Cassibelanus, Belinus, &c.
Cas. O, that base fortune should great spirits damp,
And fawn on muddy slaves! That envious fate
Should ripen villany with a Syrian dew,
And blast sweet virtue with a Syrian flame!
A catalogue of mischiefs do concur:
Our Briton Hector Nennius dead; our kings,
Angry to be refus'd, sit still at home;
And then those traitors with their train augment
His huge and expert army. Nothing stops him:
Rivers nor rampiers, woods nor dangerous bogs.
On this side Thames his dismal ensigns shine.
Last, Kent's unhappy rulers are at sea
O'erthrown, and our men almost spent. Then, general,
In desperate pride and valour's scornful rage,
Let us run headlong through their armed tents,
And make their camp a shambles; so to raise
Our lofty tombs upon their slaughter'd heaps.
Bel. Nay, rather first let us parley for peace.
Cas. Ye country gods and nymphs, who Albion love:
Old father Neptune: all ye powers divine:
Witness my loyal care! If human strength,
Courage and policy could a kingdom save,
We did our best; but discord, child of hell,
Numbers of train-men, and each captain pick'd
Out of a province, make us bow or break.
In vain we strive, when deities do frown;
When destinies push, Atlas himself comes down.
Enter Comius.
Bel. No mediator is so fit as Comius:
And here's the man.
Com. Do not the dangers which
Environ you call for a good conclusion?
Which I wish, as friend to both sides.
Cas. No, Comius. There is more behind than Cæsar
Hath overrun: our charioteers still drive;
Our harness still is worn. Through woods and lakes
We'll tire his dainty soldiers; then set fire
On towns, and sacrifice ourselves, our wives,
Our goods and cattle, in one public flame,
That wind may blow our ashes in his face.
Com. So shall dead el'ments curse your causeless fury:
Rather conclude some friendly peace.
Cas. Thus far we hear you. If with honour'd terms
And royal looks he will accept our faith,
We will obey, but never serve.