Scevola. O too rash Mutius, hast thou missed thy aim! And thou, base hand, that didst direct my poniard Against a peasant’s breast, behold, thy error Thus I will punish: I will give thee freely Unto the fire, nor will I wear a limb That with such rashness shall offend his lord. [_Thrusts his hand into the fire_. Porsenna. What will the madman do? Scevola. Porsenna, so,-- Punish my hand thus, for not killing thee. Three hundred noble lads beside myself Have vowed to all the gods that patron Rome Thy ruin for supporting tyranny; And, though I fail, expect yet every hour When some strange fate thy fortunes will devour. Porsenna. Stay, Roman; we admire thy constancy, And scorn of fortune. Go, return to Rome,-- We give thee life,--and say, the King Porsenna, Whose life thou seek’st, is in this honourable. Pass freely; guard him to the walls of Rome; And, were we not so much engaged to Tarquin, We would not lift a hand against that nation That breeds such noble spirits. Scevola. Well, I go, And for revenge take life even of my foe. [_Exit_. Porsenna. Conduct him safely. What, three hundred gallants Sworn to our death, and all resolved like him! We must be provident: to-morrow’s fortunes We’ll prove for Tarquin; if they fail our hopes, Peace shall be made with Rome. But first our secretary Shall have his rites of funeral; then our shield We must address next for to-morrow’s field. [_Exit_. SCENE V.--_A Public Place in Rome_. _Enter_ Brutus, Horatius, Valerius, Collatine, _and_ Lucretius, _marching_. Brutus. By thee we are consul, and still govern Rome, Which but for thee had been despoiled and ta’en, Made a confusèd heap of men and stones, Swimming in blood and slaughter; dear Horatius, Thy noble picture shall be carved in brass, And fixed for thy perpetual memory In our high Capitol. Horatius. Great consul, thanks! But, leaving this, let’s march out of the city, And once more bid them battle on the plains. Valerius. This day my soul divines we shall live free From all the furious Tarquins. But where’s Scevola? We see not him to-day. _Enter_ Scevola. Scevola. Here, lords, behold me handless as you see. The cause--I missed Porsenna in his tent, And in his stead killed but his secretary. The ’mazèd king, when he beheld me punish My rash mistake with loss of my right hand, Unbegged, and almost scorned, he gave me life, Which I had then refused, but in desire To ’venge fair Lucrece’ rape. [_Soft alarum_. Horatius. Dear Scevola, Thou hast exceeded us in our resolve: But will the Tarquins give us present battle? Scevola. That may ye hear; the skirmish is begun Already ’twixt the horse. Lucretius. Then, noble consul, Lead our main battle[5.67] on.