_Enter_ Drusus _and_ Regulus _with Souldiers._ _Sould._ Kill him, kill him, kill him. _Dru._ What will ye do? _Reg._ Good soldiers, honest soldiers. _Sould._ Kill him, kill him, kill him. _Dru._ Kill us first; we command too. _Reg._ Valiant Soldiers, Consider but whose life ye seek. O _Drusus_, Bid him be gone, he dies else. Shall _Rome_ say (Ye most approved Souldiers) her dear children Devoured the fathers of the fights? shall rage And stubborn fury guide those swords to slaughter, To slaughter of their own, to civil ruine? _Dru._ O let 'em in: all's done, all's ended, _Regulus,_ _Penyus_ has found his last eclipse. Come, Souldiers, Come, and behold your miseries: come bravely, Full of your mutinous and bloody angers, And here bestow your darts. O only _Romane_, O father of the Wars. _Reg._ Why stand ye stupid? Where be your killing furies? whose sword now Shall first be sheath'd in _Penyus_? do ye weep? Howl out, ye wretches, ye have cause: howl ever. Who shall now lead ye fortunate? whose valor Preserve ye to the glory of your Countrey? Who shall march out before ye, coy'd and courted By all the Mistrisses of War, care, counsel, Quick-ey'd experience, and victory twin'd to him? Who shall beget ye deeds beyond inheritance To speak your names, and keep your honors living, When children faill, and time that takes all with him, Build houses for ye to oblivion? _Dru._ O ye poor desperate fools: no more now, souldiers; Go home, and hang your arms up; let rust rot 'em; And humble your stern valors to soft prayers; For ye have sunk the frame of all your virtues; The sun that warm'd your bloods is set for ever: I'll kiss thy honor'd cheek. Farewell, great _Penyus_, Thou thunder-bolt, farewell. Take up the body: To morrow morning to the Camp convey it. There to receive due Ceremonies. That eye That blinds himself with weeping, gets most glory. [_Exeunt with a dead march._ _Scæna Quarta._ _Enter_ Swetonius, Junius, Decius, Demetrius, Curius, _and_ Souldiers: Bonduca, _two Daughters, and_ Nennius, _above_. _Drum and Colours._ _Swet._ Bring up the Catapults and shake the wall, We will not be [out-brav'd] thus. _Nen._ Shake the earth, Ye cannot shake our souls. Bring up your Rams, And with their armed heads, make the Fort totter; Ye do but rock us into death. [_Exit Nennius._ _Jun._ See, Sir, See the _Icenian_ Queen in all her glory From the strong battlements proudly appearing, As if she meant to give us lashes. _Dec._ Yeild, Queen. _Bond._ I am unacquainted with that language, _Roman_. _Swet._ Yield honour'd Lady, and expect our mercy, [_Exit Decius._ We love thy nobleness.