 | The Tragedie of Bonduca |  |
Actus Quartus.
Scæna Prima.
Enter Petillius, Junius, Decius, Demetrius singing.Petill.
Smooth was his cheek,
Dec.
And his chin it was sleek,
Jun.
With whoop, he has done wooing.
Dem.
Junius was this Captains name,
A lad for a lasses viewing,
Pet.
Ful black his eye, & plump his thigh.
Dec.
Made up for loues pursuing:
Dem.
Smooth was his cheek,
Petill.
And his chin it was sleek.
Jun.
With whoop, he has done Wooing.
Petill.
O my vex'd thief, art thou come home again?
are thy brains perfect?
Jun.
Sound as bels.
Petill.
Thy back-worm
quiet, and cast his sting, boy?
Jun.
Dead, Petillius,
dead to all folly, and now my anger only.
Pet.
Why, that's wel said: hang Cupid and his quiver,
a drunken brawling Boy; thy honour'd saint
be thy ten shillings, Junius; there's the money,
and there's the ware; square dealing: this but sweats thee
like a nesh nag, and makes thee look pin buttock'd;
the other runs thee whining up and down
like a pig in a storm, fils thy brains full of ballads,
and shews thee like a long Lent, thy brave body
turn'd to a tail of green-fish without butter.
Dec.
When thou lov'st next, love a good cup of wine,
a Mistris for a King, she leaps to kisse thee,
her red and white's her own; she makes good blood,
takes none away; what shee heats sleep can help,
without a groping Surgeon.
Jun.
I am counsell'd,
and henceforth, when I doat again,—
Dem.
Take heed,
ye had almost paid for't.
Petil.
Love no more great Ladies,
thou canst not step amisse then; there's no delight in 'em;
all's in the whistling of their snatcht up silks;
they're onely made for handsome view, not handling;
their bodies of so weak and wash a temper,
a rough-parc'd bed will shake 'em all to pieces;
a tough hen puls their teeth out, tyres their souls;
plena rimarum sunt, they are full of rynnet,
and take the skin off where they are tasted; shun 'em,
they live in cullisses like rotten cocks
stew'd to a tendernesse, that holds no tack:
Give me a thing I may crush.
Jun.
Thou speak'st truly:
the Warres shall be my Mistris now.
Petil.
Well chosen,
for she's a bownsing lasse, she'll kisse thee at night, boy,
and break thy pate i'th' morning.
Jun.
Yesterday
I found those favours infinite.
Dem.
Wench good enough,
but that she talks too loud.
Pet.
She talks to th'purpose,
which never woman did yet: shee'll hold grapling,
and he that layes on best, is her best servant:
all other loves are meer catching of dotrels,
stretching of legs out onely, and trim lazinesse.
Enter Swet. Curius & Macer.
Here comes the Generall.
Swet.
I am glad I have found ye:
Are those come in yet that pursu'd bold Caratach?
Pet.
Not yet Sir, for I think they mean to lodge him;
take him I know they dare not, 'twill be dangerous.
Swet.
Then haste Petillius, haste to Penyus,
I fear the strong conceit of what disgrace
h'as pull'd upon himself, will be his ruine:
I fear his souldiers fury too; haste presently,
I would not lose him for all Britain. Give him, Petillius,
Petil.
That that shall choak him.
Swet.
all the noble counsell,
his fault forgiven too, his place, his honour,
Petill.
For me, I think, as handsome.
Swet.
all the comfort;
and tell the Souldier, 'twas on our command
hee drew not to the Battell.
Petil.
I conceive Sir,
and will doe that shall cure all.
Swet.
Bring him with ye
before the Queens Fort, and his Forces with him,
there you shall find us following of our Conquest:
Make haste.
Petil.
The best I may.
Exit.
Swet.
And noble Gentlemen,
Up to your Companies: wee'll presently
upon the Queens pursuit: There's nothing done
till she be seiz'd; without her nothing won.
Exeunt.
Short Flourish.
Scæna Secunda.
Enter Caratach and Hengo.Car.
How does my Boy?
Hen.
I would doe well, my heart's well;
I doe not fear.
Car.
My good boy.
Hen.
I know, Uncle,
we must all die; my little brother dy'd,
I saw him die, and he dy'd smiling: sure,
there's no great pain in't Uncle. But pray tell me,
Whither must we goe when we are dead?
Car.
Strange questions!
why, to the blessed'st place Boy: ever sweetnesse
and happinesse dwels there.
Hen.
Will you come to me?
Car.
Yes, my sweet boy.
Hen.
Mine Aunt too, and my Cosins?
Car.
All, my good childe.
Hen.
No Romans, Uncle?
62
No, boy.
Heng.
I should be loth to meet them there.
