_Car._ Do; but so think, as we may be conquer'd: And where we have found virtue, though in those That came to make us slaves, let's cherish it. There's not a blow we gave since _Julius_ landed, That was of strength and worth, but like records, They file to after-ages. Our Registers, The _Romans_, are for noble deeds of honour; And shall we burn their mentions with upbraidings? _Bon._ No more, I see my self: thou hast made me, Cousin, More than my fortunes durst, for they abus'd me, And wound me up so high, I swell'd with glory: Thy temperance has cur'd that Tympany, And given me health again, nay, more discretion. Shall we have peace? for now I love these _Romans_. _Car._ Thy love and hate are both unwise ones, Lady. _Bon._ Your reason? _Nen._ Is not peace the end of Arms? _Car._ Not where the cause implies a general conquest: Had we a difference with some petty Isle, Or with our neighbors (Lady) for our Land-marks, The taking in of some rebellious Lord, Or making a head against Commotions, After a day of Blood, Peace might be argued: But where we grapple for the ground we live on, The Liberty we hold as dear as life, The gods we worship, and next those, our Honors, And with those swords that know no end of Battel: Those men beside themselves allow no neighbor; Those minds that where the day is, claim inheritance, And where the Sun makes ripe the fruits, their harvest, And where they march, but measure out more ground To add to _Rome_, and here i'th' bowels on us; It must not be; no, as they are our foes, And those that must be so until we tire 'em, Let's use the peace of Honor, that's fair dealing, But in our ends, our swords. That hardy _Romane_ That hopes to graft himself into my stock, Must first begin his kindred under-ground, And be alli'd in ashes. _Bon. Caratach_, As thou hast nobly spoken, shall be done; And _Hengo_ to thy charge I here deliver: The _Romans_ shall have worthy Wars. _Car._ They shall. And, little Sir, when your young bones grow stiffer, And when I see ye able in a morning To beat a dozen boys, and then to breakfast, I'll tye ye to a sword. _Heng._ And what then Uncle? _Car._ Then ye must kill, Sir, the next valiant _Romane_ that calls ye knave. _Hen._ And must I kill but one? _Car._ An hundred, boy, I hope. _Hen._ I hope five hundred. _Car._ That's a noble boy. Come, worthy Lady, Let's to our several charges, and henceforth Allow an enemy both weight and worth. [_Exeunt._ _Scæna Secunda._ _Enter_ Junius _and_ Petillius, _two_ Roman _Captains_. _Pet._ What ail'st thou, man? dost thou want meat? _Jun._ No. _Pet._ Clothes? _Jun._ Neither. For heavens love, leave me. _Pet._ Drink? _Jun._ Ye tire me.