The Project Gutenberg eBook of Beaumont & Fletcher's Works (6 of 10):, by Francis Beaumont; John Fletcher.

Dru. Awake, Sir; yet the Roman Bodie's who[l]e,
I see 'em clear again.

Pen. Whole? 'tis not possible:
Drusus they must be lost.

Dru. By —— they are whole, Sir,
And in brave doing; see, they wheel about
To gain more ground.

Pen. But see there, Drusus, see,
See that huge Battel moving from the mountains,
Their gilt coats shine like Dragons scales, their march
Like a rough tumbling storm; see them, and view 'em,
And then see Rome no more: say they fail; look,
Look where the armed carts stand; a new Army:
Look how they hang like falling rocks, as murdring
Death rides in triumph Drusus: fell destruction
Lashes his fiery horse, and round about him
His many thousand ways to let out souls.
Move me again when they charge, when the mountain
Melts under their hot wheels, and from their Ax'trees
Huge claps of thunder plough the ground before 'em,
Till then I'll dream what Rome was.

Swet. O bravely fought; honor till now nere show'd
Her golden fa[c]e i'th' field. Like Lions, Gentlemen,
Y'have held your heads up this day: Where's young Junius,
Curius and Decius?

Petill. Gone to heaven, I think, Sir.

Sw. Their worths go with 'em: breathe a while: How do ye?

Pet. Well; some few scurvy wounds, my heart's whole yet.

Dem. Would they would give us more ground.

Swet. Give? we'll have it.

Petill. Have it? and hold it too, despight the devill.

Jun. Lead up to th' head, and line: sure the Qs. Battell
Begins to charge like wild-fire: where's the General?

Swet. Oh, they are living yet. Come my brave soldiers,
Come, let me pour Romes blessing on ye; Live,
Live, and lead Armies all: ye bleed hard.

Jun. Best:
We shall appear the sterner to the foe.

Dec. More wounds, more honor.

Petill. Lose no time.

Swet. Away then,
And stand this shock, ye have stood the world.

Petill. Wee'll grow to't.
Is not this better than lowsie loving?

Jun. I am my self, Petillius.

Petill. 'Tis I love thee. [Exeunt Romans.

Car. Charge 'em i'th' flanks: O ye have plaid the fool,
The fool extreamly, the mad fool.

Bon. Why Cosin?

Car. The woman fool. Why did you give the word
Unto the carts to charge down, and our people
In gross before the Enemy? we pay for't,
Our own swords cut our throats: why? —— on't;
Why do you offer to command? the divell,
The divell, and his dam too, who bid you
Meddle in mens affairs? [Exeunt Queen, &c.

Bond. I'll help all.

Car. Home,
Home and spin woman, spin, go spin, ye trifle.
Open before there, or all's ruine. How, [Showts within.
Now comes the Tempest; on our selves, by —— [Victoria within.
O woman, scurvie woman, beastly woman. [Exeunt.

Dru. Victoria, Victoria.

Pen. How's that, Drusus?

Dru. They win, they win, they win; oh look, look, look, Sir,
For heavens sake look, the Britains fly, the Britains fly. Victoria.

Swet. Soft, soft, pursue it soft; excellent Soldiers,
Close, my brave fellows, honorable Romans:
Oh cool thy mettle Junius, they are ours,
The world cannot redeem 'em: stern Petillius,
Govern the conquest nobly: soft, good Soldiers. [Exeunt.

Bond. Shame, whither flie ye, ye unlucky Britains?
Will ye creep into your mothers wombs again? Back cowards.
Hares, fearful Hares, Doves in your angers; leave me?
Leave your Queen desolate? her hapless children.

To Roman rape again and fury?

Car. Flye, ye buzzards,
Ye have wings enough, ye fear: get thee gone, woman,

Shame tread upon thy heels; all's lost, all's lost, heark,
Heark how the Romans ring our knels. [Ext. Bond., &c.

