Bel. All places may be strengthen'd more or less,
As by last year discretion now may guess.
The clifts themselves are bulwarks strong: the shelves
And flats refuse great ships: the coast so open,
That every stormy blast may rend their cables,
Put them from anchor; suffering double war:
Their men pitch'd battle, and ships naval fight.
For charges 'tis no season to dispute:
Spend something or lose all. Shall he maintain
A fleet t' enthral us, we detract small costs.
When freedom, life and kingdom lie at stake?
Cas. But the assailants are the flower of Italy,
Back'd with four hundred Gallic horse, all tried
And gallant troops, join'd in one martial body,
To give a fuller stroke; when we defendants,
Scatter'd along, can weak resistance make;
Plainness of ground affording us no shelter.
Bel. For what serve sart and engines, mounds and trenches,
But to correct the nature of a plain?
A few on firm land may keep out a million
Weaken'd by sea, false footing, billows' rage,
And pond'rous arms; when as, receiv'd within,
He prospers by our spoil: we feed a viper,
And malcontents and rebels have a refuge.
Nor were it safe to venture all at once;
When one fought field being lost, swift ruin runs,
And rushing throws down all.
Cas. We know our strength and his; we'll fight in field
Some dozen miles from sea. An open theatre
Gives lustre to our prowess: to keep him out
Supposes fear, not manhood. No, let him march,
Till he rouse Death, and stride his future grave.
Bel. Your will commands, and mine obeys. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Cæsar, &c. Ensign, drum, trumpet, flag, Soldiers, Shipmen. The noise of landing.
Cæs. The coast is clear; our honour is the goal.
In vain doth Tagus' yellow sand obey,
Rhine's horned front and nimble Tigris running
For wager with the wind, which skims his top;
In vain from Ganges to Hesperian Gades,
The bounds mark'd out by Jove's two base-born sons[331]
Our echo'd name doth sound, if we recoil
From hence again not victors.
Ye pilots old, who were begot mermaids,
Whose element is their sea, bred and brought up
In cradles rock'd with storms and wooden walls.
Fear not to grapple with the seas. Fear not
Their bulks, brave veterans; that extended mass
Is not of iron, but can bleed and die:
They were not dipp'd in Styx, nor are they giants
Or wild poetic Centaurs we assail.
Let then this voyage quit out credit lost,
And let rage lash on courage. Here's the game;
Life may be lost, but (sure) we'll hold fast fame!
[They march about and go out. The whole
battle within.
Cassibelanus, Belinus, &c., Soldiers.