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Careless of aught, save haste, the legionaries
Lose their most travail, labouring at the oars,
With so uncunning hands, to-night; and oft
The tacklings burst of their mishandled sails.
They solace them, with the rude songs of soldiers.
And flames, lo, comet-star, hanging athwart
The heavens, like Persic glaive, from part to part;
Whose point, before them, Britain seems invade.
Their dukes, at dawn, (which followed, have this night,

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In the longships; scouring with sail, uneath,
And oar;) assay, amidst this confused fleet,
To bring some order. They, the medléd ships,
Do part, then, in two squadrons, of their navy.
The first shall sue the legate's purple sail;
The next, just distance keep, of a large mile.
For that, erewhile, deposed Icenian king,
(Whom after-ages named The Bane-of-Britain,)
Fell Bericos, sent then the proprætor Aulus:
He, likewise, sends for Belgic Cogidubnos.
(They, newly, with Narcissus, came from Claudius.)
Those, brought before the legate, asks them Plautius,
Where deem they best in Britain, were take land?
Bericos responds, Longs his Icenic coast!
But Cogidubnos, contrarywise, persuades,
With many words, towards setting sun, hold course;
Where Belges' march, and he hath many friends.
The pilots look, to make, soon, Head-of-Kent.
Long that day's heat, and merry their sails' flight:
But weary, in the strait hulls, that smell of pitch,
Abhor, their very souls, faint Roman soldiers.
Made Aulus sign, then; Steer, for Belges' coast!
Yet a long summer day, on vast grey deep,
The Romans heave. But, when now, falling round
Them, the third night, gin murmur legionaries;

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Said we not rightly, and being yet in Gaul,
Was this Britannic war beyond the world?
That after-squadron, lying on loose oars,
In wide moonshine, were heard, of many soldiers,
Seditious cries. Then some, drawn furious glaives,
Hack bands and stays; and hardly are they appeased.
Sith, when begins the day, at length, to break;
Midst the unending and unstable billows,
Rising the sun, from part of the Mainland;
They, no more, might discern the forward fleet;
But certain headland, nigh them, and low shore.
Impatient turn, then, all the sea-tossed soldiers,
With furious brunt of oars, to that green land,
Their stems. Where now they see some river's mouth,
They row to enter. Helped then of the tide,
The first being come in; soon made fast their prows,
Men leap, to rushy banks, out, and green mead:
Other, not few, ships rowed, to open shore.