Hen. Good Uncle,
Let me go too.

Car. No boy, th[y] fortune's mine,
I must not leave thee; get behind me; shake not,

I'll breech ye, if ye do boy: Come, brave Romans,
All is not lost yet.

Jun. Now I'll thank thee, Caratach. [Fight. Drums.

Car. Thou art a Soldier: strike home, home, have at ye.

Pen. His blows fall like huge sledges on an anvil.

Dec. I am weary.

Pet. So am I.

Car. Send more swords to me.

Jun. Let's sit and rest. [Sit down.

Dru. What think ye now?

Pen. O Drusus,
I have lost mine honor, lost my name,
Lost all that was my light: these are true Romans,
And I a Britain coward, a base Coward;
Guide me where nothing is but desolation,
That I may never more behold the face
Of Man, or Mankind know me: O blind Fortune,
Hast thou abus'd me thus?

Dru. Good Sir, be comforted;
It was your wisdom rul'd ye; pray ye go home,
Your day is yet to come, when this great fortune
Shall be but foil unto it. [Retreat.

Pen. Fool, fool, Coward. [Exit Penyus and Drusus.

Swet. Draw in, draw in: well have you fought, and worthy
Romes noble recompence; look to your wounds,
The ground is cold and hurtful: the proud Queen
Has got a Fort, and there she and her Daughters
Defie us once again. To morrow morning
Wee'll seek her out, and make her know, our Fortunes
Stop at no stubborn walls: Come, sons of honor,
True virtues heirs; thus hatch'd with Britain blood,
Let's march to rest, and set in gules like Suns.
Beat a soft march, and each one ease his neighbours. [Exeunt.

Petill. Smooth was his cheek,

Dec. And his chin it was sleek,

Jun. With whoop, he has done wooing.

Dem. Junius was this Captains name,
A lad for a lasses viewing,

Pet. Full black his eye, and plump his thigh,

Dec. Made up for loves pursuing:

Dem. Smooth was his cheeck,

Petill. And his chin it was sleek,

Jun. With whoop, he has done wooing.

Petill. O my vex'd thief, art thou come home again?
Are thy brains perfect?

Jun. Sound as bels.

Petill. Thy back-worm
Quiet, and cast his sting, boy?

Jun. Dead, Petillius,
Dead to all folly, and now my anger only.

Pet. Why, that's well said: hang Cupid and his quiver,
A drunken brawling Boy; thy honour'd saint
Be thy ten shillings, Junius, there's the money,
And there's the ware; square dealing: this but sweats thee
Like a Mesh nag, and makes thee look pin buttock'd;
The other runs thee whining up and down
Like a pig in a storm, fills thy brains full of madness,
And shews thee like a long Lent, thy brave body
Turn'd to a tail of green-fish without butter.

Dec. When thou lov'st next, love a good cup of Wine,
A Mistress for a King, she leaps to kiss thee,
Her red and white's her own; she makes good blood,
Takes none away; what she heats sleep can help,
Without a groping Surgeon.

Jun. I am counsell'd,
And henceforth, when I doat again,—

Dem. Take heed,
Ye had almost paid for't.

Petill. Love no more great Ladies,
Thou canst not step amiss then; there's no delight in 'em;
All's in the whistling of their snacht up silks;
They're only made for handsome view, not handling;
Their bodies of so weak and wash a temper,
A rough pac'd bed will shake 'em all to pieces;
A tough hen pulls their teeth out, tyres their souls;
Plenæ rimarum sunt, they are full of rynnet,
And take the skin off where they are tasted; shun 'em,
They live in cullisses like rotten cocks
Stew'd to a tenderness, that holds no tack:
Give me a thing I may crush.

Jun. Thou speak'st truly:
The Wars shall be my Mistriss now.

Petil. Well chosen,
For she's a bownsing lass, she'll kiss thee at night, boy,
And break thy pate i'th' morning.

Jun. Yesterday
I found those favors infinite.

