Field of battle between the British and Roman camps
The heaviness and guilt within my bosom
Takes off my manhood: I have belied a lady,
The princess of this country, and the air on't
Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl,
A very drudge of nature's, have subdued me
In my profession? Knighthoods and honours, borne
As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn.
If that thy gentry, Britain, go before
This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds
Is that we scarce are men and you are gods.
Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the ground;
The lane is guarded: nothing routs us but
The villany of our fears.
Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself;
For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such
As war were hoodwink'd.
'Tis their fresh supplies.
It is a day turn'd strangely: or betimes
Let's reinforce, or fly.
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