Part 7

_Petil._ Any mirth, And any way, of any subject, _Junius_, Is better than unmanly mustiness: What harm's in drink, in a good wholsome 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 touchie answer. _None I thank ye_: Ye do not scorn it, do ye?

_Jun._ Gods defend, Sir; I owe him still more honor.

_Pet. None, I thank ye_: No company, no drink, no wench, _I thank ye_. Ye shall be worse intreated, Sir.

_Jun. Petillius_, As thou art honest, leave me.

_Pet. 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 sirname 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, E'r I would own thy follies. I have found ye, Your lays, and out-leaps _Junius_, haunts, and lodges: I have view'd 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 it. A peevish idle boy; your Dame shall know it; [A wronger of my care; your self shall know it.]

_Enter Corporal_ Judas, _and four Soldiers_.

_Jud._ A Bean? a Princely diet, a full Banquet, To what we compass.

_1 Sold._ Fight like Hogs for Acorns?

_2 Sold._ Venture our lives for Pig-nuts?

_Pet._ What ail these Rascals?

_3 Sold._ If this hold, we are starv'd.

_Jud._ For my part, friends, Which is but twenty Beans a day, a hard world For Officers, and men of action; And those so clipt by master Mouse, and rotten: For understand 'em _French_ Beans, where the fruits Are ripen'd like the people in old tubs. For mine own part, I say, I am starv'd already. Not worth another Bean, consum'd to nothing, Nothing but flesh and bones left, miserable: Now if this mustie provender can prick me To honourable matters of atchievment, Gentlemen, Why there's the point.

_4 Sold._ I'll fight no more.

_Petill._ You'll hang then, A sovereign help for hunger. Ye eating Rascals, Whose gods are Beef and Brewis, 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 Pie-crust?

_3 Sold._ Would we had it.

_Jud._ I may do service, Captain.

_Petill._ In a fish-market. You, Corporal Curry-Comb, what will your fighting Profit the Common-wealth? do you hope to triumph, Or dare your vamping valour, goodman Cobler, Clap a new [soal] 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 eat'st 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 Garlick? Ye Rogues, my company eat Turf, and talk not; Timber they can digest, and fight upon't; Old matts, and mud with spoons, rare meats. Your shooes slaves? Dare ye cry out for hunger, and those extant? Suck your Sword-hilts, ye slaves, if ye be valiant, Honor will make 'em march-pain: _to the purpose_? A grievous penance. Dost thou see that Gentleman, That melancholly Monsieur?

_Jun._ Pray ye, _Petillius_.

_Pet._ He has not eat these three weeks.

_2 Sold._ 'Has drunk the more then.

_3 Sold._ And that's all one.

_Petill._ Nor drunk nor slept these two months.

_Jud._ Captain, we do beseech yo[u] 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._ 'Tis common profit; Urge him to th' point, he'll find you out a food That needs no teeth nor stomach; a strange furmity 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 melancholly, And there lies _Caratach_.

_Jud._ We do beseech ye.

_2 Sold._ 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 Sold._ Or rather pity.

_3 Sold._ 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 swords point, slaves, your poor starv'd spirits Can make me no oblations; else, O love, Thou proudly blind destruction, I would send thee Whole _Hecatom[b]s_ of hearts, to bleed my sorrows.

_Jud._ Alas, he lives by love, Sir. [_Exit_ Junius.

_Pet._ So he does, Sir, And cannot you do so too? All my Company Are now in love, ne'r think of meat, nor talk Of what Provant is: _Aymees_, and _Hearty hey-hoes_, Are Sallets fit for Soldiers. Live by meat; By larding up your bodies? 'tis lewd, and lazie, And shews ye meerly 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 sav'd, and your hunger's 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 prophesie A pickel'd Rope will choak ye. Jog, and talk not. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Swetonius, Demetrius, Decius, Drum, Colours.

_Swet. Demetrius_, is the messenger dispatch'd To _Penyus_, to command him to bring up The _Volans_ Regiment?

_Dem._ He's there by this time.

_Swet._ And are the Horse well view'd 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.

_Pet._ Sir, already I have been tampring 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'r in uproars No oil but Candy, _Lusitanian_ Figs And Wine from _Lesbos_ now can satisfie '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, Than if the sea and land turn'd 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 ruines.

_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, Joynted again, and made a Mast, defies Those angry winds that split him: so will I, Piec'd to my never-fai[l]ing strength and fortune, Steer thorow these swelling dangers; plow their prides up, And bear like thunder through their loudest tempests: They keep the field still.

_Dem._ Confident and full.

_Pet._ 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 kill'd with killing; of desperate Women, That neither fear, or shame e'r found, the devil Has rank'd 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.

_Sw[e]t._ These are imaginations, dreams of nothing, The man that doubts or fears.

_Dec._ I am free of both.

_Dem._ The self-same 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 learn'd from you; I learn'd it, And worthy of a Soldiers 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; how, found, to follow it With counsel and discretion, lest meer fortune Should claim the victory.

