Lyra monologue (Act 3) — Numantia

All the tender maids as well Place their urgent case before ye, And for pity's sake implore ye All their rising fears to quell. Do not leave so rich a prey To the grasping hands ye see; Think what all these Romans be, Hungry wolves, and fierce are they. 'Tis an act most desperate Thus to sally from the town; Speedy death and wide renown-- That will be your certain fate. But suppose your chivalry Turn out better in the main, Is there any town in Spain Ready now to welcome ye? My poor wit may waste its breath, But the issue of this strife Will but give the foemen life, And to all Numantia death. At your gallant deed and rare, Think, the Romans will but mock; Can three thousand stand the shock Of the eighty thousand there? Though these walls be overpassed, Battered down, without a guard, Still the issue will be hard, Sorry vengeance, death at last. Better take the fate we have, Which the will of heaven gives; Be it safety for our lives, Or a summons to the grave.