Comedies and Tragedies
Never printed before,
And now published by the Authors
‘Si quid habent veri Vatum presagia, vivam.’
Printed for Humphrey Robinson, at the three Pidgeons, and for
Humphrey Moseley at the Princes Armes in St Pauls
PUBLISHED FOR Humphrey Robinson
PUBLISHED FOR Humphrey Moseley
1. THE FALSE ONE.
Actus Primus, Scena Prima.
Actus Tertius, Scaen 3
3.1. Actus primus. Scaena Secunda.
Neither. For heavens love, leave me.
Ye tire me.
Come, 't is drink; I know 't is drink.
'T is no drink.
I say 't is drink: for what affliction can light so heavie on a Souldier, to dry him up as thou art, but no drink? Thou shalt have drink.
Prethee, Petillius —
And by mine honour, much drink, valiant drink: never tell me, thou shalt have drink. I see, like a true friend, into thy wants: 'tis drink; and when I leave thee to a desolation, especially of that dry nature, hang me.
Why do you do this to me?
For I see, although your modestie would fain conceal it, which sits as sweetly on a Souldier, as an old side-saddle.
What do you see?
I see as far as day, that thou want'st drink. Did I not finde thee gaping like an Oyster for a new tide? thy very thoughts lie bare like a lowe ebbe? thy soul that rid in Sack, lies moor'd for want of liquor? Do but see into thy self; for by—I do: for all thy body 's chapt, and crackt like timber for want of moisture: what thou wantst there, Junius, and if it be not drink.
You have too much on 't.
It may be a whore too; say it be: come, meecher, thou shalt have both: a pretty valiant fellow, die for a little lap and lechery? no, it shall ne'er be said in our Countrey, thou dy'dst o'th' Chincough. Heare, thou noble Romane, the son of her that loves a Souldier, hear what I promised for thee; thus I said, Lady, I take thy son to my companion, Lady, I love thy son, thy son loves war, the war loves danger, danger drink, drink discipline, which is society and lechery; these two beget Commanders: fear not, Lady, thy son shall lead.
'T is a strange thing, Petillius, that so ridiculous and loose a mirth can master your affections.
Any mirth, and any way, of any subject, Junius, is better then unmanly mustinesse: what harm's in drink, in a good wholesom wench? I do beseech ye, Sir, what errour? yet it cannot out of my head handsomly, but thou wouldst fain be drunk: come, no more fooling, the General has new wine, new come over.
He must have new acquaintance for it too, for I will none, I thank ye.
None, I thank ye? a short and touchie answer. None I thank ye: ye do not scorn it, do ye?
Gods defend Sir; I owe him still more honour.
None, I thank ye: no company, no drink, no wench, I thank ye. Ye shall be worse intreated, Sir.
Petillius, as thou art honest, leave me.
None, I thank ye; a modest and a decent resolution, and well put on. Yes, I will leave ye, Junius, and leave ye to the boys, that very shortly shall all salute ye, by your new sirname of Junius none I thank ye. I would starve now, hang, drown, despair, deserve the forks, lie open to all the dangerous passes of a wench, bound to believe her tears, and wed her aches, ere I would own thy follies. I have found ye, your lays, and out-leaps Junius, haunts, and lodges: I have view'd ye, and I have found ye by my skill to be a fool o'th' first head, Junius, and I will hunt ye: ye are in love, I know it: ye are an asle, and all the Camp shall know a peevish idle boy; your dame shall know it; a wronger of my care; your self shall know it.
A Bean? a princely diet, a full banquet, to what we compasse.
Fight like hogs for Acorns?
Venture our lives for pig-nuts?
What ail these Rascals?
If this hold, we are starv'd.
For my part, friends, which is but twenty Beans a day, a hard world for Officers, and men of action; and those so clipt by master mouse, and rotten: for understand 'em French Beans, where the fruits are ripen'd like the people, in old tubs. For mine own part, I say, I am starv'd already, not worth another Bean, consum'd to nothing, nothing but flesh and bones left, miserable: now if this mustie provender can prick me to honourable matters of atchievement, Gentlemen, why there's the point.
