[Caratach _kills_ Judas _with a stone from the rock_. Go with thy coward soul. How dost thou Boy? Oh villain, pocky villain. _Hen._ Oh Uncle, Uncle, Oh how it pricks me: am I preserv'd for this? Extremely pricks me. _Car._ Coward, rascal Coward, Dogs eat thy flesh. _Hen._ Oh I bleed hard: I faint too, out upon't, How sick I am! the lean Rogue, Uncle. _Car._ Look Boy, I have laid him sure enough. _Hen._ Have ye knockt his brains out? _Car._ I warrant thee for stirring more: cheer up, child. _Hen._ Hold my sides hard, stop, stop, oh wretched fortune, Must we part thus? Still I grow sicker, Uncle. _Car._ Heaven look upon this noble child. _Hen._ I once hop'd I should have liv'd to have met these bloody _Romans_ At my swords point, to have reveng'd my Father, To have beaten 'em: oh hold me hard. But Uncle-- _Car._ Thou shalt live still I hope Boy. Shall I draw it? _Hen._ Ye draw away my soul then, I would live A little longer; spare me heavens, but only To thank you for your tender love. Good Uncle, Good noble Uncle weep not. _Car._ Oh my chicken, My dear Boy, what shall I lose? _Hen._ Why, a child, That must have died however: had this scap'd me, Feaver or famine--I was born to die, Sir. _Car._ But thus unblown, my boy? _Hen._ I go the straighter My journey to the gods: Sure I shall know ye When ye come, Uncle. _Car._ Yes, Boy. _Hen._ And I hope We shall enjoy together that great blessedness You told me of. _Car._ Most certain, child. _Hen._ I grow cold, Mine eyes are going. _Car._ Lift 'em up. _Hen._ Pray for me; And noble Uncle, when my bones are ashes, Think of your little Nephew. Mercy. _Car._ Mercy. You blessed Angels take him. _Hen._ Kiss me: so. Farewel, farewel. [_Dies._ _Car._ Farewel the hopes of _Britain_, Thou Royal graft, Farewel for ever. Time and Death, Ye have done your worst. Fortune now see, now proudly Pluck off thy vail, and view thy triumph: Look Look what thou hast brought this Land to. Oh fair flower, How lovely yet thy ruines show, how sweetly Even death embraces thee! The peace of heaven, The fellowship of all great souls be with thee. _Enter_ Petillius _and_ Junius _on the rock_. Hah? dare ye _Romans_? ye shall win me bravely. Thou art mine. [_Fight._ _Jun._ Not yet, Sir. _Car._ Breath ye, ye poor _Romans_, And come up all, with all your antient valors, Like a rough wind I'll shake your souls, and send 'em-- _Enter_ Swetonius, _and all the_ Roman _Captains_. _Swet._ Yield thee bold _Caratach_; by all ---- As I am Soldier, as I envie thee, I'll use thee like thy self, the valiant _Britain_.