 | Boadicia |  |
SCENE the third.
Dumnorix.She goes—her love and duty will surmount
44
Clos'd by a night of horrour, which reduces
This poor—dear woman, yet in blooming years,
Bless'd in her husband, in her offspring bless'd,
Perhaps to cut her stem of being short
With her own tender hand—If ever tears
Might sort with valour, nor debase a soldier,
It would be now—Ha! whither do I plunge?
| Boadicia | |