Dem. Wench good enough,
But that she talks too loud.

Pet. She talks to th' purpose,
Which never Woman did yet: she'll hold grapling,
And he that layes on best, is her best servant:
All other loves are meer catching of dotrels,
Stretching of legs out only, and trim laziness.
Here comes the General. [Enter Swet., Curius, & Macer.

Swet. I am glad [I] have found ye:
Are those come in yet that pursu'd bold Caratach?

Pet. Not yet Sir, for I think they mean to lodge him;
Take him I know they dare not, 'twill be dangerous.

Swet. Then haste Petillius, haste to Penyus,
I fear the strong conceit of what disgrace
Has pull'd upon himself, will be his ruine:
I fear his soldiers fury too; haste presently,
I would not lose him for all Britain. Give him, Petillius.

Petill. That that shall choak him.

Swet. All the noble counsell,
His fault forgiven too, his place, his honor,

Petill. For me, I think, as handsome.

Swet. All the comfort.
And tell the Soldier, 'twas on our command
He drew not to the Battell.

Petill. I conceive Sir,
And will do that shall cure all.

Swet. Bring him with ye
Before the Queens Fort, and his Forces with him,
There you shall find us following of our Conquest:
Make haste.

Petil. The best I may. [Exit.

Swet. And noble Gentlemen,
Up to your Companies: we'll presently
Upon the Queens pursuit: there's nothing done
Till she be seiz'd; without her nothing won. [Exeunt.

Car. How does my Boy?

Hen. I would do well, my heart's well;
I do not fear.

Car. My good Boy.

Hen. I know, Uncle,
We must all dye; my little brother dy'd,
I saw him dye, and he dy'd smiling: sure,
There's no great pain in't Uncle. But pray tell me,
Whither must we go when we are dead?

Car. Strange questions!
Why, to the blessed'st place Boy: ever sweetness
And happiness dwells there.

Hen. Will you come to me?

Car. Yes, my sweet boy.

Hen. Mine Aunt too, and my Cosins?

Car. All, my good child.

Hen. No Romans, Uncle?

Car. No Boy.

Heng. I should be loath to meet them there.

Car. No ill men,
That live by violence, and strong oppression,
Come thither: 'tis for those the gods love, good men.

Heng. Why, then I care not when I go; for surely
I am perswaded they love me: I never
Blasphem'd 'em, Uncle, nor transgrest my parents;
I always said my Prayers.

Car. Thou shalt go then,
Indeed thou shalt.

Heng. When they please.

Car. That's my good boy.
Art thou not weary, Hengo?

Heng. Weary, Uncle?
I have heard you say you have march'd all day in Armour.

Car. I have, boy.

Heng. Am not I your Kinsman?

Car. Yes.

Heng. And am not I as fully allyed unto you
In those brave things, as blood?

Car. Thou art too tender.

Heng. To go upon my legs? they were made to bear me.
I can play twenty mile a day, I see no reason
But to preserve my Countrey and my self,
I should march forty.

Car. What, wouldst thou be
Living to wear a mans strength?

Heng. Why a Caratach,
A Roman-hater, a scourge sent from Heaven [Drum.
To whip these proud theeves from our Kingdom. Heark,
Heark, Uncle, heark, I hear a Drum.

Jud. Beat softly,
Softly, I say; they are here: who dare charge?

1. Sold. He
That dares be knockt o'th' head: I'll not come near him.

Jud. Retire again, and watch then. How he stares!
H'as eyes would kill a dragon: mark the boy well;
If we could take or kill him. A —— on ye,
How fierce ye look! see how he broods the boy;
The devil dwels in's scabbard. Back, I say,
Apace, apace, h'as found us. [They retire.

Car. Do ye hunt us?

Heng. Uncle, good Uncle see, the thin starv'd Rascal,
The eating Roman, see where he thrids the thickets:
Kill him, dear Uncle, kill him; one good blow
To knock his brains into his breech; strike's head off,
That I may piss in's face.