Car.
No ill men,
that live by violence, and strong oppression,
come thither: 't is for those the gods love, good men.
Heng.
Why, then I care not when I go; for surely
I am perswaded they love me: I never
blasphem'd 'em, Uncle, nor transgrest my parents;
I always said my prayers.
Car.
Thou shalt go, then,
indeed thou shalt.
Heng.
When they please.
Car.
That's my good boy.
Art thou not weary, Hengo?
Heng.
Weary, Uncle?
I have heard you say you have march'd all day in Armour.
Car.
I have, boy.
Hengo.
Am not I your kinsman?
Car.
Yes.
Heng.
And am not I as fully alli'd unto you
in those brave things, as blood?
Car.
Thou art too tender.
Heng.
To go upon my legs? they were made to bear me:
I can play twenty mile a day; I see no reason
but, to preserve my Countrey and my self,
I should march fourty.
Car.
What, wouldst thou be
living to wear a mans strength?
Heng.
Why a Caratach,
a Romane-hater, a scourge sent from heaven
Drum.
to whip these proud theeves from our kingdom. Heark,
hear, Uncle, heark, I hear a Drum.
Enter Judas and his people to the door.
Iud.
Beat softly,
softly, I say; they are here: who dare charge?
1 Sould.
He
that dares be knockt o'th' head: I'll not come neer him.
Iud.
Retire again, and watch then. How he stares!
h'as eyes would kill a dragon: mark the boy well;
if we could take or kill him. A—on ye,
how fierce ye look? see how he broods the boy;
the devil dwells in's scabbard. Back, I say,
apace, apace, h'as found us.
They retire.
Car.
Do ye hunt us?
Heng.
Uncle, good Uncle see, the thin starv'd Rascal,
the eating Romane, see where he thrids the thickets:
kill him, dear Uncle, kill him; one good blow
to knock his brains into his breech: strike's head off,
that I may pisse in 's face.
Car.
Do ye make us Foxes?
Here, hold my charging-staff, and keep the place, boy.
I am at bay, and like a bull I'll bear me.
Stand, stand, ye Rogues, ye Squirrels.
Exit.
Herg.
Now he pays 'em:
O that I had a mans strength.
Enter Iudas, &c.
Iud.
Here's the boy;
mine own, I thank my Fortune.
Heng.
Uncle, uncle;
famine is faln upon me, uncle.
Iud.
Come, Sir,
yeeld willingly, your uncle's out of hearing;
I'll tickle your young tail else.
Heng.
I defie thee,
thou mock-made man of mat: charge home, sitha:
hang thee, base slave, thou shakest.
Iud.
Upon my conscience
the boy will beat me: how it looks, how bravely,
how confident the worm is: a scabb'd boy
to handle me thus? yeeld, or I cut thy head off.
Heng.
Thou dar'st not cut my finger: here 'tis, touch it.
Iud.
The boy speaks sword and buckler. Prethee yeeld, boy:
come, here's an apple; yeeld.
Heng.
By—he fears me.
I'll give you sharper language: When, ye coward,
when come ye up?
Iud.
If he should beat me—
Heng.
When, Sir?
I long to kill thee; come, thou canst not scape me,
I have twenty ways to charge thee; twenty deaths
attend my bloody staff.
Iud.
Sure 't is the devil,
a dwarf, devil in a doubler.
Heng.
I have kill'd a Captain, sirha, a brave Captain,
and when I have done. I have kickt him thus. Look here,
see how I charge this staff.
Iud.
Most certain
this boy will cut my throat, yet.
Enter two souldiers, running.
1 Sould.
Flee, flee, he kills us.
2 Sould.
He comes, he comes.
Iud.
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 Souldier, a great Souldier;
for by the vertue of your charging-staff,
and a strange fighting face I put upon't,
I have outbrav'd hunger.
Car.
That's my boy, my sweet boy.
Here, here's a Romane's head for thee.
Heng.
Good provision.
Before I starve, my sweet-fac'd Gentleman,
I'll trie your favour.
Car.
A right compleat souldier.
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 mosse, nay, I can live on anger,
to vex these Romanes. Let's be wary, Uncle.
Car.
I warrant thee; come chearfully.
Heng.
And boldly.
Exeunt.
Scæna Tertia.
Enter Penyus, Drusus, and Regulus.Reg.
The souldier shall not grieve ye.
Pen.
Pray ye forsake me;
look not upon me, as ye love your Honours;
I am so cold a coward, my infection
will choke your vertues 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.
63
Sure
his minde is dangerous.
Dru.
The good gods cure it.
Pen.
