Post.
Fear it not, Sir. I would, I were so sure
To win the King, as I am bold, her honour
Will remain hers.

Phil.
What means do you make to him?

Post.
Not any, but abide the change of time;
Quake in the present winter's state, and wish,
That warmer days would come; in these fear'd hopes,
I barely gratify your love; they failing,
I must die much your debtor.

Phil.
Your very goodness, and your company,
O'erpays all I can do. By this, your King
Hath heard of great Augustus; Caius Lucius
Will do 's commission throughly. And, I think,
He'll grant the tribute; send th' arrearages,
E'er look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
Is yet fresh in their grief.

Post.
I do believe,
Statist though I am none, nor like to be,
That this shall prove a war; and you shall hear
The legions, now in Gallia, sooner landed
In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings
Of any penny tribute paid. Our Countrymen
Are men more order'd, than when Julius Cæsar
Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage
Worthy his frowning at. Their discipline,
Now ^{2 note}

mingled with their courages, will make known

^{3 note}To their approvers, they are people such
That mend upon the world.

Previous section

Next section