Cæs. Arise, unhappy prince, our deeds shall show
We grant thy suit. Fortune repents at last;
[To Volusenus.
The moon is chang'd, the globe doth to us turn
Her shining cheek, and wooes us with a smile.
But what firm signs of faith, what faithful aid,
What furtherance, can you give at our arrival?
Man. See here Androgeus' heir, whose tender age
His father ventures, and makes bold with nature
To pledge his darling. He and thirty more
Of noble lineage shall assure our faith;
Besides I pawn my life.
Cæs. Enough. I'll once more cross the seas:
For your good more than mine; that happier sky
May bless your towns with peace, your fields with plenty;
Perpetual spring, in gay perfum'd attire,
Sirname your isle the garden of the west.
Man. Thanks, gracious Cæsar, for this kind acceptance,
My knee doth kiss the ground, my lip your knee.
Pardon, ye gods, if any haunt our land,
Ye nymphs and lares, fawns and sylvans wild,
That thus I bring a stranger on our coasts,
Whose foreign shape and language may affright
Our lazy clowns, and on my country's back
Once tread victorious steps. Be pleas'd to view
Wrongs now redress'd, neglected first by you.
Cæs. Now, Volusene,
Our glorious state, like the noon-pointed sun,
When he bestrides the lion's flaming fleece,
Doth north-west roll his burning brand, whose fire
The ocean's blue lake cannot stop, but flies
With brighter blaze to thaw the frozen isles.
But how proceeds our preparation?
Vol. Many strong ships are built, five legions arm'd
Ready to launch.
Cæs. Blow gently, Africus:
Play on our poops. When Hyperion's son
Shall couch in west his foam-bedappl'd jades,
We'll rise to run our course.