Part 10

_Jud._ 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 out-brav'd 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-fac'd Gentleman, I'll trie your favour.

_Car._ A right compleat Soldier. Come, chicken, let's go seek some place of strength (The Countrey's full of Scouts) to rest a while in, Thou wilt not else be able to endure The journey to my Countrey, fruits, and water, Must be your food a while, boy.

_Heng._ Any thing: I can eat moss, I can live on anger, To vex these _Romans_. Let's be wary, Uncle.

_Car._ I warrant thee; come chearfully.

_Heng._ And boldly.

_Scæna 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 Honors; I am so cold a coward, my infection Will choke your virtues like a damp else.

_Dru._ Dear Captain.

_Reg._ Most honour'd Sir.

_Pen._ Most hated, most abhor'd; Say so, and then 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 thorow fire, thorow stubborn breaches Thorow Batte[l]s that have been as hard to win as heaven, Thorow death himself, in all his horrid trims, Is gone for ever, ever, ever, Gentlemen, And now I am left to scornfu[l] tales and laughters, To hootings at, pointing with fingers, That's he, That's the brave Gentleman forsook the battel, 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 lyes that says so: by ---- he lyes, lyes basely, Baser than I have done. Come, soldiers, seek me, I have robb'd 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 my self: 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 heavens 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, 'tis 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 perish'd.

_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 politick 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 offer'd him, Refus'd the wealth, and took the wast: 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 errour.

_Pen._ A foul one, and a black one.

_Petill._ Yet the blackest May be washt 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, Alli'd to no infirmities? are our natures More than mens 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 sinn'd beyond it.

_Petill._ Forgiveness meets with all faults.

_Pen._ 'Tis all faults, All sins I can commit, to be forgiven: 'Tis 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 honor durst direct him, Make even with my fault, but 'tis 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 plaid withall; nor out of pitty Make a General forget his duty: Nor dare I hope more from him than is worthy.

_Petill._ What would ye do?

_Pen._ Dye.

_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._ Prethee no more; 'tis foolish: didst not thou? By ---- thou didst, I over-heard thee, there, There where thou standst now, deliver me for rascal, Poor, dead, cold coward, miserable, wretched, If I out-liv'd this ruine?

_Petill._ I?

_Pen._ And thou di[d]st it nobly, Like a true man, a souldier: 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 dye indeed.

_Pen._ O how thou lov'st me!

_Petill._ For say he had forgiven ye; say the peoples 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 recompence of Arms; nay, made it doubtful Wh[e]ther they knew obedience? must not these kill ye? Say they are won to pardon ye, by meer miracle Brought to forgive ye; what old valiant Souldier, 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; y'are a Gentleman I honor, I would else flatter ye, and force ye live, Which is far baser. Hanging? 'tis a dogs death, An end for slaves.

_Pen._ The fitter for my baseness.

_Petill._ Besides, the man that's hang'd, 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, 'Tis equal ill; the death of rats and women, Lovers, and lazie boys, that fear correction, Die like a man.

_Pen._ Why my sword then.

_Petill._ I, 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 asse To dye by poison, if all _Bosphorus_ Could lend him Swords: your Sword must do the deed: 'Tis shame to dye choak'd, fame to dye and bleed.

_Pen._ Thou hast confirmed me: and, my good _Petillius_, Tell me no more I may live.

_Petill._ 'Twas my Commission; But now I see ye in a nobler way, A way to make all even.

_Pen._ Fare-well, Captain: Be a good man, and fight well: be obedient: Command thy self, 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 earth-quake Through all stern valors 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 gr[ea]t 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,

[_Kills himself._

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 my self: 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 dye: lye lightly on my ashes, gentle earth.

_Petill._ And on my sin. Farewell, great _Peny[u]s_,

[_Noise within._

The souldier is in fury. Now I am glad 'Tis done before he comes. This way, for me, The way of toile; for thee, the way of honor. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Drusus _and_ Regulus _with Souldiers._

_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 Souldiers) 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 ruine?

_Dru._ O let 'em in: all's done, all's ended, _Regulus,_ _Penyus_ has found his last eclipse. Come, Souldiers, Come, and behold your miseries: come bravely, Full of your mutinous and bloody angers, And here bestow your darts. O only _Romane_, O father of the Wars.

_Reg._ Why stand ye stupid? Where be your killing furies? whose sword now Shall first be sheath'd in _Penyus_? do ye weep? Howl out, ye wretches, ye have cause: howl ever. Who shall now lead ye fortunate? whose valor Preserve ye to the glory of your Countrey? Who shall march out before ye, coy'd and courted By all the Mistrisses of War, care, counsel, Quick-ey'd experience, and victory twin'd to him? Who shall beget ye deeds beyond inheritance To speak your names, and keep your honors living, When children faill, and time that takes all with him, Build houses for ye to oblivion?

_Dru._ O ye poor desperate fools: no more now, souldiers; Go home, and hang your arms up; let rust rot 'em; And humble your stern valors to soft prayers; For ye have sunk the frame of all your virtues; The sun that warm'd your bloods is set for ever: I'll kiss thy honor'd cheek. Farewell, great _Penyus_, Thou thunder-bolt, farewell. Take up the body: To morrow 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._

_Scæna Quarta._

_Enter_ Swetonius, Junius, Decius, Demetrius, Curius, _and_ Souldiers: Bonduca, _two Daughters, and_ Nennius, _above_. _Drum and Colours._

_Swet._ Bring up the Catapults and shake the wall, We will not be [out-brav'd] 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._ Yeild, Queen.

_Bond._ I am unacquainted with that language, _Roman_.

_Swet._ Yield honour'd 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_.

