Bonduca, or, The British heroine a tragedy, acted at the Theatre Royal by His Majesty's servants, with a new entertainment of musick, vocal and instrumental : never printed or acted before.

ACT III. SCENE I.

Enter Nennius, Soldiers with Macer, and other Soldiers with Halters about their Necks.

Nenn.

COme, hang 'em presently. What made your Rogueships Harrying for Victuals here? Are we your Friends? Or do you come for Spies? Tell me directly, Wou'd you not willingly be hang'd now? D'ye not long for't?

Mac.

No, not much: I'll ask my Fellow Skeletons How they approve of it. What say you? Shall we hang in this vein? Hang we must; And 'tis as good to dispatch it merrily, As hang an Arse to't.

1 Sold.

Any way, so it be handsome.

Mac.

I'd as leave 'twere toothsom too.

Sold.

Nay faith, since we must hang, Let's hang pleasantly.

Mac.

Then pleasantly be it, Captain. The Truth on't is, We had as live hang with Meat in our Mouths, As ask your Pardon empty.

Nenn.

What say you to a Chine of Beef now, Sirrah?

Mac.

Bring me acquainted with it, and i'll tell you.

Nenn.

Or what think you of a Wench, Sirrah?

Mac.

'Twou'd be excellent if she were well boil'd, Or Roasted; but I am somewhat too low kept To make use of her any way but with my Teeth.

Enter Caratach.

Car.

Now what's the matter? What are these Fellows? What's the Crime committed, That they wear Necklaces?

Nenn.

They are Roman Rogues, taken a Foraging.

Car.

Is that all, Nennius?

Mac.

Wou'd I were fairly hang'd! This is that Devil, That Kill-crow Caratach.

Car.

And wou'd you hang 'em?

Nenn.

Are they not our Enemies?

Car.

〈…〉〈…〉ies! Flea-traps. Pl••••k off your Halters, Fellows.

Nenn.

Take heed, Caratach: Taint not your Wisdom.

Car.

Wisdom, Nennius? Why, who shall fight against us? make our Honours,

And give a glorious Day into our Hands, If we dispatch our Foes thus? What's their Offence? Stealing a Loaf or two to keep out Hunger? Does this deserve the Gallows? Poor Hungry Knaves, That have no Meat at home: Are you not hungry?

Mac.

Monstrous Hungry.

Car.

That Fellow wears the very Face of Hunger: Get 'em some Meat and Wine, to chear their Hearts. Make hast I say.

1. Sould.

What does he mean by this, Captain?

Mac.

To let us alone, because we are not worth Hanging.

Car.

Sit down poor Knaves: Why where's this Wine, And Meat? Who waits there?

Enter Servants with Wine and Meat, and Hengo with 'em.

Serv.

'Tis here Sir.

Heng.

Who are these Uncle?

Car.

They are Romans, Boy.

Heng.

Are these they That vex my Aunt so? Can these Fight? They look like Men of Clouts, set to keep Crows From Orchards: Why I dare Fight with these.

Car.

That's my good Chicken. Well Gentlemen, how d'ye feel your Stomacks?

Mac.

Mightily coming, Sir.

Car.

I find a little Grace will serve your turns. Give 'em some Wine.

Mac.

Not yet, we're very Busie.

Heng.

Hark'e Fellow, Can ye do any thing but Eat?

Mac.

Yes, I can Drink too; prithee hold thy Peace, Little Boy, I'm busie.

Car.

Here Famine, here's to thy General.

Mac.

Thank you; now I believe I have time To Pledge you.

Car.

Fill 'em more VVine, give 'em full Bowls. Now which of you all, in Recompence Of this Favour, dare give me a home Thrust, In the next Battle?

Mac.

VVhy Faith Sir, to do you a sufficient Recompence, I don'•• m••••h care, If I knock Your Brains out.

C••••.

〈◊〉〈◊〉, Faith I'll forgive thee.

Hen.

••hou dar'st as well be hang'd: 〈…〉〈…〉 his Brains out? Thou Skin of Man! 〈…〉〈…〉 not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••his.

〈◊〉〈◊〉

〈…〉〈…〉▪ don't s〈…〉〈…〉 my 〈…〉〈…〉▪ 〈1 line〉〈1 line〉

VVhen I can get it.

Hengo.

You kill my Unkle?

Car.

He shan't Child.

Hengo.

He cannot, he's a Rogue; An Eating Rog••e: Oh that I wear a Man!

Mac.

By this VVine, the Youth's brim-ful of Provocation; But 'tis no matter: Here Noble Caratach, Thy Health.

1. Sold.

Hark ye, Macer, if he should hang us now After all?

Mac.