I'll fight no more.
You'll hang then, a soveraign help for hunger. Ye eating Rascals, whose gods are Beef and Brewis, whose brave angers do execution upon these, and Chibbals: ye dogs heads i' th' porridge pot; you fight no more? does Rome depend upon your resolution for eating mouldy pie-crust?
Would we had it.
I may do service, Captain.
In a Fish-market. You, Corporal Curry-comb, what will your fighting profit the Common-wealth? do you hope to triumph, [Page 50] or dare your vamping valour, good man Cobler, clap a new soal to th' Kingdom? s' death, ye dog-whelps you, fight, or not fight.
Out, ye flesh-flyes, nothing but noyce and nastinesse.
Give us meat, whereby we may do.
Whereby hangs your valor?
Good bits afford good blows.
A good position: how long is 't since thou eat'st last? wipe thy mouth, and then tell truth.
I have not eat to th' purpose--
To th' purpose? what's that? half a Cow, and Garlick? ye Rogues, my Company eat Turf, and talk not; timber they can digest, and fight upon 't; old matts, and mud with spoons, rare meats. Your shoes, slaves, dare ye cry out of hunger, and those extant? suck your Sword-hilts, ye slaves, if ye be valiant; honour will make 'em march-pain: to the purpose? a grievous penance. Dost thou see that Gentleman, that melancholy Monsieur?
Pray ye, Petillius.
He has not eat these three weeks.
'has drunk the more then.
And that 's all one.
Nor drunk nor slept these two months.
Captain, We do beseech you as poor Souldiers, men that have seen good days, whose mortal stomacks may somtime feel afflictions.
This, Petillius, is not so nobly done.
'T is common profit; urge him to th' point, he 'll finde you out a food that needs no teeth nor stomack; a strange formity will feed ye up as fat as hens i' th' foreheads, and make ye fight like Fichocks, to him.
Do you long to have your throats cut?
See what metal it makes in him: two meals more of this melancholy, and there lies Caratach.
We do beseech ye.
Humbly beseech your valour.
Am I onely become your sport, Petillius?
But to render in way of general good, in preservation.
Out of my thoughts, ye slaves.
Or rather pitie.
Your warlike remedy against the maw-worms.
Or notable receipt to live by nothing.
Out with your Table-books.
Is this true friendship? and must my killing griefs make others May-games? Stand from my swords point, slaves; your poor starv'd spirits can make me no oblations; else, O love, thou proudly blind destruction, I would send thee whole Hecatombs of hearts, to bleed my sorrows.
Alas, he lives by love, Sir,
So he does, Sir, and cannot you do so too? All my Company are now in love, ne'er think of meat, nor talk of what Provant is: aymees, and hearty hey-hoes, are Sallets fit for Souldiers. Live by meat, by larding up your bodies? 't is lewd, and lazie, and shews ye meerly mortal, dull, and drives ye to fight like Camels, with baskets at your noses. Get ye in love; ye can whore well enough, that all the world knows: fast ye into Famine, yet ye can crawl like Crabs to wenches, handsomly. Fall but in love now, as ye see example, and follow it but with all your thoughts, probatum, there's so much charge sav'd, and your hungers ended. Away, I hear the General: get ye in love all, Drum afar off. up to the ears in love, that I may hear no more of these rude murmurings; and discreetly carry your stomacks, or I prophesie a pickel'd rope will choke ye. Jog, and talk not.
Demetrius, is the messenger dispatch'd to Penyus, to command him to bring up the Volans Regiment?
He 's there by this time.
And are the horse well view'd we brought from Mona?
The Troops are full, and lusty.
Good Petillius, look to those eating Rogues, that bawl for victuals, and stop their throats a day or two: provision waits but the winde to reach us.
