ACT IV., SCENE I.

CÆSAR, VOLUSENUS, _Attendants_.

CÆS. A story is't or fable that, stern Mars, Thy weight did Romulus' sleepy mother press? Since we, thy brood degenerous, stand at gaze, Charm'd in the circle of a foaming flood, And trail our dastard pikes? Burst, Janus' prison! Roar as thou didst at Troy, drown Stentor's voice By many eighths,[327] which Pindus may re-beat, Which Caucasus may as a catch repeat, And Taurus lough the same:[328] that pigmies small May squeak, it thunders, and dive into burrows. Let the four winds with dreadful clamours sing Thy anger through th' affrighted world. What Lemnian chain shackles our mounting eagle? The moon's round concave is too strait a cage For her advanced pinions.

_Enter_ MANDUBRATIUS,[329] _wounded and bloody, with_ ANDROGEUS'S _young son_.

MAN. If pity can have room in angry breast, Favour a Briton prince, his father slain, His regiment bereft, his dearest blood Drawn by the sword of false Cassibelane, Having got crown, he then struck at my head; Nor can I safely suck my native air. His coz Androgeus also and whole regions In open war withstand his violence, Lo, Albion's aged arms spread wide t'enchain Thee, as her patron, in a true-love knot. Wherefore, dread Cæsar, let thy mercy strike Revengeful fires, and be justly styled, [_Kneels._ Tamer of tyrants. Then fame blows aloud, When valour helps the weak, pulls down the proud.

CÆS. Arise, unhappy prince, our deeds shall show We grant thy suit. Fortune repents at last;

[_To_ VOLUSENUS.

The moon is chang'd, the globe doth to us turn Her shining cheek, and wooes us with a smile.

But what firm signs of faith, what faithful aid, What furtherance, can you give at our arrival?

MAN. See here Androgeus' heir, whose tender age His father ventures, and makes bold with nature To pledge his darling. He and thirty more Of noble lineage shall assure our faith; Besides I pawn my life.

CÆS. Enough. I'll once more cross the seas: For your good more than mine; that happier sky May bless your towns with peace, your fields with plenty; Perpetual spring, in gay perfum'd attire, Sirname your isle the garden of the west.

MAN. Thanks, gracious Cæsar, for this kind acceptance, My knee doth kiss the ground, my lip your knee. Pardon, ye gods, if any haunt our land, Ye nymphs and lares, fawns and sylvans wild, That thus I bring a stranger on our coasts, Whose foreign shape and language may affright Our lazy clowns, and on my country's back Once tread victorious steps. Be pleas'd to view Wrongs now redress'd, neglected first by you.

CÆS. Now, Volusene, Our glorious state, like the noon-pointed sun, When he bestrides the lion's flaming fleece, Doth north-west roll his burning brand, whose fire The ocean's blue lake cannot stop, but flies With brighter blaze to thaw the frozen isles. But how proceeds our preparation?

VOL. Many strong ships are built, five legions arm'd Ready to launch.

CÆS. Blow gently, Africus: Play on our poops. When Hyperion's son Shall couch in west his foam-bedappl'd jades, We'll rise to run our course.