1 Lord.
This is a day turn'd strangely.
Cam'st thou from where they made the stand?

Pis.
I did.
Though you, it seems, came from the fliers.

1 Lord.
I did.

Pis.
No blame to you, sir, for all was lost,
But that the Heav'ns fought; the king himself
Of his wings destitute, the army broken,
And but the backs of Britons seen: all flying
Through a straight lane, the enemy full-hearted,
Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, struck down
Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling,
Merely through fear, that the straight pass was damm'd
With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living,
To die with lengthen'd shame.

1 Lord.
Where was this lane?

Pis.
Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with turf,
Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,
(An honest one, I warrant) Athwart the lane,
He, with two stripling lads, more like to run
The country base, than to commit such slaughter,
Made good the passage, cry'd to the fliers, stand,
Or we are Romans, and will give you that,
Like beasts, which you shun beastly, and may save
But to look back in frown: stand, stand. These three—

1 Lord.
Were there but three?

Pis.
There was a fourth man, in a poor rustic habit,
That stood the front with them. These matchless four,
Accommodated by the place, gilded pale looks,

Part shame, part spirit renew'd, that some turn'd cowards,
But by example, 'gan to look
The way that they did, and to grin like lions,
Upon the pikes o'th' hunter. Then began
A stop i'th' chaser, a retire; anon
A rout, confusion thick, and the event
A victory for us.

1 Lord.
This was strange chance!
An old man, two boys, and a poor rustic.

Pis.
Nay, do not wonder—but go with me, and
See these wonders, and join the general joy. [Exeunt.

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