University of Virginia Library

ACT. II.

SCENE I.

Enter Petillius and Decius, two Roman Captains.
Pet.
Well, Captain; what Commands from our General Suetonius?
Are we all drawn yet? All prepar'd and order'd,
Fit to be slaughter'd?

Dec.
Brave News, Captain; our General has sent
To have a Treaty to day with Caratach.

Pet.
And fight with him to morrow: For, my Life on't,
They'll never conclude a Peace. They may make Treaties,
But all they agree on will be, to knock one another o'th' Head.
Where do they meet?

Dec.
Here on this Eminence, between the two Camps:
And for my part I think it no Scandal
For the bravest Roman amongst us to wish
They may come to Articles: For what can our
Shatter'd Troops do against a Hundred thousand Britains?

Pet.
Between no Bread and pitcht Battels we have not
Men left enough to storm a Village.
Suetonius is a Noble General; but I see no reason
Why we should be all slic'd and slaughter'd,
And Dung Land here, because he loves fighting.
Enter Junius.
Stay, Stay, here comes the languishing Captain Junius:
Poor Gentleman, he's drawing on—

Dec.
Not to his End I hope,

Pet.
The end of all Flesh, Woman: His Thoughts ramble
After the Grecian Captive he left behind at Rome.

Jun.
Why, what a Wretch am I? This Grecian Beauty
Has softned all that's Great and Roman in me:
I shall be hooted at by all the Camp.
There's not a Slave that calls himself a Soldier,
But's brave enough to storm a Whining Lover.
Leave me, Petillius, my Thoughts are busie.

Pet.
Thou want'st Drink: For what Affliction
Can light so heavy on a Soldier, and dry him up
As thou art; but no Drink? Thou sha't have Drink.

Jun.
Prithee Petillius—

Pet.
By my Honour, much Drink, valiant Drink:
I see like a true Friend into thy Wants, 'tis Drink.
And when I leave thee to a Dissolution,
Especially of that dry Nature; hang me.

Jun.
Your Fooling's Nauseous: Why this Drink?
Drink to me—

Pet.
Did I not find thee gaping like an Oyster,
For a New Tide? Why, thy very Thoughts lie bare
Like a Low Ebb. Thy Soul, that rid in Sack,
Lies Moor'd for want of Liquor: I say still,
Thou want'st Drink.

Jun.
You have too much on't; therefore leave me, Sir:
Belch not your Drunken Jests on me;
I'm not dispos'd for Mirth.

Pet.
May be thou want'st a Whore too? Thou sha't have both.
A pretty Valiant Fellow; dye for a little Lap and Leachery!
Hear, thou Son of Her
That loves a Soldier; hear what I promis'd for thee:
Thus I said, Madam, I take your Son for my Companion
Madam, I Love your Son; your Son loves War:
War loves Danger; Danger, Drink; Drink, Discipline,
Which is Society and Leachery; these two beget Commanders.
Fear not, Madam, your Son shall lead with Honour.

Jun.
Do's so Ridiculous and loose a Mirth,
Become a Man of Arms?

Pet.
Any Mirth, or any Subject is better
Than Unmanly Mustiness: What harm's in Drink?
In a good wholsome Wench? It cannot out
Of my Head yet, handsomly: But thou woud'st
Feign be Drunk; come, no more Fooling:
The General has new Wine come over.

Jun.
He must have New Acquaintance for it too,
For I will a' none, I thank ye.

Pet.
None, I thank ye; a short and pithy Answer.
No Company, no Drink, no Wench, I thank ye:
A decent and modest Resolution.
Enter Corporal, Macer, and Soldiers.
What do these Hungry Rascals here?

Mac.
A Bean, a Bean; a Princely Diet;
A full Banquet, to what we compass.

1 Sold.
Fight like Hogs for Acorns.

2 Sold.
If this hold, Corporal Macer, we are starv'd

Mac.
For my part I'm starv'd already;
Not worth another Bean:
A hard saying for an Officer, and a Man of Action:
Look ye Gentlemen, my Belly's run away
From my Coat; and my Doublet hangs so loose,
That I can pull him over my Head, like
A Shirt: Who'd guess by the sharpness of my Fiz,
That I had any Jaws! and truly they are so
Very weak for want of Chewing, that they
Can scarce keep open my Face, so that the
Two Flapps of my Countenance are in danger
Of meeting; and so for my part, I'le Fight no more.
How stand the rest of your Stomachs affected?

