And therewithal in armour bright I clad, Myne arming swoorde, my targate I did take, And on my helme, or burgonet, I had My royal crowne, and so I dyd forsake, The place, whereas my souldiers fled of late, I marcht and met the scoute of _Claudius_, To whom I dyd addresse my language thus. 36. “The _Britayne_ kyng is come alone you see, Conduct him then your Emprour to salute, You for your paynes shal gayne a golden fee; For why my grace to _Claudius_ hath a sute.” The scurers they al silent, mumme, and mute, Yet wel appayde of such a princely pray, In hast they dyd to _Cæsar_ me conuay. 37. With ten times twentie thousand men, I met, Him marching there, to meete with me but one; To whom I sayde: “Thy powre is passing great, My force is fled: what, must I then bemone My selfe to thee, not so but I alone, Am come to knowe with magnanimitie, If thou dost dare to wrecke thy wrath on me. 38. “The crowne for which so many men be slayne, Thy _Galba’s_ shield, with many iewels more, Which vnto me do only appertayne; For in the fielde I wonne them al of yore, And vnto thee I wyl them not restore: If thou, as I, canst winne them with renowne, Then al is thine, both realme and royal crowne. 39. “Why doost thou muse as though thou wert dismayde? Doeth doubtful dreade nowe daunt thy _Roman_ mynde? Faynt not for feare, thou needst not be afrayde, A _Britayne_ borne thy selfe ryght well shalt fynde, I am a man, and not a god by kinde.” Wherewith to grounde a golden gauntlet, I Dyd cast, and he at last dyd thus reply: 40. “Thou mighty _Ioue_, which hast seemely seat Aboue the sphere of _Mars_ and _Mercury_, Thy fleshlesse eyes (my tongue can not repeate, What syghtes they see) nothing is hid from thee: Thy eyes, the hart, and secrete thoughts doo see, Thou knowest, O _Ioue_, how iust my quarrel is, Which here to proue, thou knowst I compt a blisse. 41. “No god thou man: thou art no god in deede, I faynt for feare: and doost thow thus me dare, Thy gauntlet lo to take I doo not dreade, Such courage though I fynde but very rare, In pryncely brest, what though I wil prepare Myselfe to feelde, where thou I hope shalt fynde, Myselfe alone wyl cause thee curse thy kynd. 42.