_Pen._ Yes, _Curius_; but mark this too; What glory is there, or what lasting Fame Can be to _Rome_ or us? what full example, When one is smother'd with a multitude, And crouded in amongst a nameless press? Honor got out of Flint, and on their heads Whose virtues, like the Sun, exhal'd all valours, Must not be lost in mists and fogs of people, Noteless, and out of name, but rude and naked: Nor can _Rome_ task us with impossibilities, Or bid us fight against a flood: we serve her, That she may proudly say she has good soldiers, Not slaves to choak all hazards. Who but fools, That make no difference betwixt certain dying, And dying well, would fling their Fames and Fortunes Into this _Britain_-gulf, this quick-sand ruine, That sinking, swallows us, What noble hand Can find a subject fit for blood there? or what sword Room for his execution? What air to cool us, But poison'd with their blasting breaths and curses, Where we lie buried quick above the ground, And are with labouring sweat, and breathless pain, Kill'd like to slaves, and cannot kill again?
_Dru. Penyus_, mark antient Wars, and know that then Captains weigh'd an hundred thousand men.
_Pen. Drusius_, mark antient wisdom, and you'll find then, He gave the overthrow that sav'd his men, I must not go.
_Reg._ The soldiers are desirous, Their Eagles all drawn out, Sir.
_Pen._ Who drew up, _Regulus_? Ha? speak: did you whose bold Will durst attempt this? Drawn out? why, who commands, Sir? on whose warrant Durst they advance?
_Dru._ 'Tis like the general cause, their love of honor, Relieving of their wants.
_Pen._ Without my knowledge? Am I no more? my place but at their pleasures? Come, who did this?
[_Drum softly within; then enter_ [_Soldiers with Drum and Colours._
_Pen._ What am I grown a shadow? Harke, they march. I will know, and will be my self. Stand, disobedience; He that advances one foot higher, dies for't. Run thorow the Regiment upon your duties, And charge 'em on command: beat back again, By ---- I'll ti'th'em all else.
_Reg._ We'll do our best. [_Exeunt_ Drusius _and_ Regulus.
_Pen._ Back; cease your bawling Drums there, I'll beat the Tubs about your brains else. Back: Do I speak with less fear than Thunder to ye? Must I stand to besee[c]h ye? home, home: ha? Do ye stare upon me? Are those minds I moulded, Those honest valiant tempers I was proud To be a fellow to, those great discretions Made your names fear'd and honor'd, turn'd to wild-fires? O gods, to disobedience? Command, farewel: And be ye witness with me, all things sacred, I have no share in these mens shames. March, Soldiers, And seek your own sad ruines; your old _Penyus_ Dares not behold your murders.