Chapter XXIII: Act I: , Scene I

DUKE NENNIUS[261] _alone_.

NEN. Methinks I hear Bellona's dreadful voice
Redoubled from the concave shores of Gaul:
Methinks I hear their neighing steads, the groans
Of complimental souls taking their leave:
And all the dim and clamorous route which sounds
When falling kingdoms crack in fatal flames.
Die, Belgics,[262] die like men! Free minds need have
Nought but the ground they fight on for their grave:
And we are next. Think ye the smoky mist
Of sun-boil'd seas can stop the eagle's eye?[263]
Or can our wat'ry walls keep dangers out,
Which fly aloft, that thus we snorting lie,
Feeding imposthum'd humours, to be lanc'd
By some outlandish surgeon?
As they are now, whose flaming towns (like beacons)
Give us fair warning, and e'en gild our spires,
Whilst merrily we warm us at their fires.
Yet we are next: who, charm'd with peace and sloth,
Dream golden dreams. Go, warlike Britain, go,
For olive-bough exchange thy hazel-bow:
Hang up thy rusty helmet, that the bee
May have a hive, or spider find a loom:
Instead of soldiers' fare and lodging hard
(The bare ground being their bed and table), lie
Smother'd in down, melting in luxury:
Instead of bellowing drum[264] and cheerful flute,
Be lull'd in lady's lap with amorous lute.
But as for Nennius, know, I scorn this calm:
The ruddy planet at my birth bore sway,
(Sanguine) adust my humour; and wild-fire
(My ruling element), blood and rage, and choler,
Make up the temper of a captain's valour. [_Exit._

SCENE II.

JULIUS CÆSAR, COMIUS VOLUSENUS, LABERIUS;
_Soldiers, with ensign, a two-necked eagle displayed_
_sable, drum, ancient, trumpet. A flourish._

CÆS. Welcome thus far, partners of weal and woe,
Welcome, brave bloods! Now may our weapons sleep,
Since Ariovist in cock-boat basely flies;[265]
Vast Germany stands trembling at our bridge,[266]
And Gaul lies bleeding in her mother's lap.
Once the Pellæan duke did eastward march,[267]
To rouse the drowsy sun, before he rose,
Adorn'd with Indian rubies: but the main
Bade him retire. He was my type. This day
We stand on Nature's western brink; beyond,
Nothing but sea and sky. Here is _nil ultra_.
Democritus, make good thy fancy; give me
More worlds to conquer, which may be both seen
And won together. But methinks I ken
A whitish cloud kissing the waves, or else
Some chalky rocks surmount the barking flood.
Comius, your knowledge can correct our eyes.

COM. It is the Britain shore, which ten leagues hence
Displays her shining cliffs unto your sight.

CÆS. I'll hit the white.[268] That sea-mark for our ships
Invites destruction, and gives to our eye
A treacherous beck. Dare but resist, your shore
Shall paint her pale face with red crimson gore.

COM. Thus much I know, great Cæsar--that they lent
Their secret aid unto the neighbour Gauls;
Fostering their fugitives with friendly care:
Which made your victory fly with slower wing.

CÆS. That's cause enough. They shall not henceforth range
Abroad for war; we'll bring him to their doors.
His ugly idol shall displace their gods,
Their dear Penates, and in desolate streets
Raise trophies high of barbarous bones, whose stench
May poison all the rest. I long to stride
This Hellespont, or bridge it with a navy,
Disclosing to our empire unknown lands,
Until the arctic star for zenith stands.

LAB. Then raise the camp, and strike a dreadful march,
And unawares pour vengeance on their heads.
Be like the winged bolt of angry Jove,
Or chiding torrent, whose late-risen stream
From mountains' bended top runs raging down,
Deflow'ring all the virgin dales.

CÆS. First, let's advise; for soon to ruin come
Rash weapons, which lack counsel grave at home.

LAB. What need consulting where the cause is plain?

CÆS. The likeliest cause without regard proves vain.

LAB. Provide for battle, but of truce no word.

CÆS. Where peace is first refus'd, should come the sword.

LAB. But 'tis unlike their self-presuming might
Will curbed be with terms of civil right.

CÆS. 'Tis true: yet so we stop the people's cry,
When we propose, and they do peace deny.
We'll therefore wise embassadors despatch,
Parents of love, the harbingers of leagues;
Men that may speak with mildness mix'd with courage,
Having quick feet, broad eyes, short tongues, long ears,
To warn the British court.
And further view the ports, fathom the seas,
Learn their complotments, where invasion may
Be soonest entertain'd. All this shall lie
On Volusene, a legate and a spy.

