VALENTINIAN: A TRAGEDY.  
As 'tis Altered by the late EARL of ROCHESTER, And Acted at the Theatre-Royal.  
Together with a Preface concerning the Author and his Writings.  
By one of his Friends.  
LONDON: Printed for Timothy Goodwin at the Maidenhead against St. Dunstans-Church in Fleetstreet. 1685.   

Prologue spoken by Mrs. Cook the first Day.  Written by Mrs. Behn. 

WIth that assurance we to day address,  
As standard Beauties, certain of Success.  
With careless Pride at once they charm and vex,  
And scorn the little Censures of their Sex.  
Sure of the unregarded Spoil, despise  
The needless Affectation of the Eyes,  
The softening Languishment that faintly warms,  
But trust alone to their resistless Charms.  
So we secured by undisputed Wit,  
Disdain the damning Malice of the Pit,  
Nor need false Arts to set great Nature off,  
Or studied Tricks to force the Clap and Laugh.  
Ye Wou'd-be-Criticks, you are all undone,  
For here's no Theme for you to work upon.  
Faith seem to talk to Jenny, I advise,  
Of who, likes who, and how Loves Markets rise.  
Try these hard Times how to abate the Price;  
Tell her how cheap were Damsels on the Ice.  
'Mongst City-wives, and Daughters that came there,  
How far a Guinny went at Blanket-Fair. 
The Fair on the Thames so called.   
Thus you may find some good Excuse for failing  
Of your beloved Exercise of Railing.  
That when Friend cries— How did the Play succeed?  
Demetrius, I hardly minded— what they did.  
We shall not your Ill-nature please to day,  
With some fond Scribblers new uncertain Play,  
lose as vain Youth, and tedious as dull Age,  
Or Love and Honour that o're-runs the Stage.  
Famed and substantial Authors give this Treat,  
And 'twill be solemn, Noble all and Great.  
Wit, sacred Wit, is all the business here,  
Great Fletcher, and the Greater Rochester.  
Now name the hardy Man one fault dares find,  
In the vast Work of two such Heroes joined.  
None but Great Strephon's soft and powerful Wit  
Durst undertake to mend what Fletcher writ.  
Different their heavenly Notes; yet both agree  
To make an everlasting Harmony.  
Listen ye Virgins to his charming Song,  
Eternal Music dwelled upon his Tongue.  
The Gods of Love and Wit inspired his Pen,  
And Love and Beauty was his glorious Theme.   

Now Ladies you may celebrate his Name,  
Without a scandal on your spotless Fame.  
With Praise his dear loved Memory pursue,  
And pay his Death, what to his Life was due.   

Prologue to VALENTINIAN.  Spoken by Mrs. Cook the second Day. 
'TIS not your easiness to give Applause,  
This long hid jewel into public draws  
Our matchless Author, who to Wit gave Rules,  
Scorns Praise, that has been prostitute to Fools.  
To factious Favour, the sole Prop and Fence  
Of Hackney-Scriblers, he quits all Pretence,  
And for their Flatteries brings you Truth and Sense.  
Things we ourselves confess to be unfit  
For such side-Boxes, and for such a Pit.  
To the fair Sex some Compliment were due,  
Did they not slight themselves in liking you;  
How can they here for judges be thought fit,  
Who daily your soft Nonsense take for Wit;  
Do on your ill-bred Noise for Humour dote,  
And choose the Man by the embroidered Coat?  
Our Author loved the youthful and the fair,  
But even in those their Follies could not spare;  
Bid them discreetly use their present store,  
Be Friends to Pleasure, when they please no more;  
Desired the Ladies of maturer Ages,  
If some remaining Spark their Hearts enrages,  
At home to quench their Embers with their Pages.  
Pert, patched, and painted, there to spend their days;  
Not crowd the fronts of Boxes at new Plays:  
Advised young sighing Fools to be more pressing,  
And Fops of Forty to give over dressing.  
By this he got the Envy of the Age,  
No Fury's like a libelled Blockhead's Rage.  
Hence some despised him for his want of Wit,  
And others said he too obscenely writ.  
Dull Niceness, envious of Mankind's Delight,  
Abortive Pang of Vanity and Spite!  
It shows a Master's Hand, 'twas Virgil's Praise,  
Things low and abject to adorn and raise.  
The Sun on Dunghills shining is as bright,  
As when his Beams the fairest Flowers invite,  
But all weak Eyes are hurt by too much Light.  
Let then these Owls against the Eagle preach,  
And blame those Flights which they want Wing to reach.  
Like Falstaff let 'em conquer Heroes dead,  
And praise Greek Poets they could never read.  
Critics should personal Quarrels lay aside,  
The Poet from the Enemy divide.  
'Twas Charity that made our Author write,  
For your Instruction 'tis we Act to night;  
For sure no Age was ever known before,  
Wanting an AEcius and Lucina more.   

Prologue intended for VALENTINIAN, to be spoken by Mrs. Barrey.  
NOw would you have me rail, swell, and look big,  
Like rampant Tory over couchant Whig.  
As spit-fire Bullies swagger, swear, and roar,  
And brandish Bilbo, when the Fray is o'er.  
Must we huff on when we're opposed by none?  
But Poets are most fierce on those who're down.  
Shall I jeer Popish Plots that once did fright us,  
And with most bitter Bobs taunt little Titus?  
Or with sharp Style, on sneaking Trimmers fall,  
Who civilly themselves Prudential call?  
Yet Witlings to true Wits as soon may rise,  
As a prudential Man can ere be wise.  
No, even the worst of all yet I will spare,  
The nauseous Floater, changeable as Air,  
A nasty thing, which on the surface rides,  
Backward and forward with all turns of Tides.  
An Audience I will not so coursely use;  
'Tis the lewd way of every common Muse.  
Let Grubstreet-Pens such mean Diversion find,  
But we have Subjects of a nobler kind.  
We of legitimate Poets sing the praise,  
No kin to th' spurious Issue of these days.  
But such as with desert their Laurels gained,  
And by true Wit immortal Names obtained.  
Two like Wit- Consuls ruled the former Age,  
With Love, and Honour graced that flourishing Stage,  
And t'every Passion did the Mind engage.  
They sweetness first into our Language brought,  
They all the Secrets of man's Nature sought,  
And lasting Wonders they have in conjunction wrought.   

Now joins a third, a Genius as sublime  
As ever flourished in Rome's happiest time.  
As sharply could he wound, as sweetly engage,  
As soft his Love, and as divine his Rage.  
He charmed the tenderest Virgins to delight,  
And with his Style did fiercest Blockheads fright.  
Some Beauties here I see—  
Though now demure, have felt his powerful Charms,  
And languished in the circil of his Arms.  
But for ye Fops, his satire reached ye all,  
Under his Lash your whole vast Herd did fall.  
Oh fatal loss! that mighty Spirit's gone!  
Alas! his too great heat went out too soon!  
So fatal is it vastly to excel;  
Thus young, thus mourned, his loved Lucretius fell.   

And now ye little Sparks who infested the Pit,  
Learn all the Reverence due to sacred Wit.  
Disturb not with your empty noise each Bench,  
Nor break your bawdy jests to th' Orange-wench;  
Nor in that Scene of Fops, the Gallery,  
Vent your No-wit, and spurious Raillery:  
That noisy Place, where meet all sort of Tools,  
Your huge fat Lovers, and consumptive Fools,  
Half Wits, and Gamesters, and gay Fops, whose Tasks  
Are daily to invade the dangerous Masks;  
And all ye little Brood of Poetasters,  
Amend and learn to write from these your Masters.    

dramatis PERSONAE.  
Valentinia 
Emperor.  AEcius 
The Roman General.  Maximus 
Lieutenant General.  Pontius 
A Captain.  Licinius 
Servants to th' Emperor.  Balbus 
Servants to th' Emperor.  Proculus' 
Servants to th' Emperor.  Chylax 
An Eunuch belonging to Maximus.  Lycias 
An Eunuch belonging to Maximus.  Lucina 
Wife to Maximus.  Celandia 
Ladies attending Lucina.  Marcellina 
Ladies attending Lucina.  Ardellia 
Lewd Women belonging to the Court.  Phorba 
Lewd Women belonging to the Court.  Phidias 
Friends to AEcius, and Servants to the Emperor.  Aretus 
Friends to AEcius, and Servants to the Emperor.    

