_Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima._ _Enter_ Caratach _upon a rock, and_ Hengo _by him, sleeping_. _Car._ Thus we afflicted _Britains_ climb for safeties, And to avoid our dangers, seek destructions; Thus we awake to sorrows. O thou Woman, Thou agent for adversities, what curses This day belong to thy improvidence! To _Britanie_ by thy means, what sad millions Of Widows weeping eyes! The strong mans valour Thou hast betraid to fury; the childs fortune To fear and want of friends: whose pieties Might wipe his mournings off, and build his sorrows A house of rest by his blest Ancestors: The Virgins thou hast rob'd of all their wishes, Blasted their blowing hopes, turn'd their songs, Their mirthful marriage-son[g]s to funerals, The Land thou hast left a wilderness of wretches. The boy begins to stir: thy safety made, Would my soul were in Heaven. _Heng._ O noble Uncle, Look out: I dream'd we were betrai'd. [_A soft dead march within._ _Car._ No harm, boy; 'Tis but thy emptiness that breeds these fancies: Thou shalt have meat anon. _Heng._ A little, Uncle, And I shall hold out bravely. What are those? Look, Uncle, look, those multitudes that march there? They come upon us stealing by. _Car._ I see 'em; And prethee be not fearful. _Heng._ Now ye hate me, Would I were dead. _Car._ Thou know'st I love thee dearly. _Heng._ Did I e'r shrink yet, Uncle? were I a man now; I should be angry with ye. _Enter_ Drusus, Regulus, _and_ Soldiers, _with_ Penyus's Herse, _Drums and Colours_. _Car._ My sweet chicken, See, they have reach'd us, and as it seems they bear Some soldiers body, by their solemn gestures, And sad solemnities; it well appears too To be of eminence. Most worthy Soldiers, Let me intreat your knowledge to inform me What noble Body that is which you bear With such a sad and ceremonious grief, As if ye meant to wooe the World and Nature To be in love with death? Most honorable Excellent _Romans_, by your antient valours, As ye love Fame, resolve me. _Sold._ 'Tis the Body Of the great Captain _Penyus_, by himself Made cold and spiritless. _Car._ O stay, ye _Romans_, By the Religion which you owe those gods That lead ye on to Victories, by those glories Which made even pride a virtue in ye. _Dru._ Stay: What's thy Will, _Caratach_?