Mark 'em well, Judas.  Jud. 
Peace, as you love your life.  Hen. 
Do not you hear  
the noise of bells?  Car. 
of bells Boy? 'tis thy fancy,  
alas, thy body's full of wind.  Hengo. 
methinks Sir,  
they ring a strange sad knell, a preparation  
to some near funeral of State: nay, weep not,  
mine own sweet Uncle, you will kill me sooner.  Car. 
O my poor chicken.  Hen. 
Fie, faint-hearted Uncle:  
Come, tie me in your belt, and let me down.  Car. 
I'll go myself, Boy.  Hengo 
No, as ye love me, Uncle;  
I will not eat it, if I do not fetch it;  
the danger only I desire: pray tie me.  Car. 
I will, and all my care hang o'er thee: come child,  
my valiant-child.  Hengo 
Let me down apace, Uncle,  
and ye shall see how like a Daw I'll whip it  
from all their policies: for 'tis most certain  
a Roman train: and ye must hold me sure too,  
you'll spoil all else. When I have brought it Uncle,  
we'll be as merry—  Car. 
Go i'th' name of heaven Boy.  Hengo 
Quick, quick, Uncle, I have it. Oh.  Judas shoots Hengo. Car. 
What ailest thou?  Hengo 
O my best Uncle, I am slain.  Car. 
I see ye, and heaven direct my hand: destruction  Caratach kills Judas with a stone from the Rock. 
go with thy coward soul. How dost thou Boy?  
Oh villain, pocky villain.  Hengo 
O Uncle, Uncle,  
oh how it pricks me: am I preserved for this?  
extremely pricks me.  Car. 
Coward, rascal Coward,  
dogs eat thy flesh.  Hen. 
Oh I bleed hard: I faint too, out upon 't,  
how sick I am? the lean Rogue, Uncle.  Car. 
Look Boy,  
I have laid him sure enough.  Hengo 
Have ye knocked his brains out?  Car. 
I warrant thee for stirring more: cheer up, child.  Hen. 
Hold my sides hard, stop, stop, oh wretched fortune,  
must we part thus? Still I grow sicker, Uncle.  Car. 
Heaven look upon this noble child.  Hengo 
I once hoped  
I should have lived to have met these bloody Romans  
at my sword's point, to have revenged my father,  
to have beaten 'em: oh hold me hard. But Uncle—  Car. 
Thou shalt live still I hope Boy. Shall I draw it?  Hen. 
Ye draw away my soul then. I would live  
a little longer; spare me heavens, but only  
to thank you for your tender love. Good Uncle,  
good noble Uncle weep not.  Car. 
Oh my chicken,  
my dear Boy, what shall I lose?  Hengo 
Why, a child,  
that must have died however: had this scaped me,  
fever or famine: I was born to die, Sir.  Car. 
But thus unblown, my Boy?  Heng. 
I go the straighter  
my journey to the gods: Sure I shall know ye  
when ye come, Uncle.  Car. 
Yes, Boy.  Hen. 
And I hope  
we shall enjoy together that great blessedness  
you told me of.  Car. 
Most certain, child.  Hengo 
I grow cold,  
mine eyes are going.  Car. 
Lift 'em up.  Hengo 
Pray for me;  
and noble Uncle, when my bones are ashes,  
think of your little Nephew. Mercy.  Car. 
Mercy.  
You blessed angels take him.  Hengo 
Kiss me: so.  
Farewell, farewell. Dies.  Car. 
Farewell the hopes of Britain,  
thou Royal graft, Farewell for ever. Time and Death,  
ye have done your worst. Fortune now see, now proudly  
pluck off thy veil, and view thy triumph: Look,  
look what thou hast brought this Land to. Oh fair flower,  
how lovely yet thy ruins show, how sweetly  
even death embraces thee! The peace of heaven,  
the fellowship of all great souls be with thee.  Enter Petillius & Junius on the rock. 
Hah? dare ye Romans? ye shall win me bravely.  
Thou art mine. Fight.  Jun. 
Not yet, Sir.  Car. 
Breathe ye, ye poor Romans,  
and come up all, with all your ancient valours,  
like a rough wind I'll shake your souls, and send 'em—  Enter Swetonius, and all the Roman Captains. Swet. 
Yield thee bold Caratach; by all—  
as I am soldier, as I envy thee,  
I'll use thee like thyself, the valiant Britain.  Pet. 
Brave soldier yield; thou stock of Arms and Honour,  
thou filler of the world with fame and glory.  Jun. 
Most worthy man, we'll woo thee, be thy prisoners.  Swet. 
Excellent Britain, do me but that honour,  
that more to me then Conquests, that true happiness,  
to be my friend.  Car. 
O Romans, see what here is:  
had this Boy lived—  Swet. 
For Fame's sake, for thy sword's sake,  
as thou desirest to build thy virtues greater:  
by all that's excellent in man, and honest—  Car. 
I do believe: Ye have had me a brave foe;  
make me a noble friend, and from your goodness,  
give this Boy honourable earth to lie in.  Swet. 
He shall have fitting Funeral.  Car. 
I yield then,  
not to your blows, but your brave courtesies.  Petill. 
Thus we conduct then to the arms of Peace  
the wonder of the world.  Swet. 
Thus I embrace thee, Flourish.  
and let it be no flattery that I tell thee,  
thou art the only Soldier.  Car. 
How to thank ye  
I must hereafter find upon your usage.  
I am for Rome?  Swet. 
Ye must.  Car. 
Then Rome shall know  
the man that makes her spring of glory grow.  Swet. 
Petillius, you have shown much worth this day,  
redeemed much error,  
ye have my love again, preserve it. Junius,  
with you I make him equal in the Regiment.  Jun. 
The elder and the nobler: I'll give place, Sir.  Swet. 
Ye show a friend's soul.  
March on, and through the Camp in every tongue.  
the Virtues of great Caratach be sung. Exeunt.    
FINIS.