Dem. He's there by this time.
Swet. And are the Horse well view'd we brought from Mona[?]
Dec. The Troops are full, and lusty.
Swet. Good Petillius,
Look to those eating Rogues, that bawl for victuals,
And stop their throats a day or two: provision
Waits but the wind to reach us.
Pet. Sir, already
I have been tampring with their stomachs, which I find
As deaf as Adders to delays: your clemency
Hath made their murmurs, mutinies, nay, rebellions:
Now, and they want but Mustard, they'r in uproars
No oil but Candy, Lusitanian Figs
And Wine from Lesbos now can satisfie 'em:
The British waters are grown dull and muddy,
The fruit disgustful: Orontes must be sought for,
And Apples from the happy Isles: the truth is,
They are more curious now in having nothing,
Than if the sea and land turn'd up their treasures:
This lost the Colonies, and gave Bonduca
(With shame we must record 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.
Swet. Nay, chide not, good Petillius, I confess
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 winds that split him: so will I,
Piec'd to my never-fai[l]ing 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.
Dem. Confident and full.
Pet. In such a number, one would swear they grew,
The hills are wooded with their partisans,
And all the valleys overgrown 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 e'r found, the devil
Has rank'd 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.
Sw[e]t. These are imaginations, dreams of nothing,
The man that doubts or fears.
Dec. I am free of both.