Act 5 — SCENE VII.

Come, fellow-bards, and sing with cheer; Since dreadful alarums we shall no more hear. Come, lovely peace, our saint divine, Olive and laurel do love for to twine. The Graces and Muses, and nymphs in a round: Let voice beat the air, and feet beat the ground. So hell's black image chas'd away, Eos doth dandle the goldy-lock'd day; So, Bruma[346] banish'd all forlorn, Cupid and Flora the spring do adorn: And so, the grim fury of Mars laid in grave, A merrier ending doth friendly peace crave.

The sky is glad, that stars above Do give a brighter splendour: The stars unfold their flaming gold, To make the ground more tender: The ground doth send a fragrant smell, That air may be the sweeter: The air doth charm the swelling seas With pretty chirping metre: The sea with rivers' water doth Feed[347] plants and flowers dainty: The planets do yield their fruitful seed, That beasts may live in plenty: The beasts doth give both food and cloth, That men high Jove may honour: And so the world runs merrily round, When peace doth smile upon her. O then, then O! O then, then O! This jubilee last for ever: That foreign spite or civil fight Our quiet trouble never. [Exeunt.

Cam. How bravely Cæsar pass'd the angry main! Bren. How bravely was he back repuls'd again! Cam. How did he wheel his sword in Nennius' face! Bren. How did he lose his sword, and fly apace! Cam. How did again his army fill your coast! Bren. Ay, when our princes did conduct his host. Cam. How did they pierce through Isis' dangerous flood! Bren. But made her swell, and bankrupt[348] with their blood. Cam. Mirror of captains, Julius, still hath won. Bren. But we may justly brag of two for one. Cam. Confess, our valorous race hath now repaid The Allian massacre[349] and our city's flame: See how they yield, and yearly tribute pay. Bren. No, proud dictator, both do weary stand On equal terms: both wish a peaceful league. But if they shall oppress, know, generous spirits Will break this compact, like a spider's web. Mer. Jove's will is finish'd: and, though Juno frown, That no more Trojan blood shall dye the stage, The world's fourth empire Britain doth embrace. The thunder-bearer with a Janus look At once views ruddy morn and cloudy west: Her wings, display'd o'er this terrestrial egg, Will shortly hatch an universal peace; For Jove intends a favour to the world. It now remains that you two martial wights Cease from your braving one another's worth: You must be friends at last. The close is sweet, When, after tumults, hearts and hands do meet. [Exeunt.