SCENE II.

_Here enters a woman armed with a shield on the left arm, and a short lance in her hand, who represents WAR; along with her comes SICKNESS, leaning on a crutch, her head swathed with bandages, wearing a yellow mask; and HUNGER follows, clad in a robe of yellow buckram, wearing a yellow or discoloured mask; these figures may be represented by men, as they wear masks._

WAR.

Hunger and Sickness, ministers most dire Of my commands, which make the world to quail! Of life and health devourers in your ire, With whom nor cries, nor threats, nor rights avail! Since ye are cognisant of my desire, It needs not that again I tell the tale, How pleasure and content will fill my breast, If quickly ye fulfil my stern behest. The Fates, with that inexorable might, Whose energy none living can impair, Constrain me now my forces to unite With these sagacious Roman soldiers there, Who for a time will rise to glory's height, While those poor Spaniards perish in despair; But time will come when I shall change it all, Will smite the mighty, and assist the small. For I, who am the great and powerful War, (By countless mothers all in vain abhorred, Though he who curses me at times errs far, Unconscious of the worth that owns me lord) Do know right well that through all lands that are Shall flash the valour of the Spanish sword, At that sweet season when shall rule the land A Charles, a Philip, and a Ferdinand.

SICKNESS.

If Hunger now, our true and trusty friend, Had not so swiftly done her work and well, And made her homicidal power extend O'er all the folk that in Numantia dwell, Thy will through me would have secured its end, In such an easy manner as to swell The rich reward the Roman will obtain, Much better far than what he hopes to gain. Though Hunger, in so far as she hath sway, Now holds the Numantines in such a strait, That shut and barred is every open way Of happy exit from their adverse fate, Yet Fury's falchion, with its fearful play, The adverse sign with its tremendous weight, Within their midst with such a rigour reign, There is no need of hunger or of pain. Fierce rage and madness, thy attendant brood, Have taken foul possession of each breast, And thirst with equal relish for their blood, As if they did the Roman's grim behest. Fire, fury, slaughter are their chiefest good, To die--they reckon of all fates the best; To snatch the triumph from the Roman bands, Themselves will perish by their very hands.

HUNGER.

Now turn your eyes, and see the flaming fire, That blazes from the tall roofs of the town! List to the fearful sighings that expire From thousand breasts, while they their terror drown! Hark to the wailings terrible and dire Of beauteous women, who to death go down; Their tender limbs in flame and ashes lie, No father, friend, or love to heed their cry! As timid sheep, upon their careless way, Whom some ferocious wolf attacks and drives, Go hurrying hither, thither, all astray, With panting dread to lose their simple lives; So, fleeing from the swords upraised to slay, Do these poor children, and these tender wives, Run on from street to street, O fate insane! To lengthen out their certain death, in vain. Within the breast of his belovèd bride The husband sheathes his keen and glittering brand; Devoid of pity, and of filial pride, The son against the mother turns his hand; The father, casting clemency aside, Against his very offspring takes his stand, And while with furious thrusts to death they bleed, He finds a piteous pleasure in the deed! No square, or street, or mansion can be found, That is not filled with blood and with the dead; The sword destroys, the fierce fire blazes round, And Cruelty with fearsome step doth tread! Soon will ye see upon the level ground The strongest and the loftiest turrets spread, The humble dwellings, and the temples high, Shall turn to dust and ashes by and by! Come, ye shall see how in the bosoms dear Of tender children and belovèd wife Theogenes, with courage all austere, Doth prove the temper of his cruel knife; And when the deadly work is over here, So little recks he of his wearied life, He seeks for Death, and by a mode unknown, Which causes other ruin than his own!

WAR.

Now let us go; and see that each prepare To do his proper work within this spot; To what I say give undivided care, Nor swerve from my intention by one jot.

[_Exeunt._