Sir, already I have been tampring with their stomacks, which I finde as deaf as Adders to delays: your clemency hath made their murmurs, mutinies, nay, rebellions: now, and they want but Mustard, they 're in uproars: no oil but Candy, Lucitanian figs, and wine from Lestos, now can satisfie 'em: the British waters are grown dull and muddy, the fruit disgustful: Orontes must be sought for, and Apples from the happie Isles: the truth is, they are more curious now in having nothing, then if the sea and land turn'd up their treasures: this lost the Colonies, and gave Bonduca (with shame we must reco d it) time and strength to look into our Fortunes; great discretion to follow offered Victory; and last, full pride to brave us to our teeth, and scorn our ruines.
Nay, chide not, good Petillius, I confesse my will to conquer Mona, and long stay to execute that will, let in these losses: all shall be right again, and as a pine rent from Oeta by a sweeping tempest, joynted again, and made a Mast, defies those angry windes that split him: so will I, piec'd to my neverfailing strength and fortune, steer thorow these swelling dangers, plow their prides up, and bear like thunder through their loudest tempests: they keep the field still.
Confident and full.
In such a number, one would swear they grew, the hills are wooded with their partizans, and all the valleys over-grown with darts, as moors are with rank rushes: no ground left us to charge upon, no room to strike: say fortune and our endeavours bring us in to 'em, they are so infinite, so ever springing, we shall be kill'd with killing; of desperate women, that neither fear, or shame ere found, the devill has rankt amongst 'em multitudes: say the men fail, they 'll poison us with their petticoats: say they fail, they have priests enough to pray us into nothing.
These are imaginations, dreams of nothings, the man that doubts or fears.
I am free of both.
The self-same I.
And I as free as any; as carelesse of my flesh, of that we call life, so I may lose it nobly; as indifferent as if it were my diet. Yet, noble General, it was a wisedom learn'd from you; I learn'd it, and worthy of a Souldiers care, most worthy, to weigh with most deliberate circumstance the ends of accidents, above their offers; how to go on and get, to save a Romane, whose on life is more worth in way of doing, then millions of these painted wasps; how viewing to finde advantage out; how, found, to follow it with counsel and discretion, lest meer fortune should claim the victory.
'Tis true, Petillius, and worthily remembred: the rule's certain, their uses no lesse excellent: but where time cuts off occasions, danger, time and all tend to a present peril, 't is required our Swords and Manhoods be best counsellors, our expeditions, presidents. To win, is nothing, where reason, time and counsel are our Camp-masters: but there to bear the field, then to be conquerours, where pale destruction takes us, takes us beaten, in wants, and mutinies, our selves but handfuls, and to our selves our own fears, needs a new way, a sudden and a desperate execution: here, how to save, is losse; to be wise, dangerous; onely a present well-united strength, and mindes made up for all attempts, dispatch it: disputing and delay here, cools the courage; necessity gives time for doubts; things infinite, according to the spirit they are preach'd to, rewards like them; and names for after-ages, must steel the Souldier; his own shame help to arm him; and having forc'd his spirit, ere he cools, fling him upon his enemies; sudden and swift, like Tygers amongst Foxes, we must fight for 't: Fury must be our Fortune; shame we have lost, spurs ever in our sides to prick us forward: there is no other wisedom nor discretion due to this day of ruine, but destruction; the Souldiers order first, and then his anger.
No doubt they dare redeem all.
Then no doubt the day must needs be ours. That the proud woman is infinite in number, better likes me, then if we dealt with squadrons: half her Army shall choke themselves, their own swords dig their graves. I'll tell ye all my fears, one single valour, the vertues of the valiant Caratach more doubts me then all Britain: he's a Souldier so forg'd out, and so temper'd for great fortunes, so much man thrust into him, so old in dangers, so fortunate in all attempts, that his meer name fights in a thousand men, himself in millions, to make him Romane. But no more. Petillius, how stands your charge?