Car. Do ye make us Foxes?
Here, hold my charging staff, and keep the place boy.
I'am at bay, and like a bull I'll bear me.
Stand, stand, ye Rogues, ye Squirrels. [Exit.

Heng. Now he pays 'em:
O that I had a mans strength.

Jud. Here's the boy;
Mine own, I thank my Fortune.

Heng. Uncle, uncle;
Famine is faln upon me, uncle.

Jud. Come, Sir,
Yield willingly, your Uncle's out of hearing,
I'll ticle your young tail else.

Heng. I defie thee,
Thou mock-made man of mat: charge home, sirha:
Hang thee, base slave, thou shak'st.

Jud. Upon my conscience
The boy will beat me: how it looks, how bravely,
How confident the worm is: a scabb'd boy
To handle me thus? yield or I cut thy head off.

Heng. Thou dar'st not cut my finger: here't is, touch it.

Jud. The boy speaks sword and buckler, Prethee yield, boy:
Come, here's an apple, yield.

Heng. By —— he fears me.
I'll give you sharper language: When, ye coward,
When come ye up?

Jud. If he should beat me—

Heng. When, Sir?
I long to kill thee; come, thou can'st not scape me.
I have twenty ways to charge thee; twenty deaths
Attend my bloody staff.

Jud. Sure 'tis the devil,
A dwarf, devil in a doublet.

Heng. I have kill'd a Captain, sirha, a brave Captain,
And when I have done, I have kickt him thus. Look here,
See how I charge this staff.

Jud. Most certain
This boy will cut my throat yet.

1. Sold. Flee, flee, he kills us.

2. Sould. He comes, he comes.

Jud. The devil take the hindmost.

Heng. Run, run, ye Rogues, ye precious Rogues, ye rank Rogues.
A comes, a comes, a comes, a comes: that's he, boys.
What a brave cry they make!

Car. How does my chicken?

Heng. 'Faith, uncle, grown a Soldier, a great Soldier;
For by the virtue of your charging-staff,
And a strange fighting face I put upon't,
I have out-brav'd hunger.

Car. That's my boy, my sweet boy.
Here, here's a Roman's head for thee.

Heng. Good provision.
Before I starve, my sweet-fac'd Gentleman,
I'll trie your favour.

Car. A right compleat Soldier.
Come, chicken, let's go seek some place of strength
(The Countrey's full of Scouts) to rest a while in,
Thou wilt not else be able to endure
The journey to my Countrey, fruits, and water,
Must be your food a while, boy.

Heng. Any thing:
I can eat moss, I can live on anger,
To vex these Romans. Let's be wary, Uncle.

Car. I warrant thee; come chearfully.

Heng. And boldly.

Reg. The soldier shall not grieve ye.

Pen. Pray ye forsake me;
Look not upon me, as ye love your Honors;
I am so cold a coward, my infection
Will choke your virtues like a damp else.

Dru. Dear Captain.

Reg. Most honour'd Sir.

Pen. Most hated, most abhor'd;
Say so, and then ye know me, nay, ye please me.
O my dear credit, my dear credit.

Reg. Sure
His mind is dangerous.

Dru. The good gods cure it.

Pen. My honour got thorow fire, thorow stubborn breaches
Thorow Batte[l]s that have been as hard to win as heaven,
Thorow death himself, in all his horrid trims,
Is gone for ever, ever, ever, Gentlemen,
And now I am left to scornfu[l] tales and laughters,
To hootings at, pointing with fingers, That's he,
That's the brave Gentleman forsook the battel,
The most wise Penyus, the disputing coward.
O my good sword, break from my side, and kill me;
Cut out the coward from my heart.

Reg. Ye are none.

Pen. He lyes that says so: by —— he lyes, lyes basely,
Baser than I have done. Come, soldiers, seek me,
I have robb'd ye of your virtues: Justice, seek me,
I have broke my fair obedience, lost: shame take me,
Take me, and swallow me, make ballads of me;
Shame, endless shame: and pray do you forsake me.

