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Dare raise a storın, when we command a calm?
Are duty and obedience fled to heaven,
And, in their room, ambition and pride
Sent into Egypt? That face speaks thee Photinus,
A thing, thy mother brought into the world
My brother's and my slave: But thy behaviour,
Opposed to that, an insolent intruder
Upon that sovereignty, thou shouldst bow to!
If in the gulph of base ingratitude,
All loyalty to Ptolomy the king

Be swallowed up, remember who I am,
Whose daughter, and whose sister; or, suppose
That is forgot too, let the name of Cæsar
(Which nations quake at) stop thy desperate mad-

ness

From running headlong on to thy confusion.
Throw from thee quickly those rebellious arms,
And let me read submission in thine eyes;
Thy wrongs to us we will not only pardon,
But be a ready advocate to plead for thee
To Cæsar and my brother.

Pho. Plead my pardon!

To you I bow; but scorn as much to stoop thus
To Ptolomy, to Cæsar, nay the gods,
As to put off the figure of a man,

And change my essence with a sensual beast:
All my designs, my counsels, and dark ends,
Were aimed to purchase you.

Cleo. How durst thou, being

The scorn of baseness, nourish such a thought! Pho. They, that have power, are royal; and those base,

That live at the devotion of another.
What birth gave Ptolomy, or fortune Cæsar,
By engines fashioned in this Protean anvil,
I have made mine; and only stoop at you,
Whom I would still preserve free, to command

nie.

For Cæsar's frowns, they are below my thoughts;
And, but in these fair eyes I still have read
The story of a monarchy supreme,

To which all hearts, with mine, gladly pay tribute,

Photinus' name had long since been as great
As Ptolomy's e'er was, or Cæsar's is.

This made me, as a weaker tie, to unloose
The knot of loyalty, that chained my freedom,
And slight the fear, that Cæsar's threats might
cause;

That I and they might see no sun appear,
But Cleopatra, in the Egyptian sphere.

Cleo. Oh, giant-like ambition, married to
Cymerian darkness! Inconsiderate fool?

Can there be gods, and hear this, and no thunder Ram thee into the earth!

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'Tis deadly aconite to my cold heart;

It choaks my vital spirits! Where was your care? Did the guards sleep?

Achil. He roused them with his sword;
(We talk of Mars, but I am sure his courage
Admits of no comparison but itself!)

And, as inspired by him, his following friends,
With such a confidence as young eaglets prey,
Under the large wing of their fiercer dam,
Brake through our troops, and scattered them,
He went on,

But still pursued by us: When, on the sudden,
He turned his head, and from his eyes flew terror,
Which struck in us no less fear and amazement,
Than if we had encountered with the lightning,
Hurled from Jove's cloudy brow.

Cleo. 'Twas like my Cæsar!

Achil. We fallen back, he made on; and, as our fear

Had parted from us with his dreadful looks,
Again we followed: But, got near the sea,
On which his navy anchored, in one hand
Holding a scroll he had above the waves,
And in the other grasping fast his sword,
As it had been a trident forged by Vulcan
To calm the raging ocean, he made away,
As if he had been Neptune; his friends, like
So many Tritons followed, their bold shouts
Yielding a chearful music. We showered darts
Upon them, but in vain; they reached their ships:
And in their safety we are sunk; for Cæsar
Prepares for war.

Pho. How fell the king?

Achil. Unable

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Mountains fall on me! Oh, for him to die,
That placed his heaven on earth, is an assurance
Of his descent to hell! Where shall I hide me?
The greatest daring to a man dishonest,

Is but a bastard courage, ever fainting. [Exit.
Enter CESAR, SCEVA, ANTONY, and DOLA-

BELLA.

Cleo. He is all honour;

Nor do I now repent me of my favours,
Nor can I think nature e'er made a woman,
That in her prime deserved him.

Enter CESAR, SCEVA, ANTONY, DOLABELLA, and Soldiers, with the heads.

Ars. He's come back.

Cesar. Pursue no further; curb the soldiers' fury!

See, beauteous mistress, their accursed heads,

Casar. Look on your Cæsar! banish fear, my That did conspire against us.

fairest ;

You now are safe!

Sce. By Venus, not a kiss

Sce. Furies plague them!

They had too fair an end, to die like soldiers:
Pompey fell by the sword; the cross or halter

Till our work be done! The traitors once dis-Should have dispatched them.

patched,

To it, and we'll cry aim.
Casar. I will be speedy.

[Exeunt Cæsar and train. Cleo. Farewell again!-Arsinoe! How now, Eros?

