Dec. Alas poor Gentleman.
Swet. 'Twill make him fight the nobler. With what Lady?
I'll be a spokesman for him.
Petill. You'll scant speed, Sir.
Swet. Who is't?
Petill. The devil's dam, Bonduca's daughter,
Her youngest, crackt i'th' ring.
Swet. 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 Soldiers; 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 honors infinite,
And want for ever banisht. Two days hence,
Our fortunes, and our swords, and gods be for us. [Exeunt.
Actus Secundus. Scæna Prima.
Enter Penyus, Regulus, Macer, Drusius.
Pen. I must come?