All.
No Bits, no Blows.

Pet.
Dy'e Mutiny, you Eating Rascals?
You Fight no more? No Bits, no Blows?
Do's Rome depend on your Resolution,
For Eating Bief and Brewis?

Mac.
Wou'd we had it.

Pet.
Avaunt, ye Slaves, or I'le have ye all hang'd:
A Sovereign help for Hunger.

Mac.
I may do Service, Captain.

Pet.
Yes, in a Butcher-row. Come hither, Corporal:
Thou art the Ring-leader of 'em, and I'll take
Care to get a particular Reward for thee.

Mac.
How much Bief?

Pet.
Bief! The Forks, Sirrah:
Where thou shalt be taught the true Virtue
Of Temperance, by a Lictor, and Cat of Nine Tails
This you've deserv'd: But Bief, Sirrah!
How dar'st thou expect Bief?
Hast thou done any thing to deserve Eating?

Mac.
Done Miracles Captain, Miracles!
Enough to deserve Feasting a Twelvemonth.

Pet.
What Miracles, Sirrah?

Mac.
What Miracles have I done? Let me see;
Done? Why I have fasted a Fortnight, which
Is a greater Miracle than any Hero of ye all
Can boast of; and enough to Merit a Banquet for Life.

Pet.
A Fortnight! What dost thou call Fasting?
How long is't since thou Eat'st last?
Tell the Truth.

Mac.
I have not Eat to the Purpose—

Pet.
To the Purpose? Ye Rogues, my Company Eat Turf,
And ne're Grumble: They can Digest Timber,
And Fight upon't: Dare ye Cry out for Hunger,
And wear Shoes? Suck your Sword Hilts, ye Slaves,
If ye be Valiant to the purpose. A grievous penance!
Do'st thou see that Melancholy Gentleman?

[Pointing to Junius.
Jun.
For shame, what mean ye Petillius?

Pet.
He has not Eat these three Weeks.

Mac.
He has Drank the more then, and that's all one.

Pet.
Nor Drank, nor Eat, nor slept these two Months.

Jun.
No more of this on your Life, Petillius,

Pet.
Go to him, Corporal; 'tis common Profit:
Urge him to the Point; he'll find you out
A strange Food, that needs neither Teeth, nor Stomach;
That will feed ye as Fat as a Cramm'd Capon,
And make ye Fight like Devils: To him Corporal;
I'll warrant thee, he'll teach thee a new way
Of Getting Dinners.

Mac.
Captain, we do beseech you as poor Soldiers,
[Bowing to Jun.
Men that have seen good days;
Whose Mortal Stomachs may some times
Feel Afflictions—

Jun.
D'ye long to have your Throats Cut?

Pet.
See what Mettle it makes in him:
Two more Meals of this, and there lies Caratach.

Mac.
We do beseech you but to render in way
Of general Good, in Preservation—

[to Junius.
Jun.
Out of my Thoughts, ye Scoundrels.

Mac.
Out of your Pity, to give us your War-like Remedy
Against the Maw-Morms; or Notable Receipt,
To Live by Nothing.

Pet.
Out with your Table Books.

Jun.
Am I become your sport, Petillius?
Stand from my Swords Point, Slaves;
Your Poor starv'd Spirits can make me no Oblation
For my Love; Else I would Sacrifice ye all.
[Exit Junius.

Mac.
Alas! he lives by Love, Sir!

Pet.
So he does, Sir, and can't you do so too?
All my Company are now in Love; ne'er think of Meat,
Ah-mee's, and good hearty Heigh-hoes, are Sallets
Fit for Soldiers: Live by Meat, by Larding up
Your Bodies? 'Tis Lewd and Lazy, and shews ye
Meerly Mortal, Dull; and drives ye to Fight
Like Cammels, with Baskets at your Noses.
Get ye in Love; ye can Whore well enough,
Tho' ye Fast till ye are Famisht, yet still
Ye can Crawl like Crabbs to Wenches.
Away, the General's coming; get ye in love all,
Up to the Ears in Love, That I may hear no more
Of these Rude Murmerings, and discreetly carry
Your Stomachs.