VOL. My care and quickness shall deserve this kindness.
Meantime unite, and range your scatter'd troops:
Embark your legions at the Iccian shore,
And teach Erynnis[269] swim, which crawl'd before. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

CASSIBELANUS, ANDROGEUS, TENANTIUS,
BELINUS, _Attendants_.

CAS. Although the people's voice constrains me hold
This regal staff, whose massy weight would bruise
Your age and pleasures; yet this, nephews, know,
Your trouble less, your honour is the same,
As if you wore the diadem of this isle.
Meanwhile, Androgeus, hold unto your use
Our lady-city Troynovant,[270] and all
The toll and tribute of delicious Kent;
Of which each quarter can maintain a king.
Have you, Tenantius, Cornwall's dukedom large,
Both rich and strong in metals and in men.
I must to Verulam's fenc'd town repair,
And as protector for the whole take care.

AND. My heart agrees. Henceforth, ye sovereign cares,
State mysteries, false graces, jealous fears,
The linings of a crown, forsake my brain:
These territories neither are too wide
To trouble my content, nor yet too narrow
To feed a princely train.

TEN. All thanks I render: your will shall guide ours;
With treble-twisted love we'll strive to make
One soul inform three bodies, keeping still
The same affections both in good and ill.
Now am I for a hunting-match. Yon thickets
Shelter a boar, which spoil's the ploughman's hope:
Whose jaws with double sword, whose back is arm'd
With bristled pikes; whose fume inflames the air,
And foam besnows the trampled corn. This beast
I long to see come smoking to a feast. [_Exit_ TENANTIUS.

BEL. Here comes my Belgic friend, Landora's servant.
What news, Rollano, that thy feet so strive
To have precedence of each other? Speak!
I read disturbed passions on thy brow.

ROL. My trembling heart quivers upon my tongue,
That scarce I can with broken sounds vent forth
These sad, strange, sudden, dreary, dismal news.
A merchant's ship arriv'd tells how the Roman,
Having run Gaul quite through with bloody arms,
Prepares for you: his navy, rigg'd in bay,
Only expects a gale. Farther, they say
A pinnace landed from him brings command
Either to lose your freedom or your land.

CAS. And dares proud Cæsar back our untam'd surges?
Dreads he not our sea-monsters, whose wild shapes
Their theatres ne'er yet in picture saw?
Come, sirs, to arms! to arms! Let speedy posts
Summon our petty kings, and muster up
Our valorous nations from the north and west.
Androgeus, haste you to the Scots and Picts,
Two names which now Albania's kingdom share:
Entreat their aid, if not for love, yet fear!
For new foes should imprint swift-equal fear
Through all the arteries of this our isle.
Belinus, thy authority must rouse
The vulgar troops within thy[271] special charge.
Fire [all] the beacons, strike alarums loud:
Raise all the country 'gainst this common foe.

We'll soon confront him in his full career:
This news more moves my choler than my fear. [_Exeunt._

ROLLANO _alone_.

ROL. I am by birth a Belgic, whence I fled
To Germany for fear of Roman arms:
But when their bridge bridled the stately Rhine,
I soon return'd, and thought to hide my head
In this soft halcyon's nest, this Britain isle.
And now, behold, Mars is a-nursing here,
And 'gins to speak aloud.
Is no nook safe from Rome? Do they still haunt me?
Some peaceful god transport me through the air,
Beyond cold Thule[272] or the sun's bedchamber,
Where only swine or goats do live and reign.
Yet these may fight. Place me where quiet peace
Hushes all storms; where sleep and silence dwell,
Where never man nor beast did wrong the soil,
Or crop the first-fruits, or made so much noise
As with their breath. But, foolish thoughts, adieu:
Now catch I must, or stand or fall with you. [_Exit._

SCENE IV.

EULINUS, HIRILDAS.

EUL. The court a wardrobe is of living shapes:
And ladies are the tissue-spangled suits,
Which Nature wears on festival high days.
The Court a spring: each madam is a rose.
The Court is heaven, fair ladies are the stars.[273]

HIR. Ay, falling stars.

EUL. False echo, don't blaspheme that glorious sex,
Whose beauteous rays can strike rash gazers blind.

HIR. Love should be blind.

