1 Daugh. O thou god,
Thou feared god, if ever to thy justice
Insulting wrongs, and ravishments of Women,
Women deriv'd from thee, their shames, the sufferings
Of those that daily fill'd thy Sacrifice
With Virgin incense, have access, now hear me,
Now snatch thy thunder up, now on these Romans,
Despisers of thy power, of us defacers,
Revenge thy self, take to thy killing anger,
To make thy great work full, thy justice spoken,
An utter rooting from this blessed Isle
Of what Rom[e] is or has been.
Bon. Give more incense,
The gods are deaf and drowsie; no happy flame
Rises to raise our thoughts: Pour on.
2 Daugh. See heaven,
And all you pow'rs that guide us, see, and shame
We kneel so long for pity over your Altars;
Since 'tis no light oblation that you look for,
No incense offering, will I hang mine eyes;
And as I wear these stones with hourly weeping,
So will I melt your pow'rs into compassion.
This tear for Prosutagus my brave Father,
Ye gods, now think on Rome; this for my Mother,
And all her miseries; yet see, and save us;
But now ye must be open-ey'd. See; heaven,
Oh see thy show'rs stoln from thee; our dishonours,
[A smoak from the Altar.
Oh Sister, our dishonors: can ye be gods,
And these sins smother'd?
Bon. The fire takes.
Car. It does so,
But no flame rises. Cease your fearful prayers,
Your whinings, and your tame petitions;
The gods love courage arm'd with confidence,
And prayers fit to pull them down: weak tears
And troubled hearts, the dull twins of cold spirits,
They sit and smile at. Hear how I salute 'em:
Divine Andate, thou who hold'st the reins
Of furious Battels, and disordred War,
And proudly roll'st thy swarty chariot wheels
Over the heaps of wounds and carcasses,
Sailing through seas of blood; thou sure-steel'd sternness,
Give us this day good hearts, good enemies,
Good blowes o' both sides, wounds that fear or flight
Can claim no share in; steel us both with angers,
And warlike executions fit thy viewing;
Let Rome put on her best strength, and thy Britain,
Thy little Britain, but as great in fortune,
Meet her as strong as she, as proud, as daring;
And then look on, thou red ey'd god: who does best,
Reward with honor; who despair makes flie,
Unarm for ever, and brand with infamy:
Grant this, divine Andate, 'tis but justice;
And my first blow thus on thy holy Altar [A flame arises.
I sacrifice unto thee.
Bon. It flames out. [Musick.
Car. Now sing ye Druides. [Song.
Bon. 'Tis out again.