Dru. What shall we do?

Pen. Good Gentlemen forsake me:
You were not wont to be commanded. Friends, pray do it,
And do not fear; for as I am a coward
I will not hurt my self: when that mind takes me,
I'll call to you, and ask your help. I dare not.

Petill. Good morrow, Gentlemen; where's the Tribune?

Reg. There.

Dru. Whence come ye, good Petillius?

Petill. From the General.

Dru. With what, for heavens sake?

Petill. With good counsel, Drusus,
And love, to comfort him.

Dru. Good Regulus
Step to the Soldier, and allay his anger;
For he is wild as winter.

Petill. O, are ye there? have at ye. Sure he's dead,
It cannot be he dare out-live this fortune:
He must die, 'tis most necessary; men expect it;
And thought of life in him, goes beyond coward.
Forsake the field so basely? fie upon't:
So poorly to betray his worth; so coldly
To cut all credit from the soldier? sure
If this man mean to live, as I should think it
Beyond belief, he must retire where never
The name of Rome, the voice of Arms, or Honour
Was known or heard of yet: he's certain dead,
Or strongly means it; he's no Soldier else,
No Roman in him; all he has done, but outside,
Fought either drunk or desperate. Now he rises.
How does Lord Penyus?

Pen. As ye see.

Petill. I am glad on't;
Continue so still. The Lord General,
The valiant General, great Swetonius—

Pen. No more of me is spoken; my name's perish'd.

Petill. He that commanded fortune and the day
By his own valour and discretion,
When, as some say, Penyus refused to come,
But I believe 'em not, sent me to see ye.

Pen. Ye are welcome; and pray see me; see me well,
Ye shall not see me long.

Petill. I hope so, Penyus;
The gods defend, Sir.

Pen. See me, and understand me: This is he
Left to fill up your triumph; he that basely
Whistled his honour off to th' wind; that coldly
Shrunk in his politick head, when Rome like reapers
Sweat blood, and spirit, for a glorious harvest,
And bound it up, and brought it off: that fool,
That having gold and copper offer'd him,
Refus'd the wealth, and took the wast: that soldier
That being courted by loud fame and fortune,
Labour in one hand, that propounds us gods,
And in the other, glory that creates us,
Yet durst doubt, and be damned.

Petill. It was an errour.

Pen. A foul one, and a black one.

Petill. Yet the blackest
May be washt white again.

Pen. Never.

Petill. Your leave, Sir,
And I beseech ye note me; for I love ye,
And bring [along] all comfort: Are we gods,
Alli'd to no infirmities? are our natures
More than mens natures? when we slip a little
Out of the way of virtue, are we lost?
Is there no medicine called Sweet mercy?

Pen. None, Petillius;
There is no mercy in mankind can reach me,
Nor is it fit it should; I have sinn'd beyond it.

Petill. Forgiveness meets with all faults.

Pen. 'Tis all faults,
All sins I can commit, to be forgiven:
'Tis loss of whole man in me, my discretion
To be so stupid, to arrive at pardon.

Petill. O but the General—

Pen. He's a brave Gentleman,
A valiant, and a loving; and I dare say
He would, as far as honor durst direct him,
Make even with my fault, but 'tis not honest,
Nor in his power: examples that may nourish
Neglect and disobedience in whole bodies.
And totter the estates and faiths of armies,
Must not be plaid withall; nor out of pitty
Make a General forget his duty:
Nor dare I hope more from him than is worthy.

Petill. What would ye do?

Pen. Dye.

Petill. So would sullen children,
Women that want their wills, slaves, disobedient,
That fear the law, die. Fie, great Captain; you
A man to rule men, to have thousand lives
Under your Regiment, and let your passion
Betray your reason? I bring you all forgiveness,
The noblest kind commends, your place, your honour.