EUL. Pray leave this cynic humour, whilst I sigh
My mistress' praise. Her beauty's past compare:
O, would she were more kind, or not so fair!
Her modest smiles both curb and kindle love.
The court is dark without her: when she rises,
The morning is her handmaid, strewing roses.
About love's hemisphere. The lamps above
Eclipse themselves for shame to see her eyes,
Outshine their chrysolites, and more bless the skies
Than they the earth.

HIR. Give me her name.

EUL. Her body is a crystal cage, whose pure
Transparent mould, not of gross elements
Compacted, but th' extracted quintessence
Of sweetest forms distill'd; whose graces bright
Do live immur'd, but not exempt from sight.

HIR. I prythee, speak her [name].

EUL. Her model is beyond all poets' brains
And painters' pencils: all the lively nymphs,
Syrens, and Dryads are but kitchen-maids,
If you compare. To frame the like Pandore,[274]
The gods repine, and nature would grow poor.

HIR. By love, who is't? hath she no mortal name?

EUL. For here you find great Juno's stately front,
Pallas' grey eye, Venus her dimpled chin,
Aurora's rosy fingers, the small waist
Of Ceres' daughter, and Medusa's hair,
Before it hiss'd.

HIR. O love, as deaf as thou art blind! Good Eulinus,
Call home thy soul, and tell thy mistress' name.

EUL. O strange! what, ignorant still! when as so plainly
These attributes describe her? Why, she is
A rhapsody of goddesses; the elixir
Of all their several perfections. She is
(Now bless your ears!) by mortals call'd Landora.

HIR. What! Landora, the Trinobantic lady?
How grow your hopes? what metal is her breast?

EUL. All steel and adamant. 'Tis beauty's pride to stain
Her lily white with blood of lovers slain,
Their groans make music, and their scalding sighs
Raise a perfume, and vulture-like she gnaws
Their bleeding hearts. No gifts, no learned flattery,
No stratagems, can work Landora's battery.
As a tall rock maintains majestic state,
Though Boreas gallop on the tottering seas,
And tilting split his froth out, spurging waves
Upon his surly breast; so she resists,
And all my projects on her cruel heart
Are but retorted to their author's smart.

HIR. Why, then, let scorn succeed thy love: and bravely
Conquer thyself, if thou wilt conquer her:
Stomachs with kindness cloy'd disdain must stir.

EUL. Most impious thoughts! O, let me rather perish,
And loving die, than living cease to love:
And when I faint, let her but hear my cry.
Ah me! there's none which truly loves, but I.

HIR. O ye cross darts of Cupid! this very lady,
This lady-wasp wooes me, as thou dost her,
With glances, jewels, bracelets of her hair,
Lascivious banquets and most eloquent eyes:
All which my heart misconstrues as immodest,
It being pointed for another pole.
But hence learn courage, coz. Why stand you dumb?
Women are women, and may be o'ercome.

EUL. Your words are earwigs to my vexed brain;
Like henbane juice or aconite diffus'd,
They strike me senseless.
My kinsman and Hirildas, to my end;
But I'll ne'er call you councillor or friend.
Adieu.

HIR. Stay, stay. For now I mean with gentler breath[275]
To waft you to your happy landing-place.
Seeing this crocodile pursues me flying,
Flies you pursuing, we'll catch her by a trick.
With promise feign'd I'll 'point a Cupid's stage,
But in the night and secret, and disguis'd,
Where thou, which art myself, shalt act my part.
In Venus' games all cosening goes for art.

EUL. Bless'd be these means, and happy the success!
Now 'gin I rear my crest above the moon.
And in those gilded books read lectures of
The feminine sex. There moves Cassiope,
Whose garments shine with thirteen precious stones,
Types of as many virtues: then her daughter,
Whose beauty without Perseus would have tam'd
The monstrous fish, glides with a starry crown:
Then just Astrea kembs her golden hair:
And my Landora can become the skies
As well as they. O, how my joys do swell!
He mounted not more proud whose burning throne
Kindled the cedar-tops, and quaff'd whole fountains,
Fly then, ye winged hours, as swift as thought
Or my desires: let day's bright waggoner
Fall headlong, and lie buried in the deep,
And (dormouse-like) Alcides night outsleep:
Good Tethys, quench his beams, that he ne'er rise
To scorch the Moors, to suck up honey-dews,
Or to betray my person.
But prythee, tell what mistress you adore?

HIR. The kind Cordelia, loving and belov'd:
Only some jar of late about a favour
Made me inveigh 'gainst women. Come away,
Our plots desire the night, not babbling day.