My honour got thorow fire, thorow stubborn, breaches
thorow battels 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 scornful 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 then I have done. Come, souldiers, seek me,
I have robb'd ye of your vertues: Justice, seek me,
I have broke my fair obedience, lost: shame take me,
take me, and swallow me, make ballads of me;
shame, endlesse 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 minde 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 souldier, and allay his anger;
for he is wilde 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, 't is 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 souldier? 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 Souldier else,
no Romane 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 welcom; 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'winde; 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 waste: that souldier
that being courted by loud fame and fortune,
labour in one hand, that propounds us gods,
and in the other, glory that creats 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 then mens natures? when we slip a little
out of the way of vertue, are we lost?
is there no medicine called Sweet mercie?
Pen.
None, Petillius;
there is no mercie in mankinde can reach me,
nor is it fit it should; I have sinn'd beyond it.
Petill.
Forgivenesse meets with all faults.
Pen.
'T is all faults,
all sins I can commit, to be forgiven:
't is losse of whole man in me, my discretion
to be so stupid, to arrive at pardon.
Petill.
O but the Generall—
Pen.
He 's a brave Gentleman,
a valiant, and a loving; and I dare say
he would, as far as honour durst direct him,
make even with my fault: but 't is 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 withal; nor out of pitie
make a General forget his duty:
nor dare I hope more from him then is worthy.
Petill.
What would ye do?
Pen.
Die.
Petill.
So would sullen children,
women that want their wils, 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 forgivenesse,
the noblest kinde commends, your place, your honour.
Pen.
Prethee no more; 't is 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 didst 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 die indeed.
Pen.
O how thou lovest me!
Petill.
For say he had forgiven ye; say the peoples whispers
were tame again, the time run out for wonder,
64
ye have taken off the edges, from whose valours
the due and recompence of Arms; nay, made it doubtful
whether 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 minde 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 onely thinking now, Sir,
(for I am resolved to go) of a most base death,
sitting the basenesse of my fault. I'll hang,
Petill.
Ye shall not; y'are a Gentleman I honour,
I would else flatter ye, and force ye live,
which is far baser. Hanging? 't is a dogs death,
an end for slaves.
Pen.
The fitter for my basenesse.
Petill.
Besides, the man that's hang'd, preaches his end,
and sits a signe for all the world to gape at.
Pen.
That's true: I'll take a fitter poison.
Petill.
No,
't is 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 die by poison, if all Bosphorus
could lend him swords: your sword must do the deed:
't is shame to die choak'd, fame to die and bleed.
Pen.
Thou hast confirmed me: and, my good Petillius,
tell me no more I may live.
Petill.
'T was 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 finde something to forsake the world with
worthy the man that dies: a kinde of earth-quake
thorow all stern valours but mine own.
Petill.
I feel now
a kinde of trembling in me.
Pen.
Keep it still,
as thou lov'st vertue, keep it.
Petill.
And brave Captain,
the great and honoured Penyus.
Pen.
That again:
O how it heightens me! again, Petillius.
Petill.
Most excellent Commander.
Pen.
Those were mine,
mine, onely 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,
that neither fire, nor age, nor melting envie
shall ever conquer. Carry my last words
to the great General: kisse his hands, and say,
My soul I give to heaven, my fault to justice
which I have done upon my self: my vertue,
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 die: lie lightly on my ashes, gentle earth.
Petill.
And on my sin. Fare-well, great Penyus,
noise within.
the souldier is in fury. Now I am glad
't is done before he comes. This way, for me,
the way of toil; for thee, the way of honour.
Exit.
Enter Drusus and Regulus, with souldiers.
Sould.
Kill him, kill him, kill him.
Dru.
What will ye do?
Reg.
Good souldiers, honest souldiers.
Sould.
Kill him, kill him, kill him.
Dru.
Kill us first; we command too.
Reg.
Valiant Souldiers,
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 be hold your miseries: come bravely,
full of your mutinous and bloody angers,
and here bestow your darts. O onely 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 valour
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 honours living,
when children fail, 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 iust rot 'em;
and humble your stern valours to soft prayers;
for ye have sunk the frame of all your vertues;
the sun that warm'd your bloods is set for ever:
I'll kisse thy honour'd cheek. Fare well, great Penyus,
thou thunder-bolt, fare-well. Take up the body:
to morrow morning to the Camp convey it.
there to receive due Ceremonies. That eye
that blindes 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.65
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.
Yeeld, Queen.
Bond.
I am unacquainted with that language, Roman.
Swet.
Yeeld, honour'd Lady, and expect our mercie,
Exit Decius.
we love thy noblenesse.
Bond.
I thank ye, ye say well;
but mercie and love are sins in Rome and hell.
Swet.
Ye cannot scape our strength; ye must yeeld, Ladie,
ye must adore and fear the power of Rome.
Bond.