Mac.
Food must be had: Jog Boyes, keep your Files.

[Exeunt Macr. and Companions.
Enter Suetonius Attended.
Suet.
This is the fatal Field, the very place
Where Caratach has led his Troops to face us:
And with Rude Fury, and unskilful Conduct,
Broke through the Force of all our Noble Order:
Where e're we set a Foot in all this place,
We trample on a Romans Tomb; but now old Caratach,
Now we shall meet thee here
On milder Terms, to Treat of Peace.

Pet.
Well then; I shall meet him once at least,
Without the Hazard of my Person:
Now I may possibly retreat without that
Honourable comfort to a Soldier, of good substantial
Hacks, and Wounds; the gracefulness of half a Face;
An Arm dangling by my side, and three parts of me
Groaning for a Surgeon.

Suet.
Their Valour and Success are pefect Miracles.
How strange 'twas to behold their First Encounter!
Ten thousand Carts, and all with Scythes and Hooks,
In full Career, they drove amidst our Army,
And mow'd whole Troops: Here half a Roman
Lay ghastly sprawling on the bearded Hooks,
His other half left starving on the Bloody Plain.
There Ranks of Veteranes, the Pride of Rome,
We snatcht up whole, and mixt their hideous Cries.

Pet.
Two or three of their Carts were very Decently
Hung Round with my Company.

Enter Caratach and 4 Gentlemen.
Suet.
But see, Petillius, Caratach appears;
The only Man that dares be Foe to Rome.

Car.
The only Man that dares be Friend to Rome:
Never a Foe, but when my Sword is drawn,
For honourable Slaughter: Now 'tis sheath'd,
And here I'm come to make a League with Cæsar.
What are the Terms that Great Suetonius offers?

Suet.
I offer Peace, the Greatest, Noblest Gift,
And such a one, as Romans rarely offer,
Or stoop to grant.

Car.
And such an one as Britains too,
Will always scorn to take, without such Terms
We can accept with Honour.

Suet.
What the Success
Of the last Battle gave ye, keep secure.
We give you back too, all the Towns, the Wealth,
And Captives taken in the last Campaign.

Car.
I will not Bargain like a sly shrowd Trader:
But hear a Souldier speak. There's not one Inch
Of Ground you've got since the First Cæsar Landed,
But must be ours; or let the War decide it:
For by Your Heaven, and Great Andates's Power,
Whilst there's one Eagle wav'd in British Air,
I'll never hear of Peace, but War, eternal War.

Suet.
Then War, eternal War, I eccho back.
Shall I now Sacrifice my whole Life's Honour?
I that ne'r marcht, but to encrease our Empire:
And shall I now for a Weeks ill Success
Resign at once the Conquest of an Age?
I that so oft have entred Rome, when plac'd
On high amidst a Croud of Captive Princes,
I sate like one enthron'd, and careless viewd
A Nation shouting by my loaded Chariot,
That slowly wheel'd along the Royal Pomp,
And crackt beneath the Burden of the Triumph:
And shall I now at last return the Scorn,
And everlasting Scandal of a Roman?
Cou'd I do this, not only pointing Rome,
But thou too, Caratach, thou'dst call me Coward.

Car.
By Heaven I shou'd. Now by the Blood that warms thee,
By that true rigid Temper that has forg'd
Our Tempers so alike: I swear, O Roman,
Thou'st fir'd my Soul to Arms; I long to meet thee
Drest in my dinted Armour, hew my Passage,
To reach Suetonius in the midst of Havock,
And grapple with thee for this spot of Earth,
Till one of us fall dead.

Suet.
O more than Britain!

Car.
O truly Equal
To the great Spirits that inform'd Old Rome
Wer't thou a God, I could not call thee more.
Why are we Foes? Sure Nature means us Friends,
And hand in hand, when the loud Signal sounds,
To start out jointly in the Race of Fame,
To pant along the rough unbeaten way
At our full Stretch, and touch the Goal together.

Suet.
Whatever Nature meant, in spight of War,
And all the Roman Blood thou'st bravely spilt,
We will be Friends to day.

Car.
Thus I advance
To meet thee then, and once without a Wound

Suet.
Come on, my Friend, I will not be outdone
[Both come to one another.
In Kindness. What, so near, and not embrace?