Ready for all employments, to be commanded too, Sir.
'T is well govern'd; to morrow we'll draw out, and view the Cohorts: i' th' mean time, all apply their Offices. Where's Junius?
In 's Cabbin, sick o' th' mumps, Sir.
In love, indeed in love, most lamentably loving, to the tune of Queen Dido.
Alas poor Gentleman.
'T will make him fight the nobler. With what Lady? I'll be a spokesman for him.
You'll scant speed, Sir.
Who is 't?
The devils dam, Bonduca's daughter, her youngest, crackt i' th' ring.
I am sorry for him: but sure his own discretion will reclaim him, he must deserve our anger else. Good Captains, apply your selves in all the pleasing forms ye can, unto the Souldiers; fire their spirits, and set 'em fit to run this action; mine own provision shall be shar'd amongst 'em, till more come in: tell 'em, if now they conquer, the fat of all the kingdom lies before 'em, their shames forgot, their honours infinite, and want for ever banisht. Two days hence, our fortunes, and our swords, and gods be for us.
3.2. Actus Secundus
Come, hang 'm presently.
What made your Rogueships harrying for victuals here? Are we your friends? or doe you come for Spies? tell me directly, Would you not willingly be hang'd now? do not ye long for't?
What say ye? shall wee hang in this vain? Hang we must, and 'tis as good to dispatch it merrily, as pull an arse like dogs to't.
Any way, so it be handsome.
I had as lief 'twere toothsom too: but all agree, and I'll not out Boyes.
Let's hang plesantly.
Then plesantly be it: Captain, the truth is, we had as lief hang with meat in our mouthes, as ask your pardon empty.
These are brave hungers. What say you to a leg of Beef now, sirha?
Bring me acquainted with it, and I'll tell ye.
Torment 'em wenches: I must back; then hang 'em.
We humbly thank your Grace.
The Rogues laugh at us.
Sirha, What think you of a wench now?
A wench, Lady? I do beseech your Ladiship, retire, I'll tell ye presently, ye see the time's short; one crash; even to the setling of my conscience.
Why, is't no more but up, boyes?
Yes, ride too Captain. Will you but see my seat?
Ye shall be set, Sir, upon a Jade shall shake ye.
Sheets, good Madam, will do it ten times better.
Whips, good Souldier, which ye shall taste before ye hang, to mortifie ye; 'tis pitie ye should die thus desperate.
These are the merry Romans, the brave madcaps. 'tis ten to one wee'll cool your resolutions. Bring out the whips.
Would your good Ladyships would exercise 'em too.
Surely Ladies, we'ld shew you a strange patience.
Hang 'em, Rascals, they'l talk thus on the wheel.
Now what's the matter? What are these fellows? whats the crime committed, that they wear necklaces?
They are Roman Rogues, taken a forraging.
Is that all, Nennius?
Would I were fairly hang'd; this is the divell, the kill-cow Caratach.
And you would hang 'em.
Are they not enemies?
My breech makes buttons.
Are they not our tormentors?
Tormentors? Flea-traps. Pluck off your halters, fellows.
Take heed, Caratach, taint not your wisdome.
Wisdome, Nennius? why, who shall fight against us, make our honours, and give a glorious day into our hands, if we dispatch our foes thus? what's their offence? stealing a loafe or two to keep out hunger, a piece of greazie bacon, or a pudding? do these deserve the gallows? They are hungry, poor hungry knaves, no meat at home left, starv'd: Art thou not hungry?
He looks like hungers self: get 'em some victuals, and wine to cheer their hearts, quick: Hang up poor pil-chers?
This is the bravest Captain —
Caratach, I'll leave you to your will.
I'll answer all, Sir.
Let's up, and view his entertainment of 'em. I am glad they are shifted any way, their tongues else would still have murdred us.
Let's up, and see it.
Sit down poor knaves: why, where's this wine and victuals? who waites there?
Sir, 'tis coming.
Who are these Uncle?