_[B]ond._ If _Rome_ be earthly, why should any knee With bending adoration worship her? She's vitious; and your partial selves confess, Aspires the height of all impiety: Therefore 'tis fitter I should reverence The thatched houses where the _Britains_ dwell In careless mirth, where the blest houshold gods See nought but chast 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 stor'd, Make people noble, and the place ador'd.

_Swet._ Beat the wall deeper.

_Bond._ Beat it to the center, We will not sink one thought.

_Swet._ I'll make ye.

_Bond._ No.

_2. Dau._ O mother, these are fearful hours: speak gently.

_Enter_ Petillius.

To these fierce men, they will afford ye pitty.

_Bond._ Pitty? 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 fathers spirit, suffer in thee So base a separation from thy self, As mercy from these Tyrants? Thou lov'st lust sure, And long'st to prostitute thy youth and beauty To common slaves for bread. Say they had mercy; The divel a relenting conscience: The lives of Kings 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 hazzard 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. Dau._ General, Hear me, and mark me well, and look upon me Directly in my face, my womans 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 fortunes fools, we were not born for triumphs, To follow your gay sports, and fill your slaves With hoots and acclamations.

_Petill._ Brave behaviour.

_1. Dau._ The children of as great as _Rome_, as noble, Our names before her, and our deeds her envy; Must we guild ore 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. Dau._ 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 spight of all your Eagles wings: we'll work A pitch above ye; and from our height we'll stoop As fearless of your bloody soars; and fortunate, As if we prey'd 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. Dau._ And then be sure to dye.

_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. Dau._ O my fortune!

_Bond._ How, how, ye whore?

_2. Dau._ Good mother, nothing to offend ye.

_Bond._ Here, wench: Behold us, _Romans_.

_Swet._ Mercy yet.

_Bond._ No talking: Puff, there goes all your pitty. Come, short prayers, And let's dispach the business: you begin, Shrink not; I'll see ye do't.

_2. Dau._ O gentle mother, O _Romans_, O my heart; I dare not.

_Swet._ Woman, woman, Unnatural woman.

_2. Dau._ O perswade her, _Romans_: Alass, 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. Dau._ Fie, sister, fie, What would you live to be?

_Bond._ A whore still.

_2. Dau._ Mercy.

_Swet._ Hear her, thou wretched woman.

_2. Dau._ 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. Dau._ O do not frown then.

_1. Daugh._ Do it, worthy Sister: 'Tis nothing, 'tis 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._ Oh comfort me still for heavens 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 farewel to this world.

_Bond._ Good: I'll help thee.

_1 Daugh._ The next is mine. Shew me a _Roman_ Lady in all [y]our stories, Dare do this for her honor: they are cowards, Eat coals like compell'd Cats: your great Saint _Lucrece_ Dy'd not for honor; _Tarquin_ topt her well, And mad she could not hold him, bled.

_Petil._ By ---- [I] am in love: I would give an hundred pound now But to lie with this womans behaviour. Oh the devil.

_1 Daugh._ Ye shall see me example, All your _Rome_, If I were proud and lov'd 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 intice 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 Honor, and not Nations with your swords, Keep your minds humble, your devotions high; So shall ye learn the noblest part, to die. [_Dies._

_B[o]nd._ I come, wench; to ye all Fates hangmen; you That ease the aged destinies, and cut The threds of Kingdoms, as they draw 'em: here, Here's the draft would ask no less than _Cæsar_ To pledge it for the glories 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 fools, Ye should have ti'd up death first, when ye conquer'd, 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 easie reins As do our enemies. I feel the poison. Poor vanquish'd _Romans_, with what matchless tortures Could I now rack ye! But I pittie ye, Desiring to die quiet: nay, so much I hate to prosecute my victory, That I will give ye counsel e'r I die. If you will keep your Laws and Empire whole, Place in your _Romans_ flesh, a _Britain_ soul. [_Dies._

_Enter_ Decius.

_Swet._ Desperate and strange.

_Dec._ 'Tis won, Sir, and the _Britains_ All put to th' sword.

_Swet._ Give her fair Funeral; She was truly noble, and a Queen.

_Pet._ ---- Take it, A Love-mange grown upon me? what, a spirit?

_Jun._ I am glad of this, I have found ye.

_Petil._ In my belly, Oh how it tumbles!

_Jun._ Ye good gods, I thank ye. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Caratach _upon a rock, and_ Hengo _by him, sleeping_.

_Car._ Thus we afflicted _Britains_ 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 _Britanie_ by thy means, what sad millions Of Widows weeping eyes! The strong mans valour Thou hast betraid to fury; the childs fortune To fear and want of friends: whose pieties Might wipe his mournings off, and build his sorrows A house of rest by his blest Ancestors: The Virgins thou hast rob'd of all their wishes, Blasted their blowing hopes, turn'd their songs, Their mirthful marriage-son[g]s 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 dream'd we were betrai'd.

[_A soft dead march within._

_Car._ No harm, boy; 'Tis 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 prethee be not fearful.

_Heng._ Now ye hate me, Would I were dead.

_Car._ Thou know'st I love thee dearly.

_Heng._ Did I e'r shrink yet, Uncle? were I a man now; I should be angry with ye.

_Enter_ Drusus, Regulus, _and_ Soldiers, _with_ Penyus's Herse, _Drums and Colours_.

_Car._ My sweet chicken, See, they have reach'd us, and as it seems they bear Some soldiers body, by their solemn gestures, And sad solemnities; it well appears too To be of eminence. Most worthy Soldiers, Let me intreat 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 wooe the World and Nature To be in love with death? Most honorable Excellent _Romans_, by your antient valours, As ye love Fame, resolve me.