_Car._ No, _Bonduca_, So what we say exceed not what we do. Ye call the _Romans_ fearful, fleeing _Romans_, And _Roman_ Girls, the lees of tainted pleasures: Does this become a doer? are they such? _Bon._ They are no more. _Car._ Where is your Conquest then? Why are your Altars crown'd with wreaths of flowers, The beasts with gilt horns waiting for the fire? The holy _Druides_ composing Songs Of everlasting life to Victory? Why are these triumphs, Lady? for a _May_-game? For hunting a poor herd of wretched _Romans_? Is it no more? shut up your Temples, _Britains_, And let the Husbandman redeem his heifers; Put out our holy fires; no Timbrel ring; Let's home, and sleep; for such great overthrows; A Candle burns too bright a sacrifice, A Glow-worms tail too full of flame. O _Nennius_, Thou hadst a noble Uncle knew a _Roman_, And how to speak him, how to give him weight In both his fortunes. _Bon._ By ---- I think Ye doat upon these _Romans_, _Caratach_. _Car._ Witness these wounds, I do; they were fairly given, I love an enemy, I was born a Soldier; And he that in the head on's Troop defies me, Bending my manly Body with his sword, I make a Mistriss. Yellow-tressed _Hymen_ Ne'r ty'd a longing Virgin with more joy, Than I am married to that man that wounds me: And are not all these _Romans_? Ten struck Battels I suck'd these honour'd scars from, and all _Roman_: Ten years of bitter nights and heavy marches, When many a frozen storm sung thorow my Curasse, And made it doubtful whether that or I Were the more stubborn metall, have I wrought thorow, And all to try these _Romans_. Ten times a night I have swom the Rivers, when the Stars of _Rome_ Shot at me as I floated, and the billows Tumbled their watry ruines on my shoulders, Charging my batter'd sides with troops of Agues; And still to try these _Romans_, whom I found (And if I lye, my wounds be henceforth backward, And be you witness, gods, and all my dangers) As ready, and as full of that I brought (Which was not fear nor flight) as valiant, As vigilant, as wise, to do and suffer, Ever advanced as forward as the _Britains_, Their sleeps as short, their hopes as high as ours. I, and as subtil, Lady. 'Tis dishonour, And follow'd, will be impudence, _Bonduca_, And grow to no belief, to taint these _Romans_. Have not I seen the _Britains_-- _Bond._ What?