They are Romans, Boy.
Are these they that vex mine Aunt so? can these fight? they look like emptie scabbards, all, no mettle in 'em, like men of clouts, set to keep crows from orchards; why, I dare fight with these.
That's my good chicken. And how do ye? how do you feel your stomacks?
Wondrous apt, Sir, as shall appear when time calls.
That's wel, down with't, a little grace will serve your turns: eat softly, [Page 55] you'll choak ye knaves else: give 'em wine.
Not yet, Sir, we're even a little busie.
Can that fellow do any thing but eat? thou fellow.
Away Boy, away, this is no boyes play.
By ——, Uncle, if his valour lie in's teeth, he's the most valiant.
I am glad to hear ye talk, Sir.
Good Uncle tell me, What's the price of a couple of cramm'd Romans?
Some twenty Britains boy; these are good soldiers,
Do not the cowards eat hard too?
No more, boy. Come, I'll sit with you too; sit down by me, boy.
Pray bring your dish then.
Hearty knaves: More meat there.
That's a good hearing.
Stay now and pledge me.
This little piece Sir.
By —— square eaters, More meat I say: upon my conscience the poor Rogues have not eat this month: how terribly they charge upon their victuals: dare ye fight thus?
Beleeve it sir, like devils.
Wel said famine, Here's to thy General.
Most excellent Captain, I wil now pledge thee.
And to morrow night, say to him, His head is mine.
I can assure ye Captain, He wil not give it for this washing.
Here's a strange entertainment: how the theeves drink.
Danger is dry, they look'd for colder liquor.
Fil'em more wine, give 'em ful bowls; which of you all now in recompence of this good, dare but give me a sound knock in the Battell?
Delicate Captain, to doe thee a sufficient recompence, I'll knock thy brains out.
Thou dar'st as well be damn'd: thou knock his brains out, thou skin of man? Uncle, I will not hear this.
Tie up your whelp.
Thou kill my Uncle? Would I had but a sword for thy sake, thou dry'd dog.
What a mettle this little vermine caries.
Kill mine Uncle?
He shall not, child.
He cannot: he's a Rogue, an onely eating Rogue: Kill my sweet Uncle? oh that I were a man.
By this wine, which I will drink to Captain Junius, who loves the Queens most excellent Majesties little daughter most sweetly, and most fearfully, I will do it.
Uncle, I'll kill him with a great pin.
No more, Boy. I'll pledge thy Captain: To ye all, good Fellows.
In love with me? that love shall cost your lives all: Come Sister, and advise me; I have here a way to make an easie conquest of 'em, if fortune favour me.
Let's see ye sweat to morrow, blood and spirit, Boyes, this wine turn'd to sterne valour.
Heark ye Judas, if he should hang us after all this.
Let him: I'll hang like a Gentleman, and a Roman.
Take away there, they have enough.
Captain, wee thank you heartily for your good cheer, and if we meet to morrow, one of us payes for't.
Get 'em guides, their wine
has over master'd 'em.
That hungry fellow with the red beard there, give it him, and this, to see it well deliverd.
Farewell, knaves; speak nobly of us, keep your words to morrow,
and doe something worthy your meat. Go, guide 'em, and see 'em fairly onward.
Meaning me, Sir?
The same. The youngest daughter to the Queen intreats ye to give this privately to Captain Junius, this for your pains.
I rest her humble servant. Commend me to thy Lady. Keep your files, boyes.
I must instruct ye farther.
Keep your files there. Order, sweet friends: faces about now.
Here Sir, here lies your way.
'Blesse the founders, I say. Fairly, good souldiers, fairly march now: close, boyes.
3.3. Actus Quartus
How does my Boy?
I would doe well, my heart's well; I doe not fear.
My good boy.
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?
Strange questions! why, to the blessed'st place Boy: ever sweetnesse and happinesse dwels there.
Will you come to me?
Yes, my sweet boy.
Mine Aunt too, and my Cosins?
