Car. No, Bonduca,
So what we say exceed not what we do.
Ye call the Romans fearful, fleeing Romans,
And Roman Girls, the lees of tainted pleasures:
Does this become a doer? are they such?
Bon. They are no more.
Car. Where is your Conquest then?
Why are your Altars crown'd 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, Britains,
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-worms tail too full of flame. O Nennius,
Thou hadst a noble Uncle knew a Roman,
And how to speak him, how to give him weight
In both his fortunes.
Bon. By —— I think
Ye doat upon these Romans, Caratach.
Car. Witness these wounds, I do; they were fairly given,
I love an enemy, I was born a Soldier;
And he that in the head on's Troop defies me,
Bending my manly Body with his sword,
I make a Mistriss. Yellow-tressed Hymen
Ne'r ty'd a longing Virgin with more joy,
Than I am married to that man that wounds me:
And are not all these Romans? Ten struck Battels
I suck'd these honour'd scars from, and all Roman:
Ten years of bitter nights and heavy marches,
When many a frozen storm sung thorow my Curasse,
And made it doubtful whether that or I
Were the more stubborn metall, have I wrought thorow,
And all to try these Romans. Ten times a night
I have swom the Rivers, when the Stars of Rome
Shot at me as I floated, and the billows
Tumbled their watry ruines on my shoulders,
Charging my batter'd sides with troops of Agues;
And still to try these Romans, whom I found
(And if I lye, my wounds be henceforth backward,
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 Britains,
Their sleeps as short, their hopes as high as ours.
I, and as subtil, Lady. 'Tis dishonour,
And follow'd, will be impudence, Bonduca,
And grow to no belief, to taint these Romans.
Have not I seen the Britains—
Bond. What?
Car. Disheartned,
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 Lovers wish
E'r made that haste that they have. By ——
I have seen these Britains, that you magnifie,
Run as they would have out-run time and roaring
Basely for mercy, roaring: the light shadows,
That in a thought scur o'r the fields of Corn,
Halted on crutches to 'em.
Bon. O ye Powers,
What scandals do I suffer!
Car. Yes, Bonduca,
I have seen thee run too, and thee, Nennius;
Yea, run apace, both; then when Penyus
The Roman Girl, cut thorow your armed Carts,
And drive 'em 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 boading Owls, creep into tods of Ivie,
And hoot their fears to one another nightly.
Nen. And what did you then, Caratach?