BREN. 'Tis ancient Brennus calls, whose victories Europe and Asia felt, and still record. Dear Nennius, now's the time to steel thy courage; Canst thou behold thy mother captive, then Look back upon thy ancestors, enroll'd Among the worthies who spread wide her fame? First let thy eyeballs pour out poison'd beams, And kill them with disdain, who dare but lift Their hand against her. No: no consul must Boast of her thraldom, and outbrave our walls. I wonder that such impudent owls should gaze Against the splendour of our Briton cliffs: Play thou a second Brennus: let thy lance, Like an Herculean club, two monsters tame, Rome's avarice and pride so come life or death, Let honour have the incense of thy breath. [_Exit._ NEN. Farewell, heroic soul; thou shalt not blush At Nennius' deeds. The smallest drop of fame Is cheap, if death and dangers may it buy. Yet give thy words new vigour to my spirits, And spur the Pegasus of my mounting thoughts. I'll follow thee o'er piles of slaughter'd foes, And knock at Pluto's gate. I come. Come life or death, Honour, to thee I consecrate my breath. [_Exit._ CÆSAR, CAMILLUS'S GHOST _following_. CAM. Julius, stay here; thy friend Camillus speaks. CÆS. O thou preserver of our present race! Our city's second founder! what dire fate Troubles thy rest, that thou shouldst trouble mine? CAM. Only to bid thee fight. CÆS. Thou shalt not need. CAM. And bid thee take a full revenge on this-- This nation, which did sack and burn down Rome, Quenching the coals with blood, and kick'd our ashes, Trampling upon the ruins of our state; Then led the Gauls in triumph thorough Greece, To fix their tents beside Euxinus' gulf. CÆS. Is this that Northern rout, the scourge of kingdoms, Whose names, till now unknown, we judged Gauls-- Their tongue and manners not unlike? CAM. Gauls were indeed the bulk; but Brennus led (Then brother to the British king) those armies, Back'd with great troops of warlike islanders. To thee belongs to render bad for ill. O, be my spirit doubled in thy breast, With all the courage of three Scipios, Marius and Sylla, that this nation, fierce In feats of war, be forc'd to bear our yoke. [_Exit._ CÆS. So may'st thou sweetly rest, as I shall strive To trace your steps: nor let me live, if I Thence disappointed ever seem to fly. [_Exit._ SCENE VIII. CHORUS. _1st Song._