All, my good childe.
No Romans, Uncle?
I should be loth to meet them there.
No ill men, that live by violence, and strong oppression, come thither: 't is for those the gods love, good men.
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.
Thou shalt go, then, indeed thou shalt.
When they please.
That's my good boy. Art thou not weary, Hengo?
Weary, Uncle? I have heard you say you have march'd all day in Armour.
I have, boy.
Am not I your kinsman?
And am not I as fully alli'd unto you in those brave things, as blood?
Thou art too tender.
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.
What, wouldst thou be living to wear a mans strength?
Why a Caratach, a Romane-hater, a scourge sent from heaven
to whip these proud theeves from our kingdom. Heark, heark, Uncle, heark, I hear a Drum.
Beat softly, softly, I say; they are here: who dare charge?
He that dares be knockt o' th' head: I'll not come neer him.
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.
Do ye hunt us?
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.
Do ye make us Foxes? Here, hold my chargingstaff, and keep the place, boy. I am at bay, and like a bull I'll bear me. Stand, stand, ye Rogues, ye Squirrels.
Now he pays 'em: O that I had a mans strength.
Here's the boy; mine own, I thank my Fortune.
Uncle, uncle; famine is faln upon me, uncle.
Come, Sir, yeeld willingly, your uncle 's out of hearing; I'll tickle your young tail else.
I defie thee, thou mock-made man of mat: charge home, sitha: hang thee, base slave, thou shakest.
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.
Thou dar'st not cut my finger: here 't is, touch it.
The boy speaks sword and buckler. Prethee yeeld, boy: come, here 's an apple; yeeld.
By—he fears me. I'll give you sharper language: When, ye coward, when come ye up?
If he should beat me—
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.
Sure 't is the devil, a dwarf, devil in a doubler.
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.
Most certain this boy will cut my throat, yet.
Flee, flee, he kills us.
He comes, he comes.
The devil take the hindmost.
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?
How does my chicken?
'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.
That's my boy, my sweet boy. Here, here's a Romane 's head for thee.
Good provision. Before I starve, my sweet-fac'd Gentleman, I'll trie your favour.
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.
Any thing: I can eat mosse, nay, I can live on anger, to vex these Romanes. Let 's be wary, Uncle.
I warrant thee; come chearfully.
3.4. Actus Quintus
Hang it o'th' side o'th' rock, as though the Britains stole hither to relieve him; who first ventures to fetch it off, is ours. I cannot see him.
He lies close in a hole above, I know it, gnawing upon his anger: ha? no, 'tis not he,
'Tis but the shaking of the boughs.
——shake'em, I am sure they shake me soundly. There.
Make no noise: if he stir, a deadly tempest of huge stones fall upon us: 'tis done: away close.
Sleep stil, sleep sweetly child, 'tis all thou feedst on. No gentle Britain neer; no valiant charitie to bring thee food? poor knave, thou art sick, extreme sick, almost grown wild for meat; and yet thy goodnesse will not confesse, nor show it. All the woods are double lin'd with souldiers; no way left us to make a noble scape: I'll sit down by thee, and when thou wak'st, either get meat to save thee, or lose my life i'th' purchase. Good gods comfort thee.
Ye are not far off now, Sir.
Draw the Companies the closest way thorow the woods; we'll keep on this way.
I will Sir: half a furlong more you'll come within the sight o'th' Rock; keep on the left side, you'll be discoverd else: I'll lodge your Companies in the wilde vines beyond ye.
Do ye mark him?
Yes, and am sorry for him.
Junius, pray let me speak two words with you.
Walk afore, I'll overtake ye straight.
You have oft told me, you have lov'd me, Junius.
Most sure I told you truth then.
And that love should not deny me any honest thing.
It shall not.
Dare ye swear it? I have forgot all passages between us that have been ill, forgiven too, forgot you.
What would this man have? By—I do, Sir, so it be fit to grant ye.
'Tis most honest.
