And through their big-boned Germans, on whose

pikes

The honour of their actions sits in triumph,

Made themes for songs to shame 'em : And a wo

man,

A woman beat 'em, Nennius; a weak woman,
A woman, beat these Romans!

Car. So it seems;

A man would shame to talk so.

Bond. Who's that?

Car. I.

Bond. Cousin, do you grieve my fortunes?
Car. No, Bonduca ;

If I grieve, 'tis the bearing of your fortunes :
You put too much wind to your sail; discretion
And hardy valour are the twins of honour,
And, nursed together, make a conqueror;
Divided, but a talker. 'Tis a truth,

That Rome has fled before us twice, and routed;
A truth we ought to crown the gods for, lady,
And not our tongues; a truth is none of ours,
Nor in our ends, more than the noble bearing;
For then it leaves to be a virtue, lady,

And we, that have been victors, beat ourselves,
When we insult upon our honour's subject.
Bond. My valiant cousin, is it foul to say
What liberty and honour bid us do,
And what the gods allow us?

Car. No, Bonduca ;

So what we say exceed not what we do.

You call the Romans "fearful, fleeing Romans,

And Roman girls, the lees of tainted pleasures:"

Does this become a doer? are they such?

Bond. They are no more.

Car. Where is your conquest then?

Why are your altars crown'd with wreaths of

flowers?

The beasts with gilt horns waiting for the fire?

The holy Druides composing songs
Of everlasting life to victory.

Why are these triumphs, lady? for a May-game?
For hunting a poor herd of wretched Romans?
Is it no more? Shut up your temples, Britons,
And let the husbandman redeem his heifers,
Put out your holy fires, no timbrel ring,
Let's home and sleep; for such great overthrows,
A candle burns too bright a sacrifice,

A glow-worm's tail too full of flame.-Oh, Nennius,

Thou hadst a noble uncle knew a Roman,
And how to speak him, how to give him weight
In both his fortunes.

Bond. By the gods,' I think

You dote upon these Romans, Caratach!

Car. Witness these wounds, I do; they were fairly given:

I love an enemy; I was born a soldier;
And he that in the head on's troop defies me,
Bending my manly body with his sword,
I make a mistress. Yellow-tressed Hymen
Ne'er tied a longing virgin with more joy,
Than I am married to that man that wounds me 1
And are not all these Roman? Ten struck battles
I suck'd these honour'd scars from, and all Ro-

man;

Ten years of bitter nights and heavy marches, (When many a frozen storm sung through my

cuirass,

And made it doubtful whether that or I

Were the more stubborn metal) have I wrought through,

And all to try these Romans. Ten times a-night

By I think.] So the folios discretely exhibit the passage

I have swam the rivers, when the stars of Rome
Shot at me as I floated, and the billows
Tumbled their watry ruins on my shoulders,
Charging my batter'd sides with troops of agues;
And still to try these Romans, whom I found
(And, if I lie, my wounds be henceforth back-
ward,

And be you witness, gods, and all my dangers)
As ready, and as full of that I brought,
(Which was not fear, nor flight) as valiant,
As vigilant, as wise, to do and suffer,

Ever advanced as forward as the Britons,
Their sleeps as short, their hopes as high as ours,
Ay, and as subtle, lady. 'Tis dishonour,
And, follow'd, will be impudence, Bonduca,
And grow to no belief, to taint these Romans.
Have not I seen the Britons-

Run, run, Bonduca! not the quick rack3 swifter ; The virgin from the hated ravisher

Not half so fearful; not a flight* drawn home,

: When the stars of Rome.] Mr Theobald, in his margin, gives us shafts or darts, as thinking the place corrupted. I have not, however, ventured to disturb the text, as thinking the passage right as it stands. Sympson.

We think Theobald's conjecture very plausible.-Ed. 1778. For all this, the old text must be retained, as there is an evident allusion to the shooting of stars, and this metaphor is far more beautiful than the plain matter-of-fact reading of Theobald.

3 The quick rack.] i. e. The clouds driven along by the winds. See vol. IV. p. 131.

4 Not a flight] Here means arrow. So Shakspeare, in Much

ado about Nothing, act I. sc. I. makes Beatrice say,

Sympson.

He (Benedick) challenged Cupid at the flight.Flight, as Mr Douce observes, does not, in this passage of Shakspeare (as well as in the text) mean an arrow, but a sort of

A round stone from a sling, a lover's wish,
E'er made that haste that they have. By the gods,
I have seen these Britons, that you magnify,

Run as they would have out-run time, and roar ing,

Basely for mercy roaring; the light shadows,
That in a thought scur o'er the fields of corn,
Halted on crutches to 'em. "

Bond. Oh, ye powers,
What scandals do I suffer!
Car. Yes, Bonduca,

I have seen thee run too; and thee, Nennius
Yea, run apace, both; then, when Penius
(The Roman girl!) cut through your armed carts,
And drove 'em headlong on ye, down the hill;
Then, when he hunted ye like Britain foxes,
More by the scent than sight; then did I see
These valiant and approved men of Britain,
Like boding owls, creep into tods of ivy,
And hoot their fears to one another nightly.
Nen. And what did you then, Caratach?
Car. I fled too,

But not so fast; your jewel had been lost then,

shooting called roving, or shooting at long lengths. The arrows used at this sport are called flight-arrows, as were those used in battle for great distances. From a passage in Leland's Itinerary, it seems that a flight-shot would carry the length of London bridge.

That in a thought scur o'er the fields of corn,

Halted on crutches to 'em.]. In the course of these notes, the text is not often interrupted with observations on the beauty of particular passages; but the present simile is so exquisitely true and beautiful, that I could not let it pass without pointing it out to every observer of nature.

6 tods of ivy.] i. e. Bushes. The word has occurred several times before. See vol. II. 81, 494.

Young Hengo there; he trasht me, Nennius :" For, when your fears out-run him, then stept I, And in the head of all the Roman fury

Took him, and, with my tough belt, to my back
I buckled him; behind him my sure shield;
And then I follow'd. If I say I fought

Five times in bringing off this bud of Britain,
I lie not, Nennius. Neither had you heard
Me speak this, or ever seen the child more,
But that the son of virtue, Penius,

Seeing me steer through all these storms of danger,
My helm still in my hand (my sword,) my prow
Turn'd to my foe (my face,) he cried out nobly,
"Go, Briton, bear thy lion's whelp off safely;
Thy manly sword has ransom'd thee; grow strong,
And let me meet thee once again in arms;
Then, if thou stand'st, thou'rt mine." I took his
offer,

And here I am to honour him.

Bond. Oh, cousin,

From what a flight of honour hast thou check'd me!

7 He trasht me, Nennius.] Trasht, Sympson, as might be expected, alters to traced. Mason, not satisfied with the technical meaning to trash, (to impede) explains it to follow, confounding it with thresh. But there can be no doubt about the matter. Mr Malone, in his notes on the Puritan, (Supplement to Shakspeare) thus comments on the passage in the text-" That there may be no farther strife about this word, be it known that it is a term of dog-breakers. When an ancient leam-hound was disposed to range too fast and wide, a long piece of rope was fastened to his collar, which, dragging loose on the ground, impeded his movements, and lessened his impetuosity. The same thing is done to a modern pointer in similar circumstances, and is still called trashing. The impediment of the boy delayed Caratach's flight." See the next line but two.

8 From what a flight of honour hast thou check'd me.] A meta phor from the forgotten sport of falconry.