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

Phi.
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
Ibarely gratifie your love; they failing,
I must die much your debtor.

Phi.
Your very goodness, and your company,
O'er-pays 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,
Or 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 will prove a war; and you shall hear
The legion 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 mingled with their courages, will make known
To their approvers, they are people such
As mend upon the world.

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