_Swet._ Then no doubt The day must needs be ours. That the proud Woman Is infinite in number, better likes me, Than if we dealt with squadrons: half her Army Shall choak themselves, their own swords dig their graves. I'll tell ye all my fears, one single valour, The virtues of the valiant _Caratach_ More doubts me than all _Britain_: he's a Soldier So forg'd out, and so temper'd for great fortunes, So much man thrust into him, so old in dangers, So fortunate in all attempts, that his mere name Fights in a thousand men, himself in millions, To make him _Roman_. But no more. _Petillius_, How stands your charge? _Petill._ Ready for all employments, To be commanded too, Sir. _Swet._ 'Tis well govern'd; To morrow we'll draw out, and view the Cohorts: I' th' mean time, all apply their offices. Where's _Junius_? _Petill._ In's Cabin, Sick o'th' mumps, Sir. _Swet._ How? _Petill._ In love, indeed in love, most lamentably loving, To the tune of Queen _Dido_. _Dec._ Alas poor Gentleman. _Swet._ 'Twill make him fight the nobler. With what Lady? I'll be a spokesman for him. _Petill._ You'll scant speed, Sir. _Swet._ Who is't? _Petill._ The devil's dam, _Bonduca's_ daughter, Her youngest, crackt i'th' ring. _Swet._ I am sorry for him: But sure his own discretion will reclaim him, He must deserve our anger else. Good Captains, Apply your selves in all the pleasing forms Ye can, unto the Soldiers; fire their spirits, And set 'em fit to run this action; Mine own provision shall be shar'd amongst 'em, Till more come in: tell 'em, if now they conquer, The fat of all the kingdom lies before 'em. Their shames forgot, their honors infinite, And want for ever banisht. Two days hence, Our fortunes, and our swords, and gods be for us. [_Exeunt._ _Actus Secundus. Scæna Prima._ _Enter_ Penyus, Regulus, Macer, Drusius. _Pen._ I must come? _Ma._ So the General commands, Sir. _Pen._ I must bring up my Regiment? _Ma._ Believe, Sir, I bring no lye. _Pen._ But did he say, I must come? _Ma._ So delivered. _Pen._ How long is't, _Regulus_, since I commanded In _Britain_ here? _Reg._ About five years, great _Penyus_. _Pen._ The General some five months. Are all my actions So poor, and lost, my services so barren, That I'm remembred in no nobler language But Must come up? _Ma._ I do beseech ye, Sir, Weigh but the times estate. _Pen._ Yes, good Lieutenant, I do, and his that sways it. Must come up; Am I turn'd bare Centurion? Must, and shall, Fit Embasses to court my honor? _Ma._ Sir--