Let him, I'll hang like a Gentleman and a Roman. Capt. your humble Servant: VVe thank you heartily For your good Chear; and shall be glad to meet you As well provided as we meet you now.

Car.

Go, see 'em to their Tents, their VVine Has over-Master'd them.

[Exeunt Caratach, Hengo, and Nennius.

Mac.

Well; Bless the Founder, I say: A Pox of These Britains, I say, how many pound of Beef Do they Devour to our one pound of Horse-flesh?

[Exeunt.

SCENE the Temple.

Enter Druids Singing; Bonduca, Claudia 2d. Daughter, Venutius, Nennius, Comes, Hengo, &c.

1 Dr.

HEAR us, Great Ruguith, hear our Prayers:

2

Defend, defend thy British Isle. Revive our Hopes. D〈…〉〈…〉 our Fears.

3

Nor L••t 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Altars be the Roman Spoil.

Chor.

Des••••••d, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Powers Divine, Descend

4

In Chariots of 〈…〉〈…〉ial Flame, And touch 〈…〉〈…〉s you Defend.

Chor.

O Save our Nation, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 our Name.

5

H〈…〉〈…〉, ye Gods of 〈◊〉〈◊〉; ••••ar us this Day: Let us ••••t fali the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈…〉〈…〉's Prey. Clip, Clip their Wings, 〈…〉〈…〉n home; And Check the Towring 〈…〉〈…〉 Rome.

Oracle.

——First l••arn 〈…〉〈…〉.

[Thunder here.

Bond.

You Powerful Gods of Britain, 〈…〉〈…〉our Prayers. Hear us, you Gre•••• Revengers: 〈…〉〈…〉ay Take Pity from our 〈…〉〈…〉s; Dou〈…〉〈…〉 Valours: Double the sad Remembrance of our Wrongs

In every Breast: The Vengeance due to those Make Infinite and Endless. Rise from the Dust, the Reliques of the Dead; Whose Noble Deeds our Holy Druids Sing. O Rise, ye Valiant Bones; let not Base Earth Oppress your Honour, whilst the Pride of Rome Treads on your Stocks, and wipes out all your Stories.

Ven.

Thou great Tyranes, whom your Sacred Priests, Arm'd with their Dreadful Thunder, play'd on high; Above the rest of the Immortal Gods. Send thy Consuming Fires, and deadly Bolts, And shoot 'em home: Stick in each Roman Heart, A Fear fit for Confusion. Blast their Spirits: Dwell in 'em to Destruction: Through their Phalanx, Strike as thou strik'st a proud Tree; Shake their Bodies; make their Strengths totter, And their hopless Fortunes Unroot: And Reel to Rome.

Claud.

O thou God! If ever to thy Justice, Insulting Wrongs and Ravishments of Women, With Virgin Innocence have Access: Now hear me; Now snatch that Thunder up: Now on these Romans, Despisers of thy Power, and of thy Altars, Revenge thy self: Take to thy Killing Anger, To make thy great Work full; thy Justice spoken: And Utter Rooting from this Blessed Isle, Of what Rome is or has been.

Bond.

Give more Incense; The Gods ••re D••af or Drowsie. No happy Flame Rises to raise our Thoughts: Pour on.

2d Daugh.

See Heaven, and all you Powers that guide us: See, and shame we kneel so long for Pity At your ••lters; since 'tis no light Oblation, That you look for▪ No Incense Offering; We will 〈◊〉〈◊〉 our Eyes▪ And as we wear These Sto〈…〉〈…〉 Hourly Weeping; So will we m〈…〉〈…〉ur Pow'rs into Compassion.

Hengo.

This Te••r for Prosutagus. My brave Father, Ye God's! Now think on Rome: This for my Mother, And all her Miseries: O see and Save us.

[A Smo•••• from th•• Al••••r.

Bond.

The first takes!

Car.

It does so: But no Flame Rises. Cease your Fe••••ful Prayers; Your W〈…〉〈…〉ings, and your Lame Petitions: The Gods Love Courage Arm'd with Innocence▪

And Prayers fit to pull 'em down; weak Tears And Troubled Hearts, the Dull Twins of Cold Spirits, They sit and Smile at. Hear how I salute them; Divine Andate: Thou who hold'st the Reins Of Furious Battles, and Disorder'd War, And Proudly Rowl'st thy swarthy Charriot Wheels, Over the Heaps and Wounds of Carcasses: Sayling through Seas of Blood: Thou sure Steel'd, Give us this Day good Hearts; good Enemies, Good Blows o' both sides: Wounds that Fear or Flight Can claim no share in: Steel us both with Angers, And Warlike Executions, fit thy Viewing.

