SCENE III.

CASSIBELANUS, BELINUS, LANTONUS.

CAS. Now hot alarums die in fainter notes: Tempestuous night is gone: victorious joy-- As when pale Eos[306] cleaves the eastern fogs, And, blushing more and more, opes half her eye, With holy water sprinkling all the meads, Whose clear reflex serves as her morning glass-- Doth paint with gaudy plumes the chequer'd sky. The only name of victory sounds sweeter Than all mellifluous rhetoric.

LAT. Thanks to Andates,[307] whose power kingdoms feel-- Andates, greatest goddess: in whose train Fear, red-fac'd anger, and confusion's wheel, Murder and desolation run before: But joyful shouts, mirth, olive-budding peace, And laurel-crowned triumph at her back Do pace with stately steps. Thy temple is The earth, where furious monarchs play the priests: Armies of men imbrue thy altar-stones. Thanks also to the trident-shaker's mace,[308] Drawn by two rampant sea-horses, at whose beck The waters wrinkled frown or smoothly smile. But thou, heav'n's diamond, fair Phoebus' sister, Nor Delian dames nor the Ephesian towers Shall blazon more thy praise. Thy influence strong Struck up the sandy ooze, that madding waves Batter'd their ships, and dash'd their bended sails, And with a tempest turn'd them round in scorn.

CAS. But where's the answer which her idol gave? Can you expound the sense?

LAN. Dread sovereign, thus runs the oracle--

_Loud doth the king of beasts roar,_ _High doth the queen of birds soar:_ _But her wings clipp'd soon grow out;_ _Both repent they are so stout._ _Till C. 'gainst C. strike a round,_ _In a perfect circle bound._

The meaning, wrapp'd up in cross doubtful terms, Lies yet thus open. That disastrous fate Must be the prologue to a joyful close. The rest we'll search out, if our skill don't fail.

BEL. Renown'd Cassibelane, might my counsel speak?

CAS. I know thy loyal heart and prudent head, Upon whose hairs Time's child, Experience, hangs A milk-white badge of wisdom; and canst wield Thy tongue in senate and thy hands in field. Speak free, Belinus.

BEL. We forfeit fame and smother victory By idle lingering: the foe discomfited Must needs be much amaz'd; his ships dismember'd, Do piecemeal float upon the waves: the horse, Whose succour he expects, are beaten back By friendly winds: his camp contracted is: A tithe of soldiers left, the rest all slain: His chief munition spent or lost: provision (An army's soul) but what we give, he wants. What then shall hinder to destroy their name? So none again shall venture: but our isle, Rounded with Nereus' girdle, may enjoy Eternal peace.

CAS. I like thy warning; with united stroke Of all our nations we'll his camp beleaguer, Devouring ships and men. But one mischance, My brother's wound (his mortal wound, I fear) Turns all to wormwood. Why were ye dumb, ye idols? No sainted statue did foretell this grief. Come, let's go visit him. You may, lord general, Set Comius free; we love not to insult, But render good for ill. [_Exeunt._