Pen. Prethee no more; 'tis foolish: didst not thou?
By —— thou didst, I over-heard thee, there,
There where thou standst now, deliver me for rascal,
Poor, dead, cold coward, miserable, wretched,
If I out-liv'd this ruine?

Petill. I?

Pen. And thou di[d]st it nobly,
Like a true man, a souldier: and I thank thee,
I thank thee, good Petillius; thus I thank thee.

Petill. Since ye are so justly made up, let me tell ye,
'Tis fit ye dye indeed.

Pen. O how thou lov'st me!

Petill. For say he had forgiven ye; say the peoples whispers
Were tame again, the time run out for wonder,
What must your own Command think, from whose Swords
Ye have taken off the edges, from whose valours
The due and recompence of Arms; nay, made it doubtful
Wh[e]ther they knew obedience? must not these kill ye?
Say they are won to pardon ye, by meer miracle
Brought to forgive ye; what old valiant Souldier,
What man that loves to fight, and fight for Rome,
Will ever follow you more? dare ye know these ventures?
If so, I bring ye comfort; dare ye take it?

Pen. No, no, Petillius, no.

Petill. If your mind serve ye,
Ye may live still; but how? yet pardon me,
You may outwear all too, but when? and certain
There is a mercy for each fault, if tamely
A man will take't upon conditions.

Pen. No, by no means: I am only thinking now, Sir,
(For I am resolved to go) of a most base death,
Fitting the baseness of my fault. I'll hang.

Petill. Ye shall not; y'are a Gentleman I honor,
I would else flatter ye, and force ye live,
Which is far baser. Hanging? 'tis a dogs death,
An end for slaves.

Pen. The fitter for my baseness.

Petill. Besides, the man that's hang'd, preaches his end,
And sits a sign for all the world to gape at.

Pen. That's true: I'll take a fitter poison.

Petill. No,
'Tis equal ill; the death of rats and women,
Lovers, and lazie boys, that fear correction,
Die like a man.

Pen. Why my sword then.

Petill. I, If your Sword be sharp, Sir,
There's nothing under heaven that's like your Sword;
Your Sword's a death indeed.

Pen. It shall be sharp, Sir.

Petill. Why Mithridates was an arrant asse
To dye by poison, if all Bosphorus
Could lend him Swords: your Sword must do the deed:
'Tis shame to dye choak'd, fame to dye and bleed.

Pen. Thou hast confirmed me: and, my good Petillius,
Tell me no more I may live.

Petill. 'Twas my Commission;
But now I see ye in a nobler way,
A way to make all even.

Pen. Fare-well, Captain:
Be a good man, and fight well: be obedient:
Command thy self, and then thy men. Why shakest thou?

Petill. I do not Sir.

Pen. I would thou hadst, Petillius:
I would find something to forsake the world with
Worthy the man that dies: a kind of earth-quake
Through all stern valors but mine own.

Petill. I feel now
A kind of trembling in me.

Pen. Keep it still,
As thou lov'st virtue, keep it.

Petill. And brave Captain,
The gr[ea]t and honoured Penyus.

Pen. That again:
O how it heightens me! again, Petillius.

Petill. Most excellent Commander.

Pen. Those were mine,
Mine, only mine.

Petill. They are still.

Pen. Then to keep 'em
For ever falling more, have at ye, heavens,
Ye everlasting powers, I am yours: The work's done,

That neither fire nor age, nor melting envy
Shall ever conquer. Carry my last words
To the great General: kiss his hands and say,
My soul I give to heaven, my fault to justice
Which I have done upon my self: my virtue,
If ever there was any in Poor Penyus,
Made more, and happier, light on him. I faint.
And where there is a foe, I wish him fortune.
I dye: lye lightly on my ashes, gentle earth.

Petill. And on my sin. Farewell, great Peny[u]s,

Actus Quartus. Scæna Prima.

Scæna Secunda.

Scæna Tertia.