Let Rome put on her best strength: And thy Britain, Thy little Britain; but as great in Fortune, Meet her as strong as she; as proud as daring: And then look on, thou Red Ey'd God, who does Reward with Honour: Who Despair makes fly; Unarm for ever, and Brand with Infancy. Grant this Divine Andate; 'tis but Justice, And my first Blow, Thus on this Holy Altar, I sacrifice unto thee.

[A Flame arises.

Bon.

It flames out.

Car.

Now sing ye Druids: Sing, Sing ye Druids! All your Voices Raise, To Celebrate Divine Andate's Praise. Sing, Sing Divine Andate's Praise. Divine Andate! President of War, The Fortune of the Day Declare. Shall we to the Romans yield: Or shall each arm that wields a Spear, Strike it through a Massy Shield; And Dye with Roman Blood the Field?

[Thunder here.

Oracle.

——Much will be spill'd.

& 4 Dr.

TO Arms, to Arms: Your Ensigns strait display: Now, now, now, set the Battle in Array. The Oracle of War Declares, Success Depends upon our Hearts and Spears.

Vers. & Cho.

Britains, Strike Home: Revenge your Country's Wrongs: Fight and Record your selves in Druids Songs.

Bond.

'Tis out agen.

Car.

They've given us leave to Fight yet: We ask no more; the rest hangs on our Resolutions. Tempt Her no more.

Bond.

I wou'd know further, Cousin.

Car.

Her hidden meaning dwells in our Endeavours; Our Valours are our best Gods. Come, let's march. This Day the Romans gain no more Ground here Than what his Body lies in.

Bond.

On then my Soldiers; Thy Words have made me certain of Success. For when brave Caratach does lead the way, The Britains cannot fail to win the Day.

[Exeunt omnes praeter Comus and Venutius.

Com.

They must not then have Boys to fight their Battles.

Ven.

What says Comus?

Com.

I said, Whilst Women Rule, and Boys Command in War, We've askt the Gods what they will never grant us. Nor need Rome triumph for a Victory (O my Prophetick Fears) so cheaply purchased.

Ven.

A Victory, and by the Romans gotten? Where's then the Courage of our generous Britains, So lately try'd in the successful Battles? O all ye Gods! Can there be more in Men? More daring Spirits? Still they make good their Fortunes, And let the Romans know, this little Isle It self a World is, more than that they've conquer'd.

Com.

And let the bold Venutius know, and tell it His proud vain-glorious Heart, e're the Sun sets Poor Britain veils her Glories in everlasting Darkness.

Ven.

O no, she'll yet raise her victorious Head, Look o're the Rugged Alps, and make Rome tremble, Methinks I see the big War moving forwards: Heark how they shout to th' Battle! how the Air Totters and reels, and rends apieces With the huge vollied Clamours! Hear the Romans Tearing the Earth ith' the bitter Pangs of Death. The Britains there (Comus, methinks I see it) I'th' face of Danger pressing on to Conquest.

Com.

Here the unhappy Queen (Hard Chance of War) by common Hands Stript of her Majesty, and to the Roman General Led a Captive; there her two beauteous Daughters made the Slaves of Lust and Scorn, Methinks I do behold that Heavenly Form, An Abstract of all Goodness, The poor much pitied Claudia.

Ven.

Ha! what say'st thou? By Heaven, I fear thou art about to utter Something the basest Roman Slave wou'd start at▪

Shall she, my Claudia, say'st thou? But we trifle; And sure thou didst it only to whet my Courage, Of its self apt and prone to execute.

Com.

Be it so then. See who dares most to day For Love and for thy Claudia, Thou or I.

Ven.

Now thou'rt brave, and I shall truly love thee: Sound all your dreadful Instruments of War, Till Romans best Sons start at the Warlike Noise. Come on, and whilst we thus together move, I'll shew Rome how to fight, Thee how to love.

[Exeunt.

Enter Suetonius, Petillius, and Roman-Officers.

Suet.

Now my brave Country-men, the time is come▪ To gain a Conquest, or a Grave, in Britain. The Enemy, my Fellow-Soldiers, wait us. Are ye all ready?

Pet.

All our Troops attend, Sir.

Suet.

To bid you fight is needless, you are Romans, The Name will fight it self. To tell you Who you go to fight against, his Power and Nature, But loss of Time: Go on in full Assurance; Draw your Swords as daring And as confident as Justice. Go on, I say, valiant and wise; rule Heaven; And all ye great Aspects attend 'em. Do but blow upon this Enemy, who but that We want Foes, cannot deserve that Name; And like a Mist, a lazy Fog before your burning Valours, you'll find him fly to nothing. This is all; We have Swords, and are the Sons of Ancient Romans, Heirs to their endless Valours; fight and conquer.

Pet.

That Man who loves not this day, And hugs not in his Arms the Noble Danger, May he die fameless and forgot!