THE TRAGEDY OF VALENTINIAN.  


ACT. I. SCEN. I.  The Curtain flies up with the Music of Trumpets and Kettledrums; and discovers the Emperor passing through to the Garden, Attended with a great Court. AEcius and Maximus stay behind. Maximus. AEcius. Max. 
GReat is the Honour, which our Emperor  
Does by his frequent Visits throw on Maximus;  
Not less than thrice this Week has his Gay-Court,  
With all its Splendour shined within my Walls:  
Nor does this glorious Sun bestow his Beams  
Upon a barren Soil, My happy Wife,  
Fruitful in Charms for Valentinian's Heart,  
Crowns the soft Moment's of each welcome Hour,  
With such variety of successive Joys,  
That Lost in Love, when the long Day is done,  
He willingly would give his Empire up  
For the Enjoyment of a Minute more,  
While I—  
Made glorious through the Merit of my Wife,  
Am at the Court adored as much as She,  
As if the vast Dominion of the World  
He had Exchanged with me for my Lucina.  AEcius. 
I rather wish he would Exchange his Passions,  
Give you his Thirst of Love for yours of Honour.  
And leaving you the due possession  
Of your just Wishes in Lucina's Arms,  
Think how he may by force of Worth and Virtue,  
Maintain the Right of his Imperial Crown,  
Which he neglects for Garlands made of Roses;  
Whilst, in disdain of his ill-guided Youth,  
Whole Provinces fall off, and scorn to have  
Him for their Prince, who is his Pleasure's Slave.  Max. 
I cannot blame the Nations, Noble Friend,  
For falling off so fast from this wild man,  
When, under our Allegiance be it spoken,  
And the most happy tie of our Affections,  
The whole World groans beneath him: By the Gods,  
I'd rather be a Bondslave to his Panders,  
Constrained by Power to serve their vicious Wills,  
Than bear the Infamy of being held  
A Favourite to this fowl flattered Tyrant.  
Where lives Virtue,  
Honour, Discretion, Wisdom? Who are called  
And chosen to the steering of his Empire,  
But Whores and Bawds and Traitors! Oh my AEcius,  
The Glory of a Soldier, and the Truth  
Of men made up for Goodness sake, like shells  
Grow to the rugged Walls for want of Action,  
Only your happy self and I that love you,  
Which is a larger means to me than Favour.—  AEcius. 
No more, my worthy Friend, tho' these be Truths,  
And tho' these Truths would ask a Reformation,  
At least a little Mending— Yet remember  
We are but Subjects, Maximus, Obedience  
To what is done, And Grief for what's ill done,  
Is all we can call Ours, The Hearts of Princes  
Are like the Temples of the Gods: pure Incense,  
(Till some unhallowed Hands defile their Offerings,)  
Burns ever there. We must not put 'em out  
Because the Priests, who touch these Sweets are wicked.  
We dare not, Dearest Friend; Nay more, we cannot  
(While we consider whose we are, and how,  
To what Laws bound, much more to what Lawgiver,  
While Majesty is made to be obeyed;  
And not enquired into.  Max. 
Thou best of Friends and Men, whose wise instructions  
Are not less charitable, weigh but thus much,  
Nor think I speak it with Ambition,  
For by the Gods I do not. Why my AEcius,  
Why are we thus? or how became thus wretched?  AEcius. 
You'll fall again into your Fit.  Max. 
I will not  
Or are we now no more the Sons of Romans,  
No more the followers of their mighty Fortunes!  
But conquered Gauls, And Quivers for the Parthians:  
Why is the Emperor, this Man we honour,  
This God that ought to be,  AEcius. 
You are too curious.  Max. 
Give me leave,— Why is this Author of us?  AEcius. 
I dare not hear you speak thus.  Max. 
I'll be modest,  
Thus led away, thus vainly led away,  
And we beholders! Misconceive me not,  
I sow no Danger in my Words; but wherefore  
And to what end are we the Sons of Father's  
Famous and fast to Rome! Why are their Virtues  
Stamped in the Dangers of a thousand Battles,  
Their Honour's Time out-daring  
I think for our Example.  AEcius. 
You speak well.  Max. 
Why are we Seeds of those then to shake hands  
With Bawds and base Informers? Kiss Discredit,  
And Court her like a Mistress? Pray your leave yet,  
You'll say th'Emperor's young, and apt to take  
Impression from his Pleasures,  
Yet even his Errors have their good Effects,  
For the same gentle temper which inclines  
His Mind to Softness, does his Heart defend  
From savage thoughts of Cruelty and Blood,  
Which throu' the streets of Rome in streams did flow  
From Hearts of Senators under the Reigns  
Of our severer Warlike Emperors?  
While under this scarcely one Criminal  
Meets the hard Sentence of the dooming Law,  
And the whole World dissolved into a Peace,  
Owes its Security to this Man's Pleasures;  
But AEcius— be sincere, do not defend  
Actions and Principles your Soul abhors.  
You know this Virtue is his greatest Vice:  
Impunity is the highest Tyranny:  
And what the fawning Court miscalls his Pleasures,  
Exceeds the Moderation of a Man:  
Nay to say justly, Friend, they are loathed Vices,  
And such as shake our Worths with Foreign Nations.  AEcius. 
You search the Sore too deep; and let me tell you  
In any Other man, this had been Treason;  
And so rewarded: Pray depress your Spirit;  
For tho' I constantly believe you honest,  
(You were no Friend for me else); and what now  
You freely speak, But good you owe to the Empire,  
Yet take heed, Worthy Maximus, all Ears  
Hear not with that distinction mine do, few you'll find  
Admonishers, but Urgers of your Actions,  
And to the Heaviest (Friend) and pray consider  
We are but Shadows, Motions others give us,  
And tho' our Pity's may become the Times,  
Our Powers cannot, nor may we justify  
Our private Jealousies, by open Force,  
Wife or what Else to me it matters not,  
I am your Friend, but durst my own Soul urge me,  
And by that Soul I speak my just Affections,  
To turn my hand from Truth, which is Obedience,  
And give the Helm my Virtue holds, to Anger,  
Tho' I had both the Blessings of the Bruti  
And both their instigations, tho' my Cause  
Carried a Face of Justice beyond theirs,  
And as I am a Servant to my Fortunes,  
That daring Soul that first taught Disobedience,  
Should feel the first Example.  Max. 
Mistake me not my dearest AEcius,  
Do not believe that through mean Jealousy  
How far th'Emperor's Passion may prevail  
On my Lucina's thoughts to our Dishonour,  
That I abhor the Person of my Prince,  
Alas! That Honour were a trivial Loss  
Which she and I want merit to preserve;  
Virtue and Maximus are placed too near  
Lucina's Heart, to leave him such a fear,  
No private loss or wrong, inflames my Spirits,  
The Roman Glory, AEcius, languishes;  
I am concerned for Rome, and for the World,  
And when th'Emperor pleases to afford  
Time from his Pleasures, to take care of those,  
I am his Slave, and have a Sword and Life  
Still ready for his Service.  AEcius. 
Now you are brave,  
And like a Roman justly are concerned:  
But say he be to blame. Are therefore we  
Fit Fires to purge him? No, My Dearest Friend,  
The Elephant is never won with Anger,  
Nor must that man who would reclaim a Lion  
Take him by the Teeth,  
Our honest Actions, and the Truth that breaks  
Like Morning from our Service chaste and blushing,  
Is that that pulls a Prince back, than he sees  
And not till then truly repents his Errors.  Max. 
My Heart agrees with yours: I'll take your Council,  
The Emperor appears; let us withdraw  
And as We both do love him, may he flourish. Exeunt.  Enter Valentinian and Lucina. Val. 
Which way, Lucina, hope you to escape,  
The Censures both of Tyrannous and Proud,  
While your Admirers languish by your Eyes  
And at your feet an Emperor despairs!  
Gods! Why was I marked out of all your Brood  
To suffer tamely under mortal hate?  
Is it not I that do protect your Shrines?  
Am Author of your Sacrifice and Prayers?  
Forced by whose great Commands the knowing World  
Submits to own your Being's and your Power.  
And must I feel the Torments of Neglect?  
Betrayed by Love to be the Slave of Scorn?  
But 'tis not you, Poor harmless Deities,  
That can make Valentinian sigh and mourn!  
Alas! All Power is in Lucina's Eyes!  
How soon could I shake off this heavy Earth  
Which makes me little lower than yourselves,  
And sit in Heaven an Equal with the first;  
But Love bids me pursue a Nobler Aim.  
Continue Mortal, and Lucina's Slave,  
From whose fair Eyes, would pity take my part,  
And bend her Will to save a bleeding Heart,  
I in Her Arms such Blessings should obtain,  
For which th'unenvied Gods might wish in vain.  Lucin. 
Ah! Cease to tempt those Gods and Virtue too!  
Great Emperor of the World and Lord of me!  
Heaven has my Life submitted to your Will!  
My Honour's heavens', which will preserve its own.  
How vile a thing am I when that is gone!  
When of my Honour you have rifled me,  
What other Merit have I to be yours?  
With my fair Fame let me your Subject live,  
And save that Humbleness you smile upon,  
Those Gracious Looks, whose brightness should rejoice,  
Make your poor Handmaid tremble when she thinks  
That they appear like Lightning's fatal Flash,  
Which by destructive Thunder is pursued,  
Blasting those Fields on which it shined before!  
And should the Gods abandon worthless Me  
A Sacrifice to shame and to dishonour;  
A Plague to Rome, and Blot to Caesar's Fame!  
For what Crime yet unknown shall Maximus  
By Me and Caesar be made infamous?  
The faithfullest Servant, and the kindest Lord!  
So true, so brave, so generous, and so just,  
Who ne'er knew fault: Why should he fall to Shame?  Val. 
Sweet Innocence! Alas! Your Maximus  
(Whom I like you esteem!) is in no Danger  
If Duty and Allegiance be no shame!  
Have I not Praetors through the spacious Earth  
Who in my Name do mighty Nations sway?  
Enjoying rich Dominions in my Right,  
Their Temporary Governments I change,  
Divide or take away, as I see good;  
And this they think no Injury nor Shame;  
Can you believe your Husband's Right to you  
Other than what from me he does derive?  
Who justly may recall my own at pleasure;  
Am I not Emperor? This World my own?  
Given me without a Partner by the Gods?  
And shall those Gods who gave me all, allow  
That one less than myself should have a Claim  
To you the Pride and Glory of the whole?  
You, without whom the rest is worthless dross;  
Life a base Slavery, Empire but a Mock:  
And Love, the Soul of all, a bitter Curse!  
No, only Blessing, Maximus and I  
Must change our Provinces, the World shall bow  
Beneath my Sceptre, grasped in his strong hand  
Whose Valour may reduce rebellious Slaves,  
And wise Integrity secure the rest:  
In all those Rights the Gods to me have given;  
While I from tedious Toils of Empire free,  
The servile Pride of Government despise!  
Find Peace and Joy, and Love and Heaven in Thee,  
And seek for all my Glory in those Eyes.  Lucina. 
Had Heaven designed for me so great a Fate,  
As Caesar's Love I should have been preserved,  
