Car. I fled too,
But not [so] fast; your Jewel had been lost then,
Young Hengo there; he trasht me, Nennius:
For when your fears out-run him, then stept I,
And in the head of all the Romans fury
Took him, and, with my tough Belt, to my back
I buckled him: behind him, my sure Shield;
And then I follow'd. If I say I fought
Five times in bringing off this bud of Britain,
I lye not, Nennius. Neither had ye heard
Me speak this, or ever seen the child more,
But that the Son of Virtue, Penyus
Seeing me steer thorow all these storms of danger,
My Helm still in my hand, my Sword my prow,
Turn'd to my foe my face, he cry'd out nobly,
Go Britain, bear thy Lions whelp off safely;
Thy manly sword has ransom'd thee: grow strong,
And let me meet thee once again in Arms;
Then if thou stand'st, thou art mine. I took his offer,
And here I am to honour him.
Bon. O Cousin,
From what a flight of honour hast thou checkt me!
What wouldst thou make me, Caratach?
Car. See, Lady,
The noble use of others in our losses:
Does this afflict ye? Had the Romans cry'd this,
And as we have done theirs, sung out these fortunes,
Rail'd on our base condition, hooted at us,
Made marks as far as the earth was ours, to shew us
Nothing but sea could stop our flights; despis'd us,
And held it equal, whether banqueting
Or beating of the Britains were more business,
It would have gall'd ye.
Bon. Let me think we conquer'd.
Car. Do; but so think, as we may be conquer'd:
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 Registers,
The Romans, are for noble deeds of honour;
And shall we burn their mentions with upbraidings?
Bon. No more, I see my self: thou hast made me, Cousin,
More than my fortunes durst, for they abus'd me,
And wound me up so high, I swell'd with glory:
Thy temperance has cur'd 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.
Bon. 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 neighbors (Lady) for our Land-marks,
The taking in of some rebellious Lord,
Or making a 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 Honors,
And with those swords that know no end of Battel:
Those men beside themselves allow no neighbor;
Those minds that where the day is, claim inheritance,
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 i'th' bowels on us;
It must not be; no, as they are our foes,
And those that must be so until we tire 'em,
Let's use the peace of Honor, that's fair dealing,
But in our ends, our swords. That hardy Romane
That hopes to graft himself into my stock,
Must first begin his kindred under-ground,
And be alli'd in ashes.