_Cur._ We will be either ready To give ye present counsell, or joyn with ye. _Enter_ Swetonius, Petillius, _and_ Demetrius, Macer. _Jun._ No more as ye are Gentlemen. The general. _Swet._ Draw out apace, the enemy waits for us; Are ye all ready? _Jun._ All our Troops attend, Sir. _Swet._ I am glad to hear you say so, _Junius_. I hope ye are dispossest. _Jun._ I hope so too, Sir. _Swet._ Continue so. And Gentlemen, to you now; To bid you fight is needless, ye are _Romans_, The name will fight it self; To tell ye who You go to fight against, his power, and nature, But loss of time: [ye] know it, know it poor, And oft have made it so. To tell ye farther, His Body shows more dreadful than it has done, To him that fears, less possible to deal with, Is but to stick more honor on your actions, Load ye with virtuous names, and to your memories Tye never dying time, and fortune constant. Go on in full assurance, draw your swords As daring and as confident as justice; The gods of _Rome_ fight for ye; loud Fame calls ye, Pitch'd on the topless Apenine, and blows To all the under world: all Nations, The seas, and unfrequented deserts, where the snow dwels, Wakens the ruin'd monuments, and there Where nothing but eternal death and sleep is, Informs again the dead bones. With your virtues, Go on, I say, valiant and wise, rule heaven, And all the great aspects attend 'em. Do but blow Upon this enemy, who, but that we want foes, Cannot deserve that name; and like a myst, A lazie fog, before your burning valors You'll find him fly to nothing, This is all, We have swords, and are the sons of antient _Romans_, Heirs to their endless valors, fight and conquer. _De. Dem._ 'Tis done. _Petill._ That man that loves not this day, And hugs not in his arms the noble danger, May he dye fameless and forgot. _Swet._ Sufficient, Up to your Troops, and let your drums beat thunder, March close, and sudden like a tempest: all executions [_March._ Done without sparkling of the Body: keep your phalanx Sure lin'd, and piec'd together; your pikes forward, And so march like a moving Fort: ere this day run, We shall have ground to add to _Rome_, well won. [_Exeunt._ _Scæna Tertia._ _Enter_ Caratach _and_ Nennius. _Nen._ The _Roman_ is advanc'd from yound' hills brow, We may behold him, _Caratach_. [_A March._ [_Drums within at one place afar off._ _Car._ Let's thither, I see the dust flie. Now I see the body, Observe 'em, _Nennius_, by ---- a handsome Body, And of a few, strongly and wisely joynted: _Swetonius_ is a Souldier. _Nen._ As I take it, That's he that gallops by the Regiments, Viewing their preparations.