By careful Providence for Him alone,  
Not offered up at first to Maximus;  
For Princes should not mingle with their Slaves,  
Nor seek to quench their Thirst in troubled streams.  
Nor am I framed with thoughts fit for a Throne.  
To be commanded still has been my Joy;  
And to obey the height of my Ambition.  
When young in Anxious Cares I spent the Day,  
Trembling for fear lest each unguided step  
Should tread the paths of Error and of Blame:  
Till Heaven in gentle pity sent my Lord,  
In whose Commands my Wishes meet their end,  
Pleased and secure while following his Will;  
Whether to live or die I cannot err.  
You like the Sun, Great Sir, are placed above,  
I, a low Myrtle, in the humble Vale,  
May flourish by your distant influence,  
But should you bend your Glories nearer me,  
Such fatal Favour withers me to dust  
Or I in foolish gratitude desire  
To kiss your feet, by whom we live and grow,  
To such a height I should in vain aspire,  
Who am already rooted here below  
Fixed in my Maximus' Breast I lie!  
Torn from that Bed, like gathered Flowers, I die.  Val. 
Cease to oppress me with a thousand Charms!  
There needs no succour to prevailing Arms!  
Your Beauty had subdued my Heart before,  
Such Virtue could alone enslave me more:  
If you love Maximus to this degree!  
How would you be in Love, Did you love Me?  
In Her, who to a Husband is so kind,  
What Raptures might a Lover hope to find?  
I burn, Lucina, like a Field of Corn  
By flowing streams of kindled Flames ore-born  
When North-winds drive the Torrent with a storm,  
These Fires into my Bosom you have thrown,  
And must in pity quench 'em in your own:  
Heaven, when it gave your Eyes th' Inflaming power  
Which was ordained to cast an Emperor  
Into Love's Fever, kindly did impart  
That Sea of Milk to bathe his burning Heart.  
Throu' all those Joys. Lays hold on Her.  Lucina. 
Hold, Sir, for Mercy's sake—  
Love will abhor whatever Force can take.  
I may perhaps persuade myself in time  
That this is Duty which now seems a Crime;  
I'll to the Gods and beg they will inspire  
My Breast or Yours with what it should desire.  Val. 
Fly to their Altars straight, and let 'em know  
Now is their time to make me Friend or Foe,  
If to my Wishes they your Heart incline,  
Or theyare no longer Favourites of mine. Exit Lucina.  
Ho Chylax, Proculus?  Enter Chylax, Proculus, Balbus and Lycin. 
As ever you do hope to be by me  
Protected in your boundless Infamy,  
For Dissoluteness cherished, loved and praised  
On Pyramids of your own Vices raised,  
Above the reach of Law, Reproof or Shame,  
Assist me now to quench my raging Flame.  
'tis not as heretofore a Lambent Fire,  
‛ Raised by some common Beauty in my Breast,  
Vapours from Idleness or loose Desire,  
By each new Motion easily suppressed,  
But a fixed Heat that robs me of all rest.  
Before my Dazzled Eyes could you now place  
A thousand willing Beauties to allure  
And give me Lust for every loose Embrace,  
Lucina's Love my Virtue would secure,  
From the contagious Charm in vain I fly,  
'Thas seized upon my Heart, and may defy  
That great Preservative Variety!  
Go, call your Wives to Council, and prepare  
To tempt, dissemble, promise, fawn and swear,  
To make Faith look like Folly use your skill  
Virtue an ill-bred Crossness in the Will.  
Fame, the loose breathe of a Clamorous Crowd!  
Ever in Lies most confident and loud!  
Honour a Notion! Piety a Cheat!  
And if you prove successful Bawds, be great.  Chy. 
All hindrance to your hopes we'll soon remove,  
And clear the Way to your triumphant Love.  Bal. 
Lucina for your Wishes well prepare,  
And show we know to merit what we are Exeunt.  Val. 
Once more the power of Vows and Tears I'll prove,  
These may perhaps her gentle Nature move,  
To Pity first, by consequence to Love.  
Poor are the Brutal Conquests we obtain  
o'er Barbarous Nations by the force of Arms,  
But when with humble Love a Heart we gain,  
And plant our Trophies on our Conqueror's Charms.  Enter AEcius. 
Such Triumphs even to us may honour bring  
No Glory's vain, which does from Pleasure spring:  
How now AEcius! Are the Soldiers quiet:  AEcius. 
Better I hope, Sir, than they were.  Val. 
theyare pleased I hear  
To censure me extremely for my Pleasures;  
Shortly they'll fight against me.  AEcius. 
Gods defend, Sir. And for their Censures they are  
Such shrewd Judges  
A Donative of ten Sexterces  
I'll undertake shall make 'em ring your Praises  
More than they sung your Pleasures.  Val. 
I believe thee!  
Art thou in Love AEcius yet?  AEcius. 
Oh no, Sir, I am too coarse for Ladies, my Embraces,  
That only am acquainted with Alarms,  
Would break their tender Bodies.  Val. 
Never fear it.  
They are stronger than you think—  
The Empress swears thou art a Lusty Soldier,  
A good one I believe thee,  AEcius. 
All that Goodness is but your Creature, Sir.  Val. 
But tell me truly,  
For thou dar'st tell me;  AEcius. 
Any thing concerns you  
That's fit for me to speak, or you to pardon.  Val. 
What say the Soldiers of me! And the same Words,  
Mince 'em not, good AEcius, But deliver  
The very Forms and Tongues they talk withal.  AEcius. 
I'll tell you Sir; but with this Caution  
You be not stirred: For should the Gods live with us  
Even those we certainly believe are righteous,  
Give 'em but Drink, They'd censure them too.  Val. 
Forward!  AEcius. 
Then to begin, They say you sleep too much,  
By which they judge you, Sir, too sensual:  
Apt to decline your strength to ease and pleasure:  
And when you do not sleep, you drink too much;  
From which they fear Suspicions first, than Ruin,  
And when you neither drink nor sleep you guess, Sir,  
Which they affirm first breaks your Understanding,  
Then dulls the edge of Honour, makes them seem  
That are the Ribs and Rampires of the Empire,  
Fencers and beaten Fools, and so regarded:  
But I believe 'em not: for were these Truths,  
Your Virtue can correct them.  Val. 
They speak plainly.  AEcius. 
They say moreover, Sir, since you will have it;  
For they will take their freedoms tho' the Sword  
Were at their throats: That of late times like Nero,  
And with the same forgetfulness of Glory  
You have got a vein of Fiddling: So they term it.  Val. 
Some drunken Dreamers, AEcius.  AEcius. 
So I hope, Sir.  
They say besides, you nourish strange Devourers;  
Fed with the Fat of the Empire, they call Bawds,  
Lazy and lustful Creatures that abuse you.  Val. 
What Sin's next? for I perceive they have no mind  
To spare me!  AEcius. 
Nor hurt you, on my Soul, Sir: but such people  
(Nor can the power of man restrain it)  
When they are full of Meat, and Ease, must prate.  Val. 
Forward.  AEcius. 
I have spoken too much, Sir.  Val. 
I'll have all.  AEcius. 
It is not fit  
Your Ears should hear their Vanities, no profit  
Can justly arise to you from their Behaviour.  
Unless you were guilty of these Crimes.  Val. 
It may be, I am so. Therefore forward.  AEcius. 
I have ever learned to obey.  Val. 
No more Apologies.  AEcius. 
They grieve besides, Sir,  
To see the Nations whom our ancient Virtue  
With many a weary March and Hunger conquered  
With loss of many a daring Life subdued  
Fall from their fair Obedience, and even murmur  
To see the Warlike Eagles mew their Honours,  
In obscure Towns, that used to prey on Princes,  
They cry for Enemies, and tell the Captain  
The Fruits of Italy are Luscious: Give us Egypt,  
Or sandy Africa to display our Valours,  
There, where our Swords may get us Meat and Dangers!  
Digest our well-got Food, for here our Weapons  
And Bodies that were made for shining Brass,  
Are both unedged and old with Ease and Women!  
And then they cry again, Where are the Germans  
Lined with hot Spain or Gallia? Bring 'em near:  
And let the Son of War, steeled Mithridates  
Pour on us his winged Parthians like a storm:  
Hiding the face of Heaven with showers of Arrows,  
Yet we dare fight like Romans; then as Soldiers  
Tired with a weary March, they tell their Wounds  
Even weeping ripe, they were no more nor deeper,  
And glory in these Scars that make 'em lovely.  
And sitting where a Camp was, like sad Pilgrims  
They reckon up the Times and loading Labours  
Of julius or Germanicus, and wonder  
That Rome, whose Turrets once were topped with Honour  
Can now forget the Custom of her Conquests;  
And then they blame you, Sir— And say, Who leads us!  
Shall we stand here like Statues! Were our Fathers  
The Sons of lazy Moors, our Princes Persians!  
Nothing but Silk and Softness? Curses on 'em  
That first taught Nero Wantonness and Blood,  
Tiberius' Doubts, Caligula all Vices;  
For from the spring of these succeeding Princes—  
Thus they talk, Sir.  Val. 
Well!  
Why do you hear these things?  AEcius. 
Why do you do 'em?  
I take the Gods to witness with more sorrow  
And more vexation hear I these Reproaches  
Than were my Life dropped from me through an Hourglass.  Val. 
'Tis like than you believe 'em or at least  
Are glad they should be so: Take heed— you were better  
Build your own Tomb, and run into it living  
Than dare a Prince's Anger.  AEcius. 
I am old, Sir:  
And ten years more addition is but nothing:  
Now if my Life be pleasing to you, take it.  
Upon my knees, if ever any Service  
(As let me brag, some have been worthy notice!)  
If ever any Worth or Trust you gave me  
Deserved a Favour, Sir; If all my Actions  
The hazards of my Youth, Colds, Burnings, Wants  
For You and for the Empire be not Vices:  
By the stile you have stamped upon me, Soldier!  
Let me not fall into the Hands of Wretches.  Val. 
I understand you not.  AEcius. 
Let not this Body  
That has looked bravely in his Blood for Caesar  
And covetous of Wounds, and for your safety.  
After the 'scape of Swords, Spears, Slings and Arrows,  
'Gainst which my beaten Body was my Armour!  
Throu' Seas, and thirsty Deserts, now be purchase  
For Slaves and base informers: I see Anger  
And Death, look throu' your Eyes— I am marked for  
Slaughter, and know the telling of this Truth has made Me,  
A man clean lost to this World— I embrace it,  
Only my last Petition, Sacred Caesar!  
Is, I may die a Roman.—  Val. 
Rise! my Friend still,  
And worthy of my Love: Reclaim the Soldiers!  
I'll study to do so upon myself.  
Go— keep your Command and prosper,  AEcius. 
Life to Caesar.— Exit.  Val. 
The Honesty of this AEcius,  
Who is indeed the Bulwark of my Empire  
Is to be cherished for the good it brings,  
Not valued as a Merit in the Owner!  
All Princes are Slaves bound up by Gratitude,  
And Duty has no Claim beyond Acknowledgement  
Which I'll pay AEcius, whom I still have found  
Dull, faithful, humble, vigilant and brave:  
Talents as I could wish 'em for my Slave:  
But oh this Woman!—  
Is it a Sin to love this lovely Woman?  
No: She is such a Pleasure, being good;  
That though I were a God, she'd fire my Blood.  
The End of the First Act.    


