NENNIUS

Me thinks I hear Bellona's dreadful voice Redoubled from the concave shores of Gaul: Me thinks I hear their neighing Steeds, The groans Of complemental Souls, taking their leave: And all the din and clamorous rout, which sounds When falling Kingdoms crack in fatal flames. Die Belgickes, Die Like men. Free minds needs have Nought, but the ground they fight on, for their graven: And we are next. Think you the smoky missed Of Sunne-boyld Seas can stop the Eagles eye? Or can our watery walls keep dangers out, Which fly aloft? That thus we snorting lie, Feeding impostumed humours, to be launched By some outlandish Surgeon: As they are now: whose flaming towns, Like Beacons, Give us fair warning, and even guild our Spyres, While merrily we warm us at their Fires. Yet we are next: who charmed with peace and floath, Dream golden dreams. Go, warlike Britain, go, For Olive bough exchange thy Hazel bow: Hang up thy rusty Helmet, that the Be May have a hive, or Spider find a Loom: In steed of soldiers fare, and lodging hard, (The bore ground being their bed, and table) lie Smothered in down, melting in luxury. In steed of bellowing drum, and cheerful flute, Be lulled in Ladies lap with amorous Lute. But as for Nennius, know, I scorn this calm: The ruddy Planet at my birth boar sway, Sanguine adust my humour; and wild fire, My ruling Element. Blood, and rage, and choler, Make up the Temper of a Captains valour. Now royal friends, the Heirs of mighty Brutus: You see, what storm hangs hovering over this land, Ready to pour down cataclysmes of blood; Let ancient glory then inflame your hearts: Beyond the craggy hills of grim-faced death, Bright honour keeps triumphant Court, and deeds Of martial men live there in marble rolls. Death is but Charon to the Fortunate Isles: Porter to Fame. What though the Roman armed with foreign spoil, Behind him led the conquered world, and hope To sink our Island with his Armies weight: Yet we have gods, and men, and horse, to fight: And we can bravely die. But our joust cause, Your forward loves, and all our people edg'de With Dardan spirit, and the powerful name Of Country; Bid us hope for victory. We have a world within our selves, whose breast No Forainer hath unrevenged pressed These thousand years. Though Rhine and Rhoane can serve, And envy Thames his never captive stream: Yet maugre all. If we our selves are true, We may despise, what all the earth can do. Follow? what means that word, who art, Thy will? He names me: Sure it is some friend which speaks. I'll follow thee, thought be through Stygian Lake's. Farewell heroic Soul: Thou shalt not blush, At Nennius deeds. The smallest drop of Fame Is cheap, If death and dangers may it buy. Yet give thy words new vigour to my spirits, And spur the Pegasus of my mounting thoughts: I'll follow thee, over piles of slaughtered foes, And knock at Pluto's gate. I come. Come Life or Death, Honour, To thee I consecrate my Breath. Exit. Brother, Advance. On this side, I'll led up The newcome Succours of the Scots and Picts. Fight Britain's, fight. The day is ours. I'm cloyed And glutted even with slaughter. There some fly, And flying die, and dying mangled lie. I twice broke through the ranks, yet cannot find That venturous Captain Caesar, on whose breast I long to try my blade, and prick that bladder Puffed with ambition, and victorious fight. Fairly encountered, let our blades discuss Who hath the justest cause: And on this combat May victory her equal Balance hang. Stay, stay. Thou art at home: Here's Campus Martius. The Britain's sought-for see thy frighted back: Return, and take possssion of our I'll, And by thy death be stiled Britannicus. Leave not thy blade unsheathed: A tyrants heart To his own sword a scabbard should impart. You Senators, and gaily-gowned Quirites, Open the Capitolls ivory gates, and led Fat bulls with garlands green, and guilded horns: Let supplications last for twice ten days: Caesar returns a victor. Prepare the laureate Coach, and snow-white steeds, Embroidered Canopy, and Scarlet gowns: Let Altars smoke, and Tholes expect our spoils: Caesar returns in Triumph. — Basely flies, And leaves his conquest in weak infancy. For had he wone this coast, yet many blows Must pass, ere he could pass the Thames; And then Ere he touch Humber, many nations must Be tamed: And then before he Tweed can drink, And climb the craggy rocks of Caledon: A Life is spent: yea, many thousand lives. O my wound rages, and tormented brain Does labour of a Fury, not a Pallas. This Blade was steeped in poison: Oh, I am poisoned: Well didst thou fly, or I had made thee taste Thine own provision. Now my wrath and pain, With double force shall flow in purple streams. The three infernal Ladies with wyar-whips, And speckled snakes, shall lackey close my steps; While that I offer Hecatombs of men The Latian Shepherds brood shall ban those stars, Whose glimmering Sparks led their audacious Pines, To lie so far from home in foreign soil. When Cedars fallen, whole woods are crushed: nor die, Can Nennius private without company. Thou runnest upon thy death. But our looks kill. Fight: Laber. falls. Die Slave, by Caesars sword. Thou art his friend. Die, as the Ransom of his greater ghost: And learn as well as I, how venom smarts. Be thou my Post to the Tartarian Prince, And tell him, Nennius comes: But first, I'll send More of you headlong home, a nearer way, Then by the cloudy Alps. Exit. We won the day: and all our foes are fled? Where is false Caesars sword, called Crocea Mors, Which never hurt, but killed: Let it be placed Within my tomb. Death Like a Parthian flies, and flying kills: In amid of Conquest came my deadly wound. Accursed weapon, more accursed man, Who Serpentlike in poison baths his sting: Tiber does breed as venomous beasts as Nile: We scorn such cruel craft. But death draws near, A giddy horror seizeth on my brain. Dear Brother, and thou holy Priest of Heaven, Witness my words; I leave my Country free, And die a victor. Thus, with lighter wing My purified soul mounts to her First-best Cause. I long even to behold those glorious Cloisters, Where Brutus, great Dunwallon, and his sons, Thrice noble Spirits walk. Thou mighty Engineer of this wondrous Globe, Protect this I'll, confound all foreign plots: Grant Thames and Tiber never join their channels; But may a natural hate derived from us Live still in our long-trailed progeny. (My eyes do swim in death.) Before this land shall wear the Roman yoke; Let first the adamantine axell crack, Which binds the Ball terrestrial to her poles, And dash the empty air; Let Planets drop Their scalding jelly, and all flame being spent, Entomb the world in everlasting smoke. Come faster, Death: I can behold thy grim, And ugly Jaws with quiet mind: Now, now: I hear sweet music; and my spirit flies. he die.