Ever faint-hearted?

Eros. But that I am assured

Your excellency can command the general,
I fear the soldiers.

Cæsar. All's but death, good Sceva;

Be therefore satisfied. And now, my dearest,
Look upon Cæsar, as he still appeared,
A conqueror! And, this unfortunate king
Entombed with honour, we'll to Rome, where
Cæsar

Will shew he can give kingdoms; for the senate,
Thy brother dead, shall willingly decree
The crown of Egypt, that was his, to thee.
[Exeunt omnes.

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Enter BONDUCA, Daughters, HENGO, NENNIUS, and Soldiers.

Bond. THE hardy Romans? Oh, ye gods of Britain,

The rust of arms, the blushing shame of soldiers! Are these the men, that conquer by inheritance? The fortune-makers? these the Julians,

Enter CARATACH.

That with the sun measure the end of nature, Making the world but one Rome, and one Cæsar? Shame, how they flee! Cæsar's soft soul dwells in them;

Their mothers got them sleeping, Pleasure nursed them;

Their bodies sweat with sweet oils, love's allurements,

Not lusty arms. Dare they send these to seck us, These Roman girls? is Britain grown so wanton? Twice we have beat them, Nennius, scattered them; And through their big-boned Germans, on whose pikes

The honour of their actions sits in triumph,

Made themes for songs to shame them: And a

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Bond. Cousin, do you grieve my fortunes?
Car. No, Bonduca;

If I grieve, it is the bearing of your fortunes:
You put too much wind to your sail; discretion
And hardy valour are the twins of honour,
And, nursed together, make a conqueror;
Divided, but a talker. 'Tis a truth,
That Rome has fled before us twice, and routed;
A truth we ought to crown the gods for, lady,
And not our tongues; a truth is none of ours,
Nor in our ends, more than the noble bearing;
For then it leaves to be a virtue, lady,
And we, that have been victors, beat ourselves,
When we insult upon our honour's subject.

Bond. My valiant cousin, is it foul to say
What liberty and honour bid us do,
And what the gods allow us?

Car. No, Bonduca;

So what we say exceed not what we do.
You call the Romans fearful, fleeing Romans,
And Roman girls, the lees of tainted pleasures:'
Does this become a doer? are they such?
Bond. They are no more.

Car. Where is your conquest then? Why are your altars crowned with wreaths of flowers?

The beasts with gilt horns waiting for the fire?
The holy Druides composing songs
Of everlasting life to victory?

Why are these triumphs, lady? for a May-game?
For hunting a poor herd of wretched Romans?
Is it no more? Shut up your temples, Britons,
And let the husbandman redeem his heifers,
Put out our holy fires, no timbrel ring,
Let's home and sleep; for such great overthrows
A candle burns too bright a sacrifice,
A glow-worm's tail too full of flame.
nius,

Oh, Nen

Thou hadst a noble uncle, knew a Roman,
And how to speak him, how to give him weight
In both his fortunes.

Bond. By the gods, I think

You doat upon these Romans, Caratach!

Car. Witness these wounds, I do; they were fairly given:

I love an enemy; I was born a soldier;

Bond. What?

Car. Disheartened,

Run, run, Bonduca! not the quick rack swifter;
The virgin from the hated ravisher

Not half so fearful; not a flight drawn home,
A round stone from a sling, a lover's wish,
E'er made that haste, that they have. By the gods,
I've seen these Britons, that you magnify,
Run as they would have out-run time, and roar-
ing,

Basely for mercy roaring; the light shadows,
That in a thought scur o'er the fields of corn,
Halted on crutches to them.

Bond. Oh, ye powers,

What scandals do I suffer!

Car. Yes, Bonduca,

I've seen thee run too; and thee, Nennius;
Yea, run apace, both; then, when Penius
(The Roman girl!) cut through your armed carts,
And drove them headlong on ye, down the hill;
Then, when he hunted ye like Britain foxes,
More by the scent than sight; then did I see
These valiant and approved men of Britain,
Like boding owls, creep into tods of ivy,
And hoot their fears to one another nightly.
Nen. And what did you then, Caratach?
Car. I fled too,

But not so fast; your jewel had been lost then,
Young Hengo there; he trasht me, Nennius:

And he that in the head of his troop defies For, when your fears out-run him, then stept I,

me,

Bending my manly body with his sword,

I make a mistress. Yellow-tressed Hymen
Ne'er tied a longing virgin with more joy,
Than I am married to that man, that wounds me:
And are not all these Roman? Ten struck battles
I sucked these honoured scars from, and all
Roman;