ACT. II. SCEN. I.  Enter Balbus, Proculus, Chylax; Lycinius. Bal. 
I Never saw the like she's no more stirred,  
No more another Woman, no more altered  
With any Hopes or Promises laid to her,  
Let them be ne'er so weighty, ne'er so winning,  
Than I am with the motion of my own Legs.  Proc. 
Chylax!  
You are a stranger yet in these Designs,  
At least in Rome, tell me, and tell me truth  
Did you e'er know in all your course of Practice  
In all the ways of Women you have run through  
For I presume you have been brought up, Chylax,  
As we, to fetch and carry.  chill. 
True— I have so.  Proc. 
Did you, I say again in all this Progress  
Ever discover such a piece of Beauty  
Ever so rare a Creature, and no doubt  
One that must know her worth too and affect it,  
I, and be flattered, else 'tis none: and honest  
Honest against the Tide of all Temptations?  
Honest to one Man, and to her Husband only,  
And yet not Eighteen, not of Age to know  
Why she is honest.  chill. 
I confess it freely  
I never saw her Fellow, nor ever shall:  
For all our Grecian Dames as I have tried  
And sure I have tried a hundred— if I say Two  
I speak within my Compass: All these Beauties  
And all the Constancy of all these Faces  
Maids, Widows, Wives, of what Degree or Calling  
So they be Greeks and fat: for there's my Cunning  
I would undertake, and not sweat for't: Proculus,  
Were they to try again, say twice as many  
Under a Thousand pound to lay them flat:  
But this Wench staggers me.  Lycin. 
Do you see these Jewels?  
You would think these pretty Baits now; I'll assure you  
Here's half the Wealth of Asia.  Bal. 
These are nothing  
To the full Honours I propounded to her.  
I bid her think and be, and presently  
Whatever her Ambition, what the Council  
Of others would add to her, What her Dreams  
Could more enlarge, What any Precedent  
Of any Woman rising up to Glory;  
And standing certain there, and in the highest  
Could give her more, Nay to be Empress—  Proc. 
And cold at all these Offers?  Bal. 
Cold as Crystal,  
Never to be thawed.  Chy. 
I tried her further:  
And so far that I think she is no Woman.  
At least as Women go now.  Lycin. 
Why what did you?  Chy. 
I offered that, that had she been but Mistress  
Of as much spleen as Doves have, I had reached Her  
A safe Revenge of all that ever hate her,  
The crying down for ever of all Beauties  
That may be thought come near her.  Proc. 
That was pretty.  Chy. 
I never knew that way fail; yet I tell you,  
I offered her a Gift beyond all yours  
That, that had made a Saint start well considered;  
The Law to be her Creature; she to make it,  
Her Mouth to give it; Every thing alive  
From her Aspect to draw their Good or Evil  
Fixed in 'em spite of Fortune, a new Nature  
She should be called, and Mother of all Ages;  
Time should be hers, what she did, flattering Virtues  
Should bless to all Posterities, Her Air  
Should give us Life, Her Earth and Water feed us,  
And last to none but to the Emperor.  
(And then but when she pleased to have it so:)  
She should be held a Mortal.  Lycin. 
And she heard you?  Chy. 
Yes, as a sick man hears a Noise, or he  
That stands condemned, his Judgement.  
Well, if there can be Virtue, if that Name  
Be any thing but Name, and empty Title,  
If it be so as Fools are used to feign it,  
A Power that can preserve us after Death,  
And make the Names of Men out-reckon Ages,  
This Woman has a God of Virtue in her.  Bal. 
I would the Emperor were that God.  Chy. 
She has in her  
All the Contempt of Glory, and vain seeming  
Of all the Stoics, All the Truth of Christians,  
And all their Constancy; Modesty was made  
When she was first intended; When she blushes  
It is the holiest thing to look upon;  
The purest Temple of her Sex, that ever  
Made Nature a blessed Founder,  
If she were any way inclining  
To Ease or Pleasure, or affected Glory,  
Proud to be seen or worshipped, 'twere a Venture:  
But on my Soul she is chaster than cold Camphire.  Bal. 
I think so too: For all the ways of Woman  
Like a full sail she bears against: I asked her  
After my many Offers, walking with her,  
And her many down Denials, How  
If the Emperor grown mad with Love should force her?  
She pointed to a Lucrece that hung by,  
And with an angry Look— that from her Eyes  
Shot Vestal Fire against me; she departed.  Pro. 
This is the first Woman I was ever posed in,  
Yet I have brought young loving things together  
This two and thirty Year.  chill. 
I find by this fair Lady  
The Calling of a Bawd to be a strange  
A wise and subtle Calling: And for none  
But stayed, discreet and understanding People:  
And as the Tutor to great Alexander  
Would say, A young man should not dare to read  
His Moral Books till after five and twenty,  
So must that He or She that will be Bawdy,  
(I mean discreetly Bawdy, and be trusted)  
If they will rise and gain Experience  
Well steeped in Years and Discipline, begin it—  
I take it 'tis no Boys Play.  Bal. 
what's to be thought of?  Proc. 
The Emperor must know it.  Lycin. 
If the Women should chance to fail too—  Chy. 
As 'tis ten to one.  Proc. 
Why what remains but new Nets for the purpose—  
Th' Emperor.—  Enter Valentinian. Emp. 
What! have you brought Her?  Chy. 
Brought her, Sir! Alas,  
What would you do with such a Cake of Ice  
Whom all the Love i'th' Empire cannot thaw.  
A dull cross thing, insensible of Glory,  
Deaf to all Promises, dead to Desire,  
A tedious stickler for her Husband's Rights,  
Who like a Beggar's Cur hath brought her up  
To fawn on him, and bark at all besides.  Emp. 
Lewd and ill-mannered Fool, were't not for fear  
To do thee good by mending of thy Manners  
I'd have thee whipped! Is this th'account you bring  
To ease the Torments of my restless mind.  Balb. 
Kneeling. Caesar! In vain your Vassals have endeavoured  
By Promises, Persuasions, Reasons, Wealth,  
All that can make the firmest Virtue bend  
To alter Her. Our Arguments like Darts  
Shot in the Bosom of the boundless Air  
Are lost and do not leave the least Impression:  
Forgive us, if we failed to overcome  
Virtue that could resist the Emperor.  Emp. 
You impotent Provokers of my Lust,  
Who can incite and have no power to help,  
How dare you be alive and I unsatisfied,  
Who to your Being's have no other Title  
Nor least Hopes to preserve 'em, but my Smiles;  
Who play like poisonous Infects all the Day  
In the warm Shine of Me your Vital Sun;  
And when Night comes must perish—  
Wretches! whose vicious Lives when I withdraw  
The Absolute Protection of my Favour  
Will drag you into all the Miseries  
That your own Terrors, Universal Hate,  
And Law, with jails and Whips can bring upon you,  
As you have failed to satisfy my Wishes,  
Perdition is the least you can expect  
Who durst to undertake and not perform!  
Slaves! was it fit I should be disappointed?  
Yet live—  
Continue infamous a little longer;  
You have deserved to end. But for this once  
I'll not tread out your nasty snuffs of Life;  
But had your poisonous Flatteries prevailed  
Upon her Chastity I so admire,  
A Virtue that adds Fury to my Flames!  
Dogs had devoured ere this your Carcases;  
Is that an Object fit for my Desires  
Which lies within the reach of your persuasions!  
Had you by your infectious Industry  
Showed my Lucina frail to that degree,  
You had been damned for undeceiving me,  
But to possess her chaste and uncorrupted,  
There lies the Joy and Glory of my Love!  
A Passion too refined for your dull Souls,  
And such a Blessing as I scorn to owe  
The gaining of to any but myself:  
Haste straight to Maximus, and let him know  
He must come instantly and speak with me;  
The rest of you wait here— I'll play to night.  
You, saucy Fool! send privately away To Chylax.  
For Lycias hither by the Garden Gate,  
That sweet-faced Eunuch that sung  
In Maximus' Grove the other day,  
And in my Closet keep him till I come. Exit Valent.  chill. 
I shall, Sir.  
'Tis a soft Rogue, this Lycias  
And rightly understood,  
he's worth a thousand womens' Nicenesses!  
The Love of Women moves even with their Lust,  
Who therefore still are fond, but seldom just:  
Their Love is Usury, while they pretend,  
To gain the Pleasure double which they lend.  
But a dear Boy's disinterested Flame  
Gives Pleasure, and for mere Love gathers pain;  
, ,In him alone Fondness sincere does prove,  
And the kind tender Naked Boy is Love. Exit.   