_Sw[e]t._ 'Tis true, _Petillius_, And worthily remembred: the rule's certain, Their uses no less excellent: but where time Cuts off occasio[n]s, danger, time and all Tend to a present peril, 'tis required Our Swords and Manhoods be best counsellors, Our expeditions, presidents. To win, is nothing, Where reason, time and counsel are our Camp-masters: But there to bear the field, then to be conquerors, Where pale destruction takes us, takes us beaten, I[n] wants, and mutinies, our selves but handfuls, And to our selves, 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 preach'd to, Rewards like them; and names for after-ages, Must steel the Soldier; his own shame help to arm him; And having forc'd his spirit, e'r 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 ruine, but destruction; The Soldiers 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 choak 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 than all _Britain_: he's a Soldier So forg'd out, and so temper'd 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._ 'Tis well govern'd; To morrow we'll draw out, and view the Cohorts: I' th' mean time, all apply their offices. Where's _Junius_?

_Petill._ In's Cabin, 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._ 'Twill 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, crackt 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 your selves 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 shar'd 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 honors infinite, And want for ever banisht. Two days hence, Our fortunes, and our swords, and gods be for us. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Secundus. Scæna 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 lye.

_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'm remembred in no nobler language But Must come up?

_Ma._ I do beseech ye, Sir, Weigh but the times estate.

_Pen._ Yes, good Lieutenant, I do, and his that sways it. Must come up; Am I turn'd bare Centurion? Must, and shall, Fit Embasses to court my honor?

_Ma._ Sir--

_Pen._ Set me to lead a handful of my men Against an hundred thousand barbarous slaves That have marcht name by name with _Romes_ 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 Battel's lost.

_Cur._ So soon?

_Pen._ No; but 'tis lost, because it must be won: The _Britains_ must be Victors. Who e'r saw A troop of bloody vultures hovering About a few corrupted carcasses, Let him behold the silly _Roman_ host, Girded with millions of fierce _B[r]itains_ 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 sacrific'd For _Romes_ increase?

_Pen._ Yes, _Curius_; but mark this too; What glory is there, or what lasting Fame Can be to _Rome_ or us? what full example, When one is smother'd with a multitude, And crouded in amongst a nameless press? Honor got out of Flint, and on their heads Whose virtues, like the Sun, exhal'd 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, Not slaves to choak 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 quick-sand ruine, 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 poison'd with their blasting breaths and curses, Where we lie buried quick above the ground, And are with labouring sweat, and breathless pain, Kill'd like to slaves, and cannot kill again?

_Dru. Penyus_, mark antient Wars, and know that then Captains weigh'd an hundred thousand men.

_Pen. Drusius_, mark antient wisdom, and you'll find then, He gave the overthrow that sav'd 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._ 'Tis like the general cause, their love of honor, 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? Harke, they march. I will know, and will be my self. Stand, disobedience; He that advances one foot higher, dies for't. Run thorow the Regiment upon your duties, And charge 'em on command: beat back again, By ---- I'll ti'th'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 besee[c]h 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 fear'd and honor'd, turn'd to wild-fires? O gods, to disobedience? Command, farewel: And be ye witness with me, all things sacred, I have no share in these mens shames. March, Soldiers, And seek your own sad ruines; your old _Penyus_ Dares not behold your murders.

_Sold._ Captain.

_2 Sold._ Captain.

_3 Sold._ Dear honour'd Captain.

_Pen._ Too too dear lov'd Soldiers, Which made ye weary of me: and Heaven yet knows, Though in your mutinies, I dare not hate you; Take your own Wills; 'tis fit your long experience Should now know how to rule your selves: I wrong ye, In wishing ye to save your lives and credits, To keep your necks whole from the Ax hangs o'r ye: Alas, I much dishonour'd ye: go, seek the _Britains_, 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 govern'd, Is only left of my Command, for story; What now ye are, for pitie. 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 turn'd 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 fagots to fill breaches; My self 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._ Farewel, _Macer_. [_Exit_ Penyus.

_Cur._ Pray gods this breed no mischief.

_Reg._ It must needs, If stout _Suetonius_ win; for then his anger, Besides the Soldiers loss of due, and honor, 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 shews 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 farewel serves for a Funeral. The gods make sharp our swords, and steel our hearts; We dare, alas, but cannot fight our parts. [_Exeunt._

_Scæna Secunda._

_Enter_ Junius, Petillius _and a_ Herald _observing_ Junius.

_Petill._ Let him go on: stay, now he talks.

_Jun._ Why? Why should I love mine enemie? 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 damn'd without redemption then.

_Jun._ The way to't Strew'd 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 bring 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 enjoy'd our ends, we lose 'em, And all our appetites are but as dreams We laugh at in our ages.

_Petill._ 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-fac'd Mistriss?

_Jun._ With a little trim, That wanton fools call Fashion, thus abuse me? Take me beyond my reason? Why should not I Doat on my horse well trapt, my sword well hatch'd? 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 honor dare not ask: she has been ravish'd 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 intreat 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 devils 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, [_Musick._ But I will fright thy devil: Stay, he sings now.

_Song, by_ Junius, _and_ Petillius, _after him in mockage_.

_Jun._ Must I be thus abus'd?

_Petill._ Yes marry must ye. Let's follow him close: oh, there he is, now read it.

Herald reads. _It is the Generals 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._ Ha?

_Petill._ Read on.

Herald. _If any common Soldier love an enemy, he's whip'd_ _and made a slave: If any Captain, cast, with loss of honors,_ _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.