Dec. I am weary.

Pet. So am I.

Car. Send more swords to me.

[Exeunt Britons.

Jun. Let’s sit and rest.

[They sit down.

Drus. What think you now?

Pen. Oh, Drusius,
I have lost mine honour, lost my name,
Lost all that was my light: These are true Romans,
And I a Briton coward, a base coward!
Guide me where nothing is but desolation,
That I may never more behold the face
Of man, or mankind know me! Oh, blind Fortune,
Hast thou abused me thus?

Drus. Good sir, be comforted;
It was your wisdom ruled you. Pray you go home;
Your day is yet to come, when this great fortune
Shall be but foil unto it.

[Retreat.

Pen. Fool, fool, coward!

[Exeunt Penius and Drusius into the tent.

Enter Suetonius, Demetrius, Soldiers, Drum and Colours.

Suet. Draw in, draw in!—Well have you fought, and worthy
Rome’s noble recompense. Look to your wounds;
The ground is cold and hurtful. The proud queen
Has got a fort, and there she and her daughters
Defy us once again: To morrow morning
We’ll seek her out, and make her know our fortunes
Stop at no stubborn walls.—Come, sons of Honour,
True Virtue’s heirs, thus hatch’d with Britain blood,
Let’s march to rest, and set in gules like suns.
Beat a soft march, and each one ease his neighbours!

[Exeunt