SCENE 2 A GARDEN.  Enter Lucina, Ardelia and Phorba. Ard. 
You still insist upon that Idol Honour,  
Can it renew your Youth? Can it add Wealth?  
Or take off wrinkles? Can it draw men's Eyes  
To gaze upon you in your Age? Can Honour  
That truly is a Saint to none but Soldiers,  
And looked into, bears no Reward but Danger,  
Leave you the most respected Woman living?  
Or can the common Kisses of a Husband  
(Which to a Sprightly Lady is a Labour)  
Make you almost immortal? You are cozened,  
The Honour of a Woman is her Praises,  
The way to get these, to be seen and sought to,  
And not to bury such a happy Sweetness  
Under a smoking Roof.  Lucina. 
I'll hear no more.  Phorb. 
That White and Red, and all that blooming Beauty,  
Kept from the Eyes that make it so is nothing:  
Then you are truly fair when men proclaim it:  
The Phoenix that was never seen is doubted,  
But when the Virtue's known, the Honour's doubled:  
Virtue is either lame or not at all,  
And Love a Sacrilege and not a Saint,  
When it bars up the way to men's Petitions.  Ard. 
Nay you shall love your Husband too; We  
Come not to make a Monster of you.  Lucin. 
Are you Women?  Ard. 
You'll find us so; and women you shall thank too  
If you have but Grace to make your Use.  Lucin. 
Fie on you.  Phor. 
Alas, poor bashful Lady! By my Soul  
Had you no other Virtue, but your Blushes,  
And I a man, I should run mad for those!  
How prettily they set her off! how sweetly!  Ard. 
Come, Goddess, come! you move too near the Earth,  
It must not be, a better Orb stays for you.  Lucin. 
Pray leave me.  Phorb. 
That were a Sin, sweet Madam, and a way  
To make us guilty of your Melancholy,  
You must not be alone; In Conversation  
Doubts are resolved, and what sticks near the Conscience  
Made easy and allowable.  Lucin. 
Ye are Devils.  Ard. 
That you may one day bless for your Damnation.  Lucin. 
I charge you in the Name of Chastity  
Tempt me no more: how ugly you seem to me!  
There's no wonder Men defame our Sex,  
And lay the Vices of all Ages on us,  
When such as you shall bear the Name of Women!  
If you had Eyes to see yourselves, or sense,  
Above the base Rewards ye earn with shame!  
If ever in your Lives ye heard of Goodness  
Tho' many Regions off,— as men hear Thunder;  
If ever you had Fathers, and they Souls,  
Or ever Mothers, and not such as you are!  
If ever any thing were constant in you  
Besides your Sins!  
If any of your Ancestors  
Died worth a Noble Deed— that would be cherished,  
Soul-frighted with this black Infection,  
You would run from one another's Repentance,  
And from your Guilty Eyes drop out those Sins  
That made ye blind and Beasts.  Phorb. 
You speak well, Madam!  
A sign of fruitful Education  
If your religious Zeal had Wisdom with it.  Ard. 
This Lady was ordained to bless the Empire,  
And we may all give thanks for Her.  Phorb. 
I believe you.  Ard. 
If any thing redeem the Emperor  
From his wild flying Courses this is she!  
She can instruct him— if you mark— she's wise too.  Phor. 
Exceeding wise, which is a wonder in her;  
And so religious that I well believe,  
Tho' she would sin she cannot.  Ard. 
And besides  
She has the Empire's Cause in hand, not Love's,  
There lies the main consideration  
For which she is chiefly born.  Phorb. 
She finds that Point  
Stronger than we can tell her, and believe it  
I look by her means for a Reformation,  
And such a one, and such a rare way carried.  Ard. 
I never thought the Emperor had wisdom,  
Pity, or fair Affection to his Country,  
Till he professed this Love. Gods give 'em Children  
Such as her Virtue's merit and his Zeal;  
I look to see a Numa from this Lady,  
Or greater than Octavius.  Phor. 
Do you mark too  
Which is a noble Virtue— how she blushes,  
And what flowing Modesty runs through her  
When we but name the Emperor.  Ard. 
Mark it!  
Yes, and admire it too: for she considers  
Tho' she be fair as Heaven, and Virtuous  
As holy Truth; Yet to the Emperor  
She is a kind of Nothing— but her Service;  
Which she is bound to offer, and she'll do it;  
And when her Country's Cause commands Affection,  
She knows Obedience is the Key of Virtues;  
Then fly the Blushes out like Cupid's Arrows,  
And though the Tie of Marriage to her Lord,  
Would fain cry, stay Lucina— yet the Cause  
And general Wisdom of the Prince's Love  
Makes her find surer Ends and happier,  
And if the first were chaste these are twice doubled.  Phor. 
Her Tartness to us too.  Ard. 
That's a wise one.  Phor. 
I like it, it shows a rising Wisdom,  
That chides all common Fools who dare inquire  
What Princes would have private.  Ard. 
What a Lady shall we be blessed to serve?  Lucin. 
Go— get you from me,  
Ye are your Purses Agents not the Princes,  
Is this the virtuous Love you trained me out to?  
Am I a Woman fit to Imp your Vices?  
But that I had a Mother and a Woman  
Whose ever living Fame turns all it touches  
Into the Good, itself was, I should now  
Even doubt myself; I have been searched so near  
The very Soul of Honour. Why should you Two  
That happily have been as chaste as I am!  
Fairer I think by much (For yet your Faces  
Like Ancient well-built Piles show worthy Ruins)  
After that Angel Age, turn mortal Devils!  
For Shame, for Womanhood, for what you have been  
(For rotten Cedars have born goodly Branches)  
If you have hope of any Heaven but Court  
Which like a Dream you'll find hereafter vanish:  
Or at the best but subject to Repentance!  
Study no more to be ill spoken of  
Let Women live themselves; if they must fail;  
Their own Destruction find 'em.  Ard. 
You are so excellent in all  
That I must tell it you with Admiration!  
So true a joy you have, so sweet a fear!  
And when you come to Anger— 'Tis so noble  
That for my own part I could still offend  
To hear you angry: Women that want that  
And your way guided (else I count it nothing)  
Are either Fools or Fearful.  Phorb. 
She were no Mistress for the World's great Lord  
Could she not frown a ravished Kiss from Anger,  
And such an Anger as this Lady shows us  
Stuck with such pleasing Dangers (Gods I ask ye)  
Which of you all could hold from?  Lucin. 
I perceive you,  
Your own dark Sins dwell with you and that price  
You sell the Chastity of modest Wives at,  
Run to Diseases with you— I despise you,  
And all the Nets you have pitched to catch my Virtue,  
Like Spider's webs I sweep away before me!  
Go! tell th'Emperor, You have met a Woman,  
That neither his own Person, which is Godlike,  
The World he rules, nor what that World can purchase,  
Nor all the Glories subject to a Caesar!  
The Honours that he offers for my Honour,  
The Hopes, the Gifts, and everlasting Flatteries,  
Nor any thing that's His, and apt to tempt.  
No! not to be the Mother of the Empire  
And Queen of all the holy Fires he worships,  
Can make a Whore of.  Ard. 
You mistake us, Madam.  Lucin. 
Yet tell him this, h'as thus much weakened me  
That I have heard his Slaves and you his Matrons.  
Fit Nurses for his Sins! which Gods forgive me  
But ever to be leaning to his Folly,  
Or to be brought to love his Vice— Assure him  
And from her Mouth, whose Life shall make it certain,  
I never can; I have a Noble Husband  
Pray tell him that too: Yet a Noble Name,  
A Noble Family, and last a Conscience.  
Thus much by way of Answer; for yourselves  
You have lived the shame of Women— die the better. Ex. Luc.  Phor. 
what's now to do?  Ard. 
Even as she said, to die.  
For there's no living here and Women thus,  
I am sure for us two.  Phor. 
Nothing stick upon her?—  Ard. 
We have lost a Mass of Money. Well Dame Virtue,  
Yet you may halt if good Luck serve!  Phor. 
Worms take her,  Ard. 
So Godly—  
This is ill Breeding, Phorba.  Phor. 
If the Women  
Should have a longing now to see the Monster  
And she convert 'em all!  Ard. 
That may be, Phorba!  
But if it be I'll have the Young men hanged,  
— Come— let's go think— she must not scape us thus. Exeunt.    