Ten years of bitter nights and heavy marches,
(When many a frozen storm sung through my
cuirass,

And made it doubtful, whether that or I
Were the more stubborn metal) have I wrought
through,

And all to try these Romans. Ten times a-night
I have swam the rivers, when the stars of Rome
Shot at me as I floated, and the billows
Tumbled their watry ruins on my shoulders,
Charging my battered sides with troops of agues;
And still to try these Romans, whom I found
(And, if I lie, my wounds be henceforth back-
ward,

And be you witness, gods, and all my dangers)
As ready, and as full of that I brought,
(Which was not fear, nor flight) as valiant,
As vigilant, as wise, to do and suffer,
Ever advanced as forward as the Britons,
Their sleeps as short, their hopes as high as ours,
Ay, and as subtle, lady. Tis dishonour,
And, fallowed, will be impudence, Bonduca,
And grow to no belief, to taint these Romans.
Have not I seen the Britons-

And in the head of all the Roman fury
Took him, and, with my tough belt, to my back
I buckled him; behind him, my sure shield;
And then I followed. If I say I fought
Five times in bringing off this bud of Britain,
I lie not, Nennius.. Neither had you heard
Me speak this, or ever seen the child more,
But that the son of virtue, Penius,
Seeing me steer through all these storms of danger,
My helm still in my hand (my sword), my prow
Turned to my foe (my face), he cried out nobly,
'Go, Briton, bear thy lion's whelp off safely;
Thy manly sword has ransomed thee; grow strong,
And let me meet thee once again in arms;
Then, if thou standest, thou art mine.' I took his
offer,

And here I am to honour him.
Bond. Oh, cousin,

From what a flight of honour hast thou checked me!

What wouldst thou make me, Caratach?
Cur. See, lady,

The noble use of others in our losses.
Does this afflict you? Had the Romans cried this,
And, as we have done theirs, sung out these

fortunes,

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Or beating of the Britons were more business, It would have galled you.

Bond. Let me think we conquered.
Car. Do; but so think, as we may be conquered;
And, where we have found virtue, though in
those,

That came to make us slaves, let's cherish it.
There's not a blow we gave, since Julius landed,
That was of strength and worth, but like records,
They file to after-ages. Our registe.s
The Romans are, for noble deeds of honour;
And shall we brand their mentions with upbraid-
ings?

Bond. No more; I see myself. Thou hast
made me, cousin,

More than my fortunes durst; for they abused

me,

And wound me up so high, I swelled with glory:
Thy temperance has cured that tympany,
And given me health again, nay more, discretion.
Shall we have peace? for now I love these
Romans.

Car. Thy love and hate are both unwise ones, lady.

Bond. Your reason?

Nen. Is not peace the end of arms?

Car. Not where the cause implies a general conquest:

Had we a difference with some petty isle,
Or with our neighbours, lady, for our landmarks,
The taking in of some rebellious lord,
Or making head against commotions,
After a day of blood, peace might be argued;
But where we grapple for the ground we live on,
The liberty we hold as dear as life,

The gods we worship, and next those, our honours,

And with those swords, that know no end of battle: Those men, beside themselves, allow no neighbour;

Those minds, that where the day is, claim inherit

ance,

And where the sun makes ripe the fruits, their harvest,

And where they march, but measure out more ground

To add to Rome, and here in the bowels on us;
It must not be. No, as they are our foes,
And those, that must be so, untill we tire them,
Let's use the peace of honour, that's fair dealing,
But in our hands our swords. That hardy Roman,
That hopes to graft himself into my stock,
Must first begin his kindred under-ground,
And be allied in ashes.

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Never tell me, thou shalt have drink. I see,
Like a true friend, into thy wants; it is drink;
And, when I leave thee to a desolation,
Especially of that dry nature, hang me.
Jun. Why do you do this to me?
Pet. For I see,

Although your modesty would fain conceal it,
Which sits as sweetly on a soldier
As an old side-saddle-

Jun. What do you see?

Pet. I see as fair as day, that thou wantest drink.

Did I not find thee gaping, like an oyster
For a new tide? Thy very thoughts lie bare,
Like a low ebb; thy soul, that rid in sack,
Lies moored for want of liquor. Do but see
Into thyself; for, by the gods, I do;

For all thy body's chapped and cracked like timber, For want of moisture: What is it thou wantest there, Junius,

An if it be not drinking?

Jun. You have too much of it.

Pet. No, it shall never be said in our country, Thou died of the chin-cough. Hear, thou noble

Roman,

The son of her that loves a soldier,

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,

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