Scen. 1.
Duke Nennius, alone.
Nenn.
Me thinkes I heare Bellona's dreadfull voyce
Redoubled from the concave shoares of Gaule:
Me thinkes I heare their neighing Steedes, The groanes
Of complementall Soules, taking their leaue:
And all the dinne and clamorous route, which soundes
When falling Kingdomes cracke in fatall flames.
Dye Belgickes, Dye like men. Free mindes need have
Nought, but the ground they fight on, for their graue:
And we are next. Thinke ye the smoaky mist
Of Sunne-boyld Seas can stop the Eagles eye?
Or can our watry walles keepe dangers out,
Which flye aloft? That thus we snorting lye,
Feeding impostum'd humours, to be launch'd
By some out-landish Surgion:
As they are now: whose flaming townes, like Beacons,
Giue vs faire warning, and euen guild our Spyres,
Whilst merrily we warme vs at their Fires.
Yet we are next: who charm'd with peace and floath,
Dreame golden dreames. Goe, warlike Britaine, goe,
For Olive bough exchange thy Hazell bow:
Hang vp thy rusty Helmet, that the Bee
May haue a hive, or Spider find a Loome:
In steed of souldiers fare, and lodging hard,
(The bare ground being their bed, and table) lye
Smother'd in doune, melting in luxury.
In steed of bellowing drumme, and chearefull flute,
Be lull'd in Ladyes lap with amorous Lute.
But as for Nennius, know, I scorne this calme:
The ruddy Planet at my birth bore sway,
Sanguine adust my humour; and wild fire,
My ruling Element. Blood, and rage, and choller,
Make vp the Temper of a Captaines valour.
Exit.