ACT. III. SCEN. I.  The Scene opens, and discovers the Emperor at Dice. Maximus. Lycin. Proc. and Chylax. Emp. 
NAy! set my Hand out: 'Tis not just  
I should neglect my Luck when 'tis so prosperous:  Chy. 
If I have any thing to set you, Sir, but clothes  
And good Conditions, let me perish;  
You have all my Money.  Proc. 
And mine.  Lycin. 
And mine too.  Max. 
You may trust us sure till to morrow,  
Or if you please, I'll send home for Money presently.  Emp. 
'Tis already Morning, and staying will be tedious.  
My Luck will vanish ere your Money comes.  Chy. 
Shall we redeem 'em if we set our Houses?  Emp. 
Yes fairly.  Chy. 
That at my Villa—  Emp. 
At it— 'Tis mine.  Chy. 
Then farewell, Figtrees: For I can ne'er redeem 'em.  Emp. 
Who sets?— Set any thing.  Lycin. 
At my Horse.  Emp. 
The Dapple Spaniard?  Lycin. 
Herald  Emp. 
He's mine.  Lycin. 
He is so.  Max. 
Ha!  Lycin. 
Nothing, my Lord! But Pox on my Damned Fortune.  Emp. 
Come Maximus; You were not wont to flinch.  Max. 
By Heaven, Sir, I have not a Penny.  Emp. 
Then that Ring.  Max. 
O Good Sir, This was not given to lose.  Emp. 
Some Love-Token— Set it I say!  Max. 
I beg you, Sir.  Emp. 
How silly and how fond you are grown of Toys!  Max. 
Shall I redeem it?  Emp. 
When you please to morrow  
Or next day as you will: I do not care  
Only for luck-sake—  Max. 
There Sir, will you throw?  Emp. 
Why then have at it fairly; the last stake!  
'Tis mine.  Max. 
You're ever fortunate! to morrow  
I'll bring you— what you please to think it worth.  Emp. 
Then your Arabian Horse: but for this night  
I'll wear it as my Victory.  Enter Balbus. Balb. 
From the Camp  
AEcius in haste has sent these Letters, Sir;  
It seems the Cohorts mutiny for Pay.  Emp. 
Maximus— This is ill News. Next week they are to march.  
You must away immediately; no stay,  
No, not so much as to take leave at home.  
This careful haste may probably appease 'em;  
Send word, what are their Numbers;  
And Money shall be sent to pay 'em all.  
Besides something by way of Donative.  Max. 
I'll not delay a moment, Sir,  
The Gods preserve you in this mind for ever.  Emp. 
I'll see 'em march myself.  Max. 
God's ever keep you— Exit Max.  Emp. 
To what end now d'ye think this Ring shall serve?  
For you are the dull'st and the veriest Rogues—  
Fellows that know only by rote as Birds  
Whistle and sing.  Chy. 
Why, Sir, 'tis for the Lady.  Emp. 
The Lady! Blockhead! which end of the Lady?  
Her Nose!  Chy. 
Faith, Sir, that I know not.  Emp. 
Then pray for him that does— Exit Chylax.  
Fetch in the Eunuch;  
You! See th'Apartment made very fine  
That lies upon the Garden, Masks and Music,  
With the best speed you can. And all your Arts  
Serve to the highest for my Masterpiece  
Is now on foot.  Proc. 
Sir, we shall have a care.  Emp. 
I'll sleep an hour or two; and let the Women  
Put on a graver show of Welcome!  
Your Wives! they are such Haggard-Bawds  
A Thought too eager. Enter chill. and Lycias.  Chy. 
Here's Lycias, Sir.  Lyc. 
Long Life to mighty Caesar.  Emp. 
Fortune to thee, for I must use thee Lycias.  Lyc. 
I am the humble Slave of Caesar's Will,  
By my Ambition bound to his Commands  
As by my duty.  Emp. 
Follow me.  Lyc. 
With Joy.— Exeunt.   

