No gentle Briton near, no valiant charity

To bring thee food? Poor knave, thou art sick,

extreme sick,

and yet thy goodness All the woods

Almost grown wild for meat;
Will not confess nor show it.
Are double-lined with soldiers; no way left us 15
To make a noble 'scape. I'll sit down by thee,
And, when thou wak'st, either get meat to save thee,
Or lose my life i' the purchase. Good gods comfort thee!
[He catches sight of the meat, and wakes Hengo.
Courage, my boy! I have found meat: look, Hengo,
Look where some blessèd Briton, to preserve thee, 20
Has hung a little food and drink cheer up, boy,
Do not forsake me now.

Hengo.

O uncle, uncle,

I feel I cannot stay long! yet I'll fetch it,
To keep your noble life. Uncle, I am heart-whole,
And would live.

Caratach.

Hengo.

Thou shalt, long I hope.

But my head, uncle! 25

Methinks the rock goes round.

[Macer and Judas creep in among the trees.

Macer [in a low voice].

Mark 'em well, Judas.

Do you not hear

Judas. Peace, as you love your life.

Hengo.

The noise of bells?

Caratach.

30

Of bells, boy! 'tis thy fancy. Hengo. They ring a strange sad knell, a preparation To some near funeral of state. Nay, weep not, Mine own sweet uncle; you will kill me sooner. Caratach. Oh, my poor chicken! Hengo.

Fie, faint-hearted uncle !

Come, tie me in your belt, and let me down.
Caratach. I'll go myself, boy.
Hengo.

No; as you love me, uncle !

35

I will not eat it if I do not fetch it!
The danger only I desire; pray tie me.

Caratach. I will, and all my care hang o'er thee! Come,

child,

My valiant child!

Hengo.
Let me down apace, uncle,
And you shall see how like a daw I'll whip it
From all their policies; for 'tis most certain

40

and you must hold me sure too; When I have brought it, uncle,

A Roman train
You'll spoil all else.
We'll be as merry-
Caratach.

Go i' the name of heaven, boy! [He lets Hengo down by his belt.

Hengo. Quick, quick, uncle! I have it. [Judas shoots Hengo with an arrow.] Oh!

Caratach. What ailest thou ?

Hengo.

O my best uncle, I am slain ! 45 Caratach [marking Judas]. I see you, and heaven direct my hand! destruction

Go with thy coward soul ! [He kills Judas with a stone, and then draws up Hengo. Macer runs away.] How dost thou, boy?

O villain, cursèd villain !

Hengo.

O uncle, uncle,

Oh, how it pricks me !-am I preserved for this ?— Extremely pricks me!

Caratach.

Dogs eat thy flesh !

Coward, rascal coward!

50

Hengo. Oh, I bleed hard! I faint too; out upon 't, How sick I am! The lean rogue, uncle!

Caratach.

I have laid him sure enough.

Look, boy;

Hengo.
Have ye knocked his brains out?
Caratach. I warrant thee, for stirring more: cheer up,

child.

Hengo. Hold my sides hard; stop, stop; oh, wretched fortune,

55

Must we part thus? Still I grow sicker, uncle.
Caratach. Heaven look upon this noble child!
Hengo.
I once hoped
I should have lived to have met these bloody Romans
At my sword's point, to have revenged my father,
To have beaten 'em-oh, hold me hard!-but, uncle— 60
Caratach. Thou shalt live still, I hope, boy. [Taking
hold of the arrow.] Shall I draw it?

Hengo. You 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.

O my chicken,

Caratach.
My dear boy, what shall I lose!

65

Hengo.

Why, a child,

That must have died however; had this 'scaped me,
Fever or famine-I was born to die, sir.
Caratach. But thus unblown, my boy?

Hengo.

My journey to the gods.

I go the straighter

Sure, I shall know ye

70

When ye come, uncle ?

Caratach.

Yes, boy.

Hengo.

And I hope

Pray for me;

75

Mercy!

And, noble uncle, when my bones are ashes,
Think of your little nephew. Mercy!

Kiss me so. [Caratach kisses him. [He dies. Farewell the hopes of Britain ! Thou royal graft, farewell for ever! Time and

Caratach.

Death,

Ye have done your worst. Fortune, now see, now proudly

80

Pluck off thy veil, and view thy triumph! look What thou hast brought this land to! O fair

flower,

How lovely yet thy ruins show, how sweetly
Even Death embraces thee! The peace of heaven,
The fellowship of all great souls be with thee!

85

[Petilius and Junius by this time have climbed the rock behind him. Ha! dare ye, Romans? Ye shall win me bravely. [They fight.

Thou art mine! [He strikes Junius down.]
Junius [springing to his feet]. Not yet, sir!
Caratach.
Breath ye, ye poor Romans,
And come up all, with all your ancient valours;
Like a rough wind I'll shake your souls and send

Enter below Suetonius, Demetrius, Decius, Curius, Regulus, Drusus, and Soldiers.

Suetonius. Yield thee, bold Caratach. By all the gods,

As I am soldier, as I envy thee,

I'll use thee like thyself, the valiant Briton.

90

Petilius. Brave soldier, yield, thou stock of arms and honour,

Thou filler of the world with fame and glory!

Junius. Most worthy man, we'll woo thee, be thy prisoners.

95

Suetonius. Excellent Briton, do me but that honour, That more to me than conquests, that true happiness, To be my friend!

7

Caratach [pointing to Hengo's body]. O Romans, see what here is !

Had this boy lived

100

Suetonius. For fame's sake, for thy sword's sake, As thou desir'st to make thy virtues greater ! By all that's excellent in man, and honest—

Caratach. I do believe. Ye have had me a brave

foe;

Make me a noble friend, and from your goodness
Give this boy honourable earth to lie in.
Suetonius. He shall have fitting funeral.
Caratach.
I yield then- 105
Not to your blows, but your brave courtesies.
[He comes down with Petilius and Junius. Soldiers
climb up and take Hengo's body.
Petilius. Thus we conduct then to the arms of

peace

The wonder of the world.

Suetonius.

Thus I embrace thee, [The trumpets sound a flourish.

How to thank ye, IIO

And let it be no flattery that I tell thee,
Thou art the only soldier.

Caratach.

I must hereafter find upon your usage.

Suetonius. March on, and through the camp, in every tongue,

The virtues of great Caratach be sung! [Exeunt, marching.

35

A KING'S DEFIANCE

II. A

BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Cymbeline, King of Britain, summoned to pay tribute to Rome, refuses. Old legends say this of more than one British king. Tennyson, in the 'Idylls of the King', tells it of King Arthur.

Enter, at one door, Cymbeline in royal state, attended by his Queen, Prince Cloten, and Lords; and at another, the Roman Ambassador, Caius Lucius, and Attendants. Cymbeline. Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with us?

Lucius, When Julius Caesar (whose remembrance yet Lives in men's eyes, and will to ears and tongues Be theme and hearing ever) was in this Britain And conquered it, Cassibelan, thine uncle (Famous in Caesar's praises no whit less Than in his feats deserving it) for him And his succession granted Rome a tribute,

5

Yearly three thousand pounds; which by thee lately Is left untendered.

Queen [to Cymbeline]. Remember, sir my liege, The kings your ancestors, together with

ΙΟ

15

The natural bravery of your isle, which stands
As Neptune's park, ribbed and palèd in
With rocks unscaleable and roaring waters,
With sands that will not bear your enemies' boats,
But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of conquest
Caesar made here; but made not here his brag
Of Came, and saw, and overcame': with shame
(The first that ever touched him) he was carried
From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping
(Poor ignorant baubles !) on our terrible seas,

20