Car.
Yes firmly, close, as if we never meant
To hew each other down, and end the Scene
In Blood. Shou'd Cæsar see us linkt together,
Rivetted thus like the first furious Clasps
Of Lovers in the heat of stoln Delight,
Thinkst thou his boding Soul cou'd yet look forward
And see us in the Field, where clashing Swords,
Chopt Arms, cleft Helmets, and the dying Groans
Of slaughter'd Troops shall drown our Warlike Trumpets,
And shew a thousand ways our Rage in Battle?

Suet.
No; he, e'en he, might study here the Hero,
And learn with us to change Revenge for Honour.

Car.
Honour does nothing; all the World's at Peace
Till some stale Malice hurries them to War;
And then the fretful Hero's rail abroad
Worse than their Wives at home insult when Victors;
As if their only business was Revenge.
But let them that are truly valiant, know
From us, what 'tis to be a Friendly Foe.
We'll part in all the Laws of Love and Peace,
The Crush of Death must be our next Embrace.
[Exit Caratach.

Suet.
Now by the Gods of Rome, one single Valour,
The Courage of the mighty Caratach,
More doubts me than all the Britains. He's a Soldier,
So forg'd out and so temper'd for great Fortunes,
So much Man thrust into him, that his meer Name
Fights in a thousand Men. Besure you hearten
Your shatter'd Troops, to give the Onset briskly.
Since we must fight, Fury must be our Fortune.
Look to those eating Rogues that baul for Victuals;
Tell 'em, if now they push the Conquest home,
The Fat of all the Kingdom lies before 'em.

Pet.

[Exeunt.
Enter Corporal, Macer, and other Soldiers as a Foraging.
CATCH, Sung by the Soldiers.
Jack, thou'rt a Toper, let's have t'other Quart:
Ring, we're so sober, 'twere a shame to part.
None but a Cuckold, Bully'd by his Wife
For coming late, fears a Domestick Strife.
I'm free, and so are you, to call and knock boldly,
Tho' Watchmen cry, Past Two a Clock.

Macer.
Keep your Files, keep your Files,
I begin to have a strange Aversion for
This side of the Camp.

1 Sold.
If we venture any further, our Throats are in Danger.

Mac.

Not of swallowing any thing, I fear. We're just upon the
Out Guards of the Britains, but one Comfort is, they'll have but a
poor Booty of us, if we are taken. For my part, I have'nt Flesh enough
left to dine a Lowse. If we cou'd but meet some good sat stragling Britains
now.

2 Sold.

What then, Corporal?

Mac.

What then, you Rogue? A good fat corpulent well-cramm'd
Britain is Provision for a Prince. I am a Soldier of Prey, and will kill
all I meet, and devour all I kill.

1 Sold.

You'd let's have some share in the eating, as well as the killing,
Corporal; woud'nt ye?

Mac.

We'd make a Dividend on 'em; I woud'nt cheat ye of one
single Chitterling; all the Garbage shou'd be your own; good substantial
Tripe; where, for ought I know, you might find Beef ready
chewed, and Capers, happily not digested.

3 Sold.

Shall we venture on? There's no great difference between
Hanging and Starving.

Mac.

On, on; there's a comfortable thing call'd a Head of Cattle
hard by: March, keep your Files. If I cou'd but meet some good fat
Britains, as I said before, I'd so maul 'em.

[Exeunt, and after a little while re-enter, running over the Stage, the Britains after them.
Mac.
Fly, fly, fly; the Enemy, the Enemy;
A whole Troop of 'em.

Britains.
Are you so bold, Sirs? have at ye.

[Exeunt Britains pursuing Macer and the rest, after a little time re-enter Britains dragging in Macer and his Companions.
Britains.
Learn to keep your Quarters, Scoundrel.
What make ye here? D'ye long to be trust up?

Mac.
You are such lean Rogues, I've no Stomach t'ye;
You are'nt worth a fighting for.

Brit.

You're scarce worth a hanging. But because y'are Romans, you shall
have the Honour conferred on you in due time. Come on, Cowards.

Mac.
O all ye Mortals that are wise,
Abstain from fasting, I advise.
'Twas fasting brought these honest Fellows,
And Corporal Macer, to the Gallows.

[Speaking in a lamentable Bellinan's tone.
[Exeunt Britains, dragging Macer out, and his Confederates.