_Pen._ They are gone, Gone, swallow'd, _Drusus_, this eternal Sun Shall never see 'em march more. _Dru._ O turn this way, And see a modell of the field, some forty, Against four hundred. _Pen._ Well fought, bravely follow'd; O nobly charg'd again, charg'd home too: _Drusus_, They seem to carry it: now they charge all, [_Loud._ Close, close, I say; they follow it: ye gods, Can there be more in men? more daring spirits? Still they make good their fortunes. Now they are gone too, For ever gone: see _Drusus_ at their backs A fearful Ambush rises. Farewell valours, Excellent valours: O _Rome_, where's thy wisdome? _Dru._ They are gone indeed, Sir. _Pen._ Look out toward the Army, I am heavy with these slaughters. _Dru._ 'Tis the same still, Covered with dust and fury. _Enter the two Daughters, with_ Junius, Curius, Decius, _and_ Souldiers. _2 Daugh._ Bring 'em in, Tie 'em, and then unarm 'em. _1 Daugh._ Valiant _Romans_, Ye are welcome to your Loves. _2 Daugh._ Your death, fools. _Dec._ We deserve 'em, And women do your worst. _1 Daugh._ Ye need not beg it. _2 Daugh._ Which is kind _Junius_? _Serv._ This. _2 Daugh._ Are you my sweet heart? It looks ill on't: how long is't, pretty soul, Since you and I first lov'd? Had we not reason To doat extreamly upon one another? How does my Love? this is not he: my chicken Could prate finely, sing a love-song. _Jun._ Monster. _2 Daugh._ Oh, now it courts. _Jun._ Arm'd with more malice Then he that got thee has the divell. _2 Daugh._ Good. Proceed, sweet chick. _Jun._ I hate thee, that's my last. _2 Daug._ Nay, and ye love me, forward: No? Come sister, Let's prick our answers on our arrows points, And make 'em laugh a little. Ye damn'd Leachers, Ye proud improvident fools, have we now caught ye? Are ye i'th' noose? Since ye are such loving creatures, We'll be your _Cupids_: Do ye see these arrows? We'll send them to your wanton livers, goats. _1 Dau._ O how I'll trample on your hearts, ye villains, Ambitious salt-itch slaves: _Romes_ master sins, The mountain Rams topt your hot mothers. _2. Daugh._ Dogs, To whose brave founders a salt whore gave suck; Theeves, honors hangmen, do ye grin? perdition Take me for ever, if in my [fell] anger, [_Enter_ Caratach. I do not out-do all example. _Car._ Where, Where are these Ladies? ye keep noble quarter, Your Mother thinks ye dead or taken; upon which, She will not move her Battel. Sure these faces I have beheld and known, they are _Roman_ Leaders, How came they here?