ACT I., SCENE I.

DUKE NENNIUS[261] _alone_.

NEN. Methinks I hear Bellona's dreadful voice Redoubled from the concave shores of Gaul: Methinks I hear their neighing steads, the groans Of complimental souls taking their leave: And all the dim and clamorous route which sounds When falling kingdoms crack in fatal flames. Die, Belgics,[262] die like men! Free minds need have Nought but the ground they fight on for their grave: And we are next. Think ye the smoky mist Of sun-boil'd seas can stop the eagle's eye?[263] Or can our wat'ry walls keep dangers out, Which fly aloft, that thus we snorting lie, Feeding imposthum'd humours, to be lanc'd By some outlandish surgeon? As they are now, whose flaming towns (like beacons) Give us fair warning, and e'en gild our spires, Whilst merrily we warm us at their fires. Yet we are next: who, charm'd with peace and sloth, Dream golden dreams. Go, warlike Britain, go, For olive-bough exchange thy hazel-bow: Hang up thy rusty helmet, that the bee May have a hive, or spider find a loom: Instead of soldiers' fare and lodging hard (The bare ground being their bed and table), lie Smother'd in down, melting in luxury: Instead of bellowing drum[264] and cheerful flute, Be lull'd in lady's lap with amorous lute. But as for Nennius, know, I scorn this calm: The ruddy planet at my birth bore sway, (Sanguine) adust my humour; and wild-fire (My ruling element), blood and rage, and choler, Make up the temper of a captain's valour. [_Exit._