Suet.

Sufficient. Up to your Troops, and let your Drums beat Thunder; March close, and sudden as a Tempest; keep your Phalanx Sure lin'd and piec'd together; your Spears forward, And so march like a moving Fort; e'•••• Night shall come Britain shall give us Graves, or yield to Rome.

[Exeunt omnes.

Enter Caratach, Nennius, and Soldiers.

Nen.

The Romans are advanc'd; from yonder Hills We may behold them, Caratach.

Car.

Let's thither.

[Moves forward.

I see the Dust fly; now I see the Body: Observe 'em, Nennius; by Heav'n a handsome Body! And of a few, strongly and wisely jointed. Suetonius is a Soldier.

Nen.

As I take it, That's he that Gallops by their Regiments, Viewing their Preparation.

Car.

Very likely. He shews no less than General; see how bravely The Body moves; and in the Head, how proudly The Captains stick like Plumes! He comes on apace: Good Nennius, go hasten my Brave Lieutenant; Bring on the first square Body to oppose 'em; The Queen move next with hers, and wheel about, So gain their Backs, in which I'll Lead The Van Guard. We shall have bloody Crowns This day, I see by it; haste thee, good Nennius, I'll follow instantly. How close they March, As if they grew together: no place but lin'd alike, Sure from Oppression. They will not change this Figure. We must Charge 'em, and Charge 'em home, They'll never totter else. Heark! I hear our Musick, and must attend it. Hold, good Sword, but this day, and hereafter I'll make a Relick of thee for young Soldiers To come like Pilgrims to, and kiss for Conquests. Oh, Great Andate, on thy Soldier smile, And drive these Romans from thy British Isle.

Enter Suetonius, Petilius, &c.

Suet.

O bravely fought! Honour till now, ne'er shew'd Her Glorious Face in the Field. Like Lyon Soldi'rs, You've held your Heads up this day. Where's young Junius?

Pet.

Gone to Heav'n, I think, Sir; I saw him fall.

Suet.

His worth go with him, for he was a Soldier. See he has all the Noble Rites of Funeral. Bravely he fought, my Friends, bravely he fell.

And since i'th' bloody Field, he sought a Grave, Let Warlike Instruments attend him thither. Heark, They come on again! Charge, Charge my Soldiers.

Enter Caratach, Bonduca, Claudia, Venutius, Bonvica, and Hengo.

Car.

〈◊〉〈◊〉 'em i'th' Flank: Oh, you have play'd the Fool, The 〈…〉〈…〉ly!

Bond.

〈◊〉〈◊〉 Cousin?

Car.

The 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Fool: Why did you give the word Unto the Carts to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 down, and our People In gro〈…〉〈…〉 before the Enemy? We pay for it: our own Swords cut our Throats. Why do you offer to Command? Why do ye meddle in Men's Affairs?

Bond.

〈◊〉〈◊〉 help all yet, my Soldier.

[Exeunt.

Car.

Go home and Spin. Now comes the Tempest on:

[A shout within.

Oh Woman! Woman! At the first design'd A Plague, and sure Destruction to Man-kind.

[Exeunt.

An Alarm. Enter Suetonius, Petilius, &c.

Suet.

Close my brave Fellows; Honourable Romans: The World cannot Redeem 'em, they are ours. Charge close, Petilius haste, one sudden blow Must be the Britains certain overthrow.

[Exeunt.

Enter Bonduca, Venutius, Claudia, Bonvica, &c.

Bond.

Whither fly you? Stay you shames of Britain: Back, back ye Cowards; Oh ye fearful Hares! Doves in your Anger? Will you leave your Queen? Leave her thus desolate with her hapless Children, To Roman Rape and Fury?

Enter Caratach, and Hengo.

Car.

Fly ye Buzzards, ye have Wings enough I find. 〈◊〉〈◊〉▪ Woman, Woman, thou hast lost all!

Bond.

Forgive me, Noble Caratach.

Car.

May Heaven forgive you; hasten to your Castle, 〈…〉〈…〉 Refuge; farewel, wretched Queen. 〈◊〉〈◊〉, how the Romans ring

[〈◊〉〈◊〉

〈…〉〈…〉 Away.

[Exeunt Bonduca, &c.

Hengo.

Good Uncle, let me go too; I'm frighted at this noise; it sounds, methinks, Like Thunder.

Car.

No, my Boy: Thy Fortune's mine, and I will never leave thee: Thou might'st have been an Heir to Britain's Crown; but that the ill Conduct of thy Mother lost that. But heark, the Enemy approaches near; We must be gone, my Boy; but Heaven knows where: For Britain now submits to Roman Powers, And nothing but our lengths of Earth are ours.

[Exeunt.