SCENE 2. GROVE and FORESTE.  Enter Lucina. Lucin. 
Dear solitary Groves where Peace does dwell,  
Sweet Harbours of pure Love and Innocence!  
How willingly could I for ever stay  
Beneath the shade of your embracing Greene's,  
Listening to Harmony of warbling Birds,  
Tuned with the gentle Murmurs of the Streams,  
Upon whose Banks in various Livery  
The fragrant offspring of the early Year  
Their Heads like graceful Swans bent proudly down,  
See their own Beauties in the Crystal Flood?  
Of these I could mysterious Chaplets weave,  
Expressing some kind innocent Design  
To show my Maximus at his Return  
And fondly chiding make his Heart confess  
How far my busy Idleness excels,  
The idle Business he pursues all day,  
At the contentious Court or clamorous Camp  
Robbing my Eyes of what they love to see,  
My Ears of his dear Words they wish to hear  
My longing Arms of th'Embrace they covet:  
Forgive me, Heaven! if when I these enjoy,  
So perfect is the happiness I find  
That my Soul satisfied feels no Ambition  
To change these humble Roofs and sit above.  Enter Marcellina. Marc. 
Madam, My Lord just now alighted here,  
Was by an Order from th'Emperor  
Called back to Court!  
This he commanded me to let you know,  
And that he would make haste in his return.  Lucin. 
The Emperor!  
Unwonted Horror seizes me all o'er,  
When I but hear him named: sure 'tis not Hate;  
For tho' his impious Love with scorn I heard,  
And fled with terror from his threatning force  
Duty commands me humbly to forgive  
And bless the Lord to whom my Lord does bow!  
Nay more methinks he is the gracefullest man,  
His Words so framed to tempt, himself to please,  
That 'tis my wonder how the Powers above,  
Those wise and careful Guardians of the Good,  
Have trusted such a force of tempting Charms  
To Enemies declared of Innocence!  
'Tis then some strange Prophetic Fear I feel  
That seems to warn me of approaching Ills.  
Go Marcellina, fetch your Lute, and sing that Song  
My Lord calls his: I'll try to wear away  
The Melancholy Thoughts his Absence breeds!  
Come gentle Slumbers in your flattering Arms  
I'll bury these Disquiets of my Mind  
Till Maximus returns— for when he's here  
My Heart is raised above the reach of Fear.  Marcellina sings— 

SONG.  By Mr. W. 
WHere would coy Aminta run  
From a despairing Lovers Story?  
When her Eyes have Conquests won,  
Why should her Ear refuse the Glory?  
Shall a Slave whom Racks constrain  
Be forbidden to complain?  
Let her scorn me, let her fly me,  
Let her Looks her Life deny me.  
ne'er can my Heart change for Relief,  
Or my Tongue cease to tell my Grief;  
Much to Love and much to Pray  
Is to Heaven the only Way.   Mar. She sleeps. The Song ended, Exeunt Claudia and Marcellina before the Dance.  