Why, then I'll do it.
Pray kill me.
I, kill me quickly, suddenly, now kill me.
On what reason? ye amaze me.
If ye do love me, kill me, ask me not why: I would be kill'd, and by you.
Mercy on me, What ails this man? Petillius.
Pray ye dispatch me, ye are not safe whilest I live: I am dangerous, troubled extremely, even to mischief, Junius, an enemie to all good men: fear not, 'tis justice; I shall kill you else.
Tell me but the cause, and I will do it.
I am disgrac'd, my service slighted, and unrewarded by the Generall, my hopes left wilde and naked; besides these, I am grown ridiculous, an asse, a folly I dare not trust my self with: Prethee kill me.
All these may be redeem'd as easily as you would heal your finger.
Stay, I'll do it, you shall not need your anger: But first, Petillius, you shall unarm your self; I dare not trust a man so bent to mischief.
There's my sword; and do it handsomely.
yes, I will kill ye, beleeve that certaine: but first i'll lay before ye the most extreme fool ye have plaid in this, the honour purpos'd for ye, the great honour the Generall intended ye,
And then I'll kill ye, because ye shall die miserable. Know Sir, the Regiment was given me, but till time call'd ye to do some worthie deed might stop [Page 70] the peoples ill thoughts of ye for Lord Penyus, I mean his death. How soon this time's come to ye, and hasted by Swetonius? Go, sayes he, Junius and Decius, and go thou Petillius; distinctly, thou Petillius, and draw up, to take stout Caratach: there's the deed purpos'd, a deed to take off all faults, of all natures: And thou Petillius; Mark it, there's the honour, and that done, all made even.
No, I'll kill ye. He knew thee absolute, and full in souldier, daring beyond all dangers, found thee out according to the boldnesse of thy spirit, a subject, such a subject.
Heark ye Junius, I will live now.
By no means. Wooed thy worth, held thee by the chin up, as thou sankst, and shew'd thee how honour held her arms out: Come, make ready, since ye will die an asse.
Thou wilt not kill me.
By——but I will Sir: I'll have no man dan-gerous live to destroy me afterward. Besides, you have gotten honour enough, let young men rise now. Nay, I do perceive too by the Generall, (which is one main cause ye shall die) how ere he carry it, such a strong doting on ye, that I fear, you shall command in chief: how are we paid then? Come, if you will pray, dispatch it.
Is there no way?
Not any way to live.
I will do any thing, redeem my self at any price: good Junius, let me but die upon the Rock, but offer my life up like a Souldier.
You will seek then to out-doe every man.
Beleeve it Junius, you shall goe stroak by stroak with me.
You'll leave off too, as you are noble, and a souldier, for ever these mad fancies.
Dare ye trust me? By all that's good and honest.
There's your sword then, and now come on a new man: Vertue guide thee.
Courage my Boy, I have found meat: look Hengo, look where some blessed Britain, to preserve thee, has hung a li tle food and drink: cheer up Boy, do not forsake me now.
O Uncle, Uncle, I feel I cannot stay long: yet I'll fetch it, to keep your noble life: Uncle, I am heart whole, and would live.
Thou shalt, long I hope.
But my head, Uncle: me thinks the Rock goes round.
Mark 'em well, Judas.
Peace, as you love your life.
Do not you hear the noise of bels?
of bels Boy? 'tis thy fancie, alas, thy bodie's full of wind.
me thinks Sir, they ring a strange sad knell, a preparation to some neer funerall of State: nay, weep not, mine owne sweet Uncle, you will kill me sooner.
O my poor chicken.
Fie, faint-hearted Uncle: Come, tie me in your belt, and let me down.
I'll go my self, Boy.
No, as ye love mee, Uncle; I will not eat it, if I doe not fetch it; the danger onely I desire: pray tie me.
I will, and all my care hang ore thee: come child, my valiant-child.
