_Dec._ How? to _Junius_? I'll more enquire of this: You'll fight now? _Jud._ Promise: Take heed of promise, Captain. _Dec._ Away, and rank then. _Jud._ But harke ye Captain, there is Wine distributing, I would fain know what share I have. _Dec._ Be gone, Ye have too much. _Jud._ Captain, no Wine, no fighting. There's one call'd _Caratach_ that has Wine. _Dec._ Well, Sir, If you'll be rul'd now, and do well. _Jud._ Do excellent. _Dec._ Ye shall have Wine, or any thing: go file; I'll see ye have your share: drag out your dormise, And stow 'em somewhere, where they may sleep handsomly, They'l hear a hunt's up shortly. _Jud._ Now I love thee: But no more _Forks_ nor Whips. _Dec._ Deserve 'em not then: Up with your men, I'll meet ye presently; And get 'em sober quickly. _Jud._ Arm, arm, Bullies; All's right again and straight; and which is more, More Wine, more Wine: Awake ye men of _Memphis_, Be sober and discreet, we have much to do boys. [_Exeunt._ _Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima._ _Enter a_ Messenger. _Mess._ Prepare there for the sacrifice, the Queen comes. [_Musick._ _Enter in solemnity the_ Druids _singing, the second Daughter_ _strewing Flowers: then_ Bonduca, Nennius, _and others_. _Bond._ Ye powerful gods of _Britain_, hear our prayers; Hear us you great Revengers, and this day Take pity from our swords, doubt from our valours, Double the sad remembrance of our wrongs In every brest; the vengeance due to those Make infinite and endless: on our pikes This day pale terror sit, horrors and ruines Upon our executions; claps of thunder Hang on our armed carts, and 'fore our Troops Despair and death; shame beyond these attend 'em. Rise from the dust, ye relicks of the dead, Whose noble deeds our holy _Druids_ sing, Oh rise, ye valiant bones, let not base earth Oppress your honors, whilst the pride of _Rome_ Treads on your Stocks, and wipes out all your stories. _Nen._ Thou great _Tiranes_, whom our sacred Priests, Armed with dreadful thunder, plac'd on high Above the rest of the immortal gods, Send thy consuming fires, and deadly bolts, And shoot 'em home, stick in each _Roman_ heart A fear fit for confusion; blast their spirits, Dwell in 'em to destruction; thorow their _Phalanx_ Strike, as thou [str]ik'st a proud tree; shake their Bodies, Make their strengths totter, and their topless fortunes Unroot and reel to ruine.