EUL. We must give way: here come our reverend bards
To sing in synod, as their custom is
With former chance comparing present deeds. [_Exeunt._

SCENE V.

_Chorus of five Bards-Laureate, four Voices, and a_
_Harper; attired._

1. _Song._

1. _At the spring_
_Birds do sing:_
_Now with high,_
_Then low cry._
_Flat, acute;_
_And salute,_
_The sun, born_
_Every morn._

ALL. _He's no bard that cannot sing_
_The praises of the flow'ry spring._

2. _Flora queen,_
_All in green,_
_Doth delight_
_To paint white,_
_And to spread_
_Cruel red_
_With a blue,_
_Colour true._

ALL. _He's no bard, &c._

3. _Woods renew_
_Hunter's hue._
_Shepherd's grey_
_Crown'd with bay,_
_With his pipe_
_Care doth wipe,_
_Till he dream_
_By the stream._

ALL. _He's no bard, &c._

4. _Faithful loves,_
_Turtle-doves,_
_Sit and bill_
_On a hill._
_Country swains_
_On the plains_
_Run and leap,_
_Turn and skip._

ALL. _He's no bard, &c._

5. _Pan doth play_
_Care away._
_Fairies small,_
_Two foot tall,_
_With caps red_
_On their head,_
_Dance around_
_On the ground._

ALL. _He's no bard, &c._

6. _Phillis bright,_
_Cloth'd in white,_
_With neck fair,_
_Yellow hair,_
_Rocks doth move_
_With her love,_
_And make mild_
_Tigers wild._

ALL. _He's no bard that cannot sing_
_The praises of the flow'ry spring._

_2d Song._

_Thus spend we time in laughter,_
_While peace and spring do smile;_
_But I hear a sound of slaughter_
_Draw nearer to our isle._

_Leave then your wonted prattle,_
_The oaten reed forbear;_
_For I hear a sound of battle,_
_And trumpets tear the air._

_Let bagpipes die for want of wind,_
_Let crowd[276] and harp be dumb:_
_Let little tabor come behind:_
_For I hear the dreadful drum._

_Let no birds sing, no lambkins dance,_
_No fountains murmuring go:_
_Let shepherd's crook be made a lance._
_For the martial horns do blow._ [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[260] Bring you back. _Reduco_, Lat.--_Steevens._

[261] _Dux_ Nennius. The leaders of armies are on this account styled Dukes by many of our ancient English translators; as Duke Æneas, Duke Hannibal, &c.--_Steevens._

[262] [Natives of Gallia Belgica, a province comprising the Duchy of Treves, part of Luxembourg, and the departments of the Meuse, Moselle, Meurthe, and Vosges. Hazlitt's "Classical Gazetteer," 1851, p. 71.]

[263] The same turn of thought occurs in Mr Gray's celebrated ode called "The Bard"--

"Think'st thou yon sanguine cloud,
Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day?"

--_Steevens._

[264] Imitated from the first speech of Gloster in "King Richard III."

[265] "In bis fuit Ariovistus, qui naviculam deligatam ad ripam nactus ea profugit."--Cæsar "De Bello Gallico," lib. i. s. 53.

[266] See Cæsar "De Bello Gallico," lib, iv., s. 17, for an account of this bridge over the Rhine.

[267] Alexander the Great. Pella was a city of Macedon, where he was born.

[268] A term in archery.

[269] Erynnis is the common name of the sister Furies, but is frequently used by the poets for mischief in general.--_Steevens._

[270] The ancient name of London.

[271] [Old copy, _my_.]

[272] There is no place oftener mentioned by the ancients than _Thule_, nor any one about the situation of which there has been a greater variety of opinions. Sir Robert Sibbald, in the additions to Camden, has given a discourse concerning the _Thule_ of the ancients, in which the sentiments of different writers on this subject are considered, and many of them refuted. Camden supposes _Shetland_ to be the place so often distinguished by the name of _Thule_; and Bishop Gibson appears to agree with him in the conjecture. See Camden's "Britannia." vol. ii. p. 411, edit. 1772.

[273] So in Shakespeare's "King Henry VIII."--

"These are _stars_ indeed,
And sometimes _falling ones_."

--_Steevens._

[274] _Pandora_ was a woman formed by Vulcan, with the joint contribution of all the gods, every one of whom bestowed on her some grace or beauty.--_Steevens._

[275] In the old copy the four last letters of _breath_ have dropped out by accident, but they are no doubt rightly restored.--_Collier._