Let me down apace, Uncle, and ye shall see how like a Daw I'll whip it from all their policies: for 'tis most certain a Roman train: and ye must hold me sure too, you'll spoil all else. When I have brought it Uncle, wee'll be as merry —-
Go i'th' name of heaven Boy.
Quick, quick, Uncle, I have it. Oh.
What ailest thou?
O my best Uncle, I am slain.
I see yee, and heaven direct my hand: destruction
go with thy coward soul. How dost thou Boy? Oh villain, pocky villain.
O Uncle, Uncle, oh how it pricks mee: am I preserv'd for this? extremely pricks me.
Coward, rascall Coward, dogs eat thy flesh.
Oh I bleed hard: I faint too, out upon 't, how sick I am? the lean Rogue, Uncle.
Look Boy, I have laid him sure enough.
Have ye knockt his brains out?
I warrant thee for stirring more: cheer up, child.
Hold my sides hard, stop, stop, oh wretched fortune, must we part thus? Still I grow sicker, Uncle.
Heaven look upon this noble child.
I once hop'd I should have liv'd to have met these bloody Romans at my swords point, to have reveng'd my father, to have beaten 'em: oh hold me hard. But Uncle-—
Thou shalt live still I hope Boy. Shall I draw it?
Ye draw away my soul then. I would live a little longer; spare me heavens, but onely to thank you for your tender love. Good Uncle, good noble Uncle weep not.
Oh my chicken, my deer Boy, what shall I lose?
Why, a child, that must have died how-ever: had this scap'd me, feaver or famine: I was born to die, Sir.
But thus unblown, my Boy?
I goe the straighter my journey to the gods: Sure I shall know ye when ye come, Uncle.
And I hope wee shall enjoy together that great blessednesse you told me of.
Most certain, child.
I grow cold, mine eyes are going.
Lift 'em up.
Pray for me; and noble Uncle, when my bones are ashes, think of your little Nephew. Mercie.
Mercie. You blessed angels take him.
Kisse me: so. Farewell, farewell.
Farewell the hopes of Britain, thou Royall graft, Farewell for ever. Time and Death, ye have done your worst. Fortune now see, now proudly pluck off thy vail, and view thy triumph: Look, look what thou hast brought this Land to. Oh fair flower, how lovely yet thy ruines show, how sweetly even death embraces thee! The peace of heaven, the fellowship of all great souls be with thee.
Hah? dare ye Romans? ye shall win me bravely. Thou art mine.
Not yet, Sir.
Breathe ye, ye poor Romans, and come up all, with all your ancient valours, like a rough winde I'll shake your souls, and send 'em—
Yeeld thee bold Caratach; by all——as I am souldier, as I envie thee, I'll use thee like thy self, the valiant Britain.
Brave soldier yeeld; thou stock of Arms and Honor, thou filler of the world with fame and glory.
Most worthy man, we'l woo thee, be thy prisoners.
Excellent Britain, do me but that honour, that more to me then Conquests, that true happinesse, to be my friend.
O Romans, see what here is: had this Boy liv'd ——
For Fames sake, for thy Swords sake, as thou desirest to build thy vertues greater: by all that's excellent in man, and honest-—
I do beleeve: Ye have had me a brave foe; make me a noble friend, and from your goodnesse, give this Boy honourable earth to lie in.
He shall have fitting Funerall.
I yeeld then, not to your blowes, but your brave courtesies.
Thus we conduct then to the arms of Peace the wonder of the world.
Thus I embrace thee,
and let it be no flattery that I tell thee, thou art the onely Souldier.
How to thank ye I must hereafter finde upon your usage. I am for Rome?
Then Rome shall know the man that makes her spring of glory grow.
Petillius, you have shown much worth this day, redeem'd much errour, ye have my love again, preserve it. Junius, with you I make him equall in the Regiment.
The elder and the nobler: I'll give place, Sir.
Ye shew a friends soul.
March on, and through the Camp in every tongue. the Vertues of great Caratach be sung.