If Rome be earthly, why should any knee
with bending adoration worship her?
She's vitious; and your partiall selves confesse,
aspires the height of all impietie:
therefore 'tis fitter I should reverence
the thatched houses where the Britains dwell
in carelesse mirth, where the blest houshold gods
see nought but chaste and simple puritie.
'Tis not high power that makes a place divine,
not 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 fearfull hours: speak gently
Enter Petillius.
to these fierce men, they will afford ye pitie.
Bond.
Pitie? thou fearful girl; 'tis for those wretches
that miserie makes tame. Wouldst thou live lesse?
Wast not thou born a Princesse? Can my blood,
and thy brave fathers spirit, suffer in thee
so base a separation from thy self,
as mercie from these Tyrants? Thou lov'st lust sure,
and long'st to prostitute thy youth and beautie
to common slaves for bread. Say they had mercie;
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 sling thee to their furie.
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:
wee must not seem to mourn here.
Enter Decius.
Dec.
There's a breach made,
is it, your will we charge, Sir?
Swet.
Once more mercie,
mercie to all that yeeld.
Bond.
I scorn to answer:
Speak to him girle; and hear thy sister.
1. Daugh.
Generall,
hear me, and mark me well, and look upon me
directly in my face, my womans face,
whose onely beautie 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 terrour,
one palenesse 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 Daugh.
The children of as great as Rome, as noble,
our names before her, and our deeds her envie;
must we gild ore your Conquest, make your State,
that is not fairly strong, but fortunate?
No, no, ye Romanes, we have ways to scape ye,
to make yee poor again, indeed our prisoners,
and stick our triumphs full.
Petill.
's death, I shall love her.
1 Daugh.
To torture ye with suffering, like our slaves;
to make ye curse our patience, wish the world
were lost again, to win us onely, 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 fearlesse of your bloody fears; and fortunate,
as if we prey'd on heartlesse doves.
Swet.
Strange stiffnesse.
Decius, go charge the breach.
Exit Decius.
Bond.
Charge it home, Romane,
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 Daugh.
And then be sure to die.
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 Daugh.
O my fortune!
Bond.
How, how, ye whore?
2 Daugh.
Good mother, nothing to offend ye.
Bond.
Here, wench:
behold us, Romanes.
Swet.
Mercy yet.
Bond.
No talking:
puff; there goes all your pitie. Come, short prayers,
and let's dispatch the businesse: you begin,
shrink not; I'll see ye do 't.
2 Daugh.
O gentle mother,
O Romanes, O my heart; I dare not.
Swet.
Woman, woman,
unnatural woman.
2 Daugh.
O perswade her, Romanes:
alas, I am young, and would live. Noble mother,
can ye kill that ye gave life? are my yeers
fit for destruction?
Swet.
Yeeld, and be a Queen still,
66
Bond.
Ye talk: come, hold it,
and put it home.
1 Daugh.
Fie, sister, fie,
what would you live to be?
Bond.
A whore still.
2 Daugh.
Mercie.
Swet.
Hear her, thou wretched woman.
2 Daugh.
Mercie, 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 Daugh.
O do not frown then.
1 Daugh.
Do it, worthy sister:
't is nothing, 't is a pleasure; well 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.
O 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 Romane Lady in all your stories,
dare do this for her honour: they are cowards.
eat coals like compell'd Cats: your great Saint Lucrece
di'd not for honour; Tarquin topt her well,
and mad she could not hold him, bled.
Petill.
By—
I am in love: I would give an hundred pound now
but to lie with this womans behaviour. O 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 greedie, 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, Romanes, to fling off
this case of flesh, lose all your cares for ever?
live as we have done, well, and fear the gods,
hunt Honour, and not Nations with your swords,
keep your mindes humble, your devotions high;
so shall ye learn the noblest part, to die.
Bond.
I come, wench; to ye all Fates hang-men; you
that ease the aged destinies, and cut
the threds of Kingdoms, as they draw 'em: here,
here's a draught would ask no lesse then 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 Romanes, with what matchlesse tortures
could I now rack ye? But I pitie ye,
desiring to die quiet: nay, so much
I hate to prosecute my victory,
that I will give ye counsel ere I die.
If you will keep your Laws and Empire whole,
place in your Romane flesh a Britain soul.
Enter Decius.
Swet.
Desperate and strange.
Dec.
'T is won, Sir, and the Britains
all put to th'sword.
Swet.
Give her fair Funeral;
she was truely noble, and a Queen.
Petill.
—take it,
a love-mange grown upon me? what, a spirit?
Iun.
I am glad of this, I have found ye.
Petill.
In my belly,
O how it tumbles?
Iun.
Ye good gods, I thank ye.
Exeunt.
| The Tragedie of Bonduca | |