Caratach—­I have, boy.

     Hengo—­Am not I your kinsman?

     Caratach—­Yes.

     Hengo—­And am not I as fully allied unto you
     In those brave things as blood?

     Caratach—­Thou art too tender.

Hengo—­To go upon my legs? they were made to bear me.  I can play twenty miles a day; I see no reason But, to preserve my country and myself, I should march forty.

     Caratach—­What wouldst thou be, living
     To wear a man’s strength!

     Hengo—­Why, a Caratach,
     A Roman-hater, a scourge sent from Heaven
     To whip these proud thieves from our kingdom.  Hark!

     [Drum within.]

* * * * *

     [They are on a rock in the rear of a wood.]

Caratach—­Courage, my boy!  I have found meat:  look, Hengo, Look where some blessed Briton, to preserve thee, Has hung a little food and drink:  cheer up, boy; Do not forsake me now.

Hengo—­O uncle, uncle, I feel I cannot stay long! yet I’ll fetch it, To keep your noble life.  Uncle, I am heart-whole, And would live.

     Caratach—­Thou shalt, long, I hope.

     Hengo—­But my head, uncle! 
     Methinks the rock goes round.

     [Enter Macer and Judas, and remain at the side of the stage.]

     Macer—­Mark ’em well, Judas.

     Judas—­Peace, as you love your life.

     Hengo—­Do not you hear
     The noise of bells?

     Caratach—­Of bells, boy! ’tis thy fancy;
     Alas, thy body’s full of wind!

Hengo—­Methinks, sir, They ring a strange sad knell, a preparation To some near funeral of state:  nay, weep not, Mine own sweet uncle; you will kill me sooner.

     Caratach—­O my poor chicken!

     Hengo—­Fie, faint-hearted uncle! 
     Come, tie me in your belt and let me down.

     Caratach—­I’ll go myself, boy.

     Hengo—­No, as you love me, uncle: 
     I will not eat it, if I do not fetch it;
     The danger only I desire:  pray, tie me.

     Caratach—­I will, and all my care hang o’er thee!  Come, child,
     My valiant child!

Hengo—­Let me down apace, uncle, And you shall see how like a daw I’ll whip it From all their policies; for ’tis most certain A Roman train:  and you must hold me sure, too; You’ll spoil all else.  When I have brought it, uncle, We’ll be as merry—­

     Caratach—­Go, i’ the name of Heaven, boy!

     [Lets Hengo down by his belt.]

     Hengo—­Quick, quick, uncle!  I have it.
       [Judas shoots Hengo with an arrow.] Oh!