SCENE 3. Dance of Satyrs.  Enter Claudia and Marcellina to Lucina. Claud. 
Prithee, what ails my Lady, that of late  
She never cares for Company.  Marc. 
I know not  
Unless it be that Company causes Cuckolds.  Claud. 
Ridiculous! That were a Childish Fear!  
'Tis Opportunity does cause 'em rather,  
When two made one are glad to be alone.  Marc. 
But Claudia— Why this sitting up all Night  
In Groves by purling streams? This argues Heat!  
Great Heat and Vapours, which are main Corrupters!  
Mark when you will; Your Ladies that have Vapours,  
They are not Flinchers, that insulting Spleen  
Is the Artillery of powerful Lust;  
Discharged upon weak Honour which stands out  
Two Fits of Headache, at the most, then yields.  Claudia. 
Thou art the frailest Creature, Marcellina!  
And think'st all womens' Honours like thy own!  
So thin a Cobweb that each blast of Passion  
Can blow away: But for my own part, Girl!  
I think I may be well styled Honours Martyr.  
With firmest Constancy I have endured  
The raging Heats of passionate Desires!  
While flaming Love and boiling Nature both  
Were poured upon my Soul with equal Torture:  
I armed with Resolution stood it out  
And kept my Honour safe.  Marc. 
Thy Glory's great!  
But, Claudia, Thanks to Heaven that I am made  
The weakest of all women: framed so frail  
That Honour ne'er thought fit to choose me out,  
His Champion against Pleasure: my poor Heart  
For divers years still tossed from Flame to Flame,  
Is now burnt up to Tinder every Spark  
Dropped from kind Eyes sets it afire afresh,  
Pressed by a gentle hand I melt away,  
One Sighs a Storm that blows me all along;  
Pity a wretch, who has no Charm at all,  
Against th'impetuous Tide of flowing Pleasure,  
Who wants both Force and Courage to maintain  
The glorious War made upon Flesh and Blood,  
But is a Sacrifice to every wish  
And has no power left to resist a Joy.  Claud. 
Poor Girl! How strange a Riddle Virtue is?  
They never miss it who possess it not;  
And they who have it ever find a want.  
With what Tranquillity and Peace thou liv'st!  
For stripped of Shame; Thou hast no cause to fear;  
While I the Slave of Virtue am afraid  
Of every thing I see: And think the World  
A dreadful wilderness of savage Beasts;  
Each man I meet I fancy will devour me;  
And swayed by Rules not natural but affected  
I hate Mankind for fear of being loved.  Marc. 
'Tis nothing less than Witchcraft can constrain  
Still to persist in Errors we perceive!  
Prithee reform; what Nature prompts us to,  
And Reason seconds, why should we avoid?  
This Honour is the veriest Mountebank,  
It fits our Fancies with affected Tricks  
And makes us freakish; what a Cheat must that be  
Which robs our Lives of all their softer hours,  
Beauty, our only Treasure it lays waste.  
Hurries us over our neglected Youth,  
To the detested state of Age and Ugliness,  
Tearing our dearest Hearts Desires from us.  
Then in reward of what it took away  
Our Joys, our Hopes, our Wishes and Delights  
It bountifully pays us all with Pride!  
Poor shifts! still to be proud and never pleased,  
Yet this is all your Honour can do for you.  Claud. 
Concluded like thyself, for sure thou art  
The most corrupt corrupting thing alive,  
Yet glory not too much in cheating Wit:  
'Tis but false Wisdom; and its Property,  
Has ever been to take the part of Vice,  
Which tho' the Fancy with vain shows it please,  
Yet wants a power to satisfy the Mind.  Lucina wakes. Claud. 
But see my Lady wakes and comes this way.  
Bless me! how pale and how confused she looks!  Luc. 
In what Fantastic new world have I been?  
What Horrors past? what threatning Visions seen?  
Wrapped as I lay in my amazing Trance,  
The Host of Heaven and Hell did round me Dance:  
Debates arose betwixt the Powers above  
And those below: Methoughts they talked of Love.  
And named me often; but it could not be  
Of any Love that had to do with me.  
For all the while they talked and argued thus,  
I never heard one word of Maximus.  
Discourteous Nymphs! who own these murmuring Floods  
And you unkind Divinities o'th' Woods!  
When to your Banks and Bowers I came distressed  
Half dead throu' Absence seeking Peace and Rest.  
Why would you not protect by these your Streams  
A sleeping wretch from such wild dismal Dreams!  
misshapen Monsters round in Measures went  
Horrid in Form with Gestures insolent;  
Grinning throu' Goatish Beards with half closed Eyes,  
They looked me in the face frighted to rise!  
In vain I did attempt, methought no Ground  
Was to support my sinking Footsteps! found.  
In clammy Fogs like one half choked I lay,  
Crying for help my Voice was snatched away.  
And when I would have fled,  
My Limbs benumbed, or dead.  
Could not my Will with Terror winged obey  
Upon my absent Lord for help I cried  
But in that Moment when I must have died:  
With Anguish of my Fears confusing pains  
Relenting Sleep loosed his Tyrannic Chains  Claud. 
Madam, Alas such Accidents as these  
Are not of value to disturb your Peace!  
The cold damp-Dews of Night have mixed and wrought  
With the dark Melancholy of your Thought.  
And throu' your Fancy these Illusions brought.  
I still have marked your Fondness will afford  
No hour of Joy in th' absence of my Lord.  Enter Lycias. A Ring! Lucin. 
Absent, all night— and never send me word?  Lycias. 
Madam, while sleeping by those Banks you lay!  
One from my Lord commanded me away.  
In all obedient haste I went to Court,  
Where busy Crowds confusedly did resort;  
News from the Camp it seems was then arrived  
Of Tumults raised and Civil Wars contrived;  
The Emperor frighted from his Bed does call  
Grave Senators to Council in the Hall—  
Throngs of ill-favoured Faces filled with Scars  
Wait for Employments praying hard for Wars  
At Council Door attend with fair pretence  
In Knavish Decency and Reverence  
Bankers, who with officious Diligence—  
Lend Money to supply the present need  
At treble Use that greater may succeed,  
So public Wants will private Plenty breed,  
Whispering in every Corner you might see.  Lucin. 
But what's all this to Maximus and me?  
Where is my Lord? what Message has he sent?  
Is he in Health? What fatal Accident,  
Does all this while his wished Return prevent?  Lycias. 
When ere the Gods that happy hour decree,  
May he appear safe and with Victory;  
Of many Hero's who stood Candidate  
To be the Arbiters 'twixt Rome and Fate;  
To quell Rebellion and protect the Throne  
A Choice was made of Maximus alone;  
The People, Soldiers, Senate, Emperor  
For Maximus with one consent concur.  
Their newborn hopes now hurry him away,  
Nor will their Fears admit one moments stay:  
Trembling through Terror lest he come too late  
They huddle his Dispatch while at the Gate  
The Emperor's Chariots to conduct him wait.  Lucina. 
These fatal Honours my dire Dream foretold!  
Why should the Kind be ruined by the Bold?  
He ne'er reflects upon my Destiny  
So careless of himself, undoing me  
Ah Claudia! in my Visions so unskilled  
he'll to the Army go and there be killed.  
Forgetful of my Love; he'll not afford  
The easy Favour of a parting Word;  
Of all my Wishes he's alone the Scope  
And he's the only End of all my Hope,  
My fill of Joy, and what is yet above  
Joys, Hopes, and Wishes— He is all my Love:  
Mysterious Honour tell me what thou art!  
That takes up different Forms in every Heart;  
And dost to divers Ends and Interests move  
Conquest is his— my Honour is my Love.  
Both these do Paths so oppositely choose  
By following one you must the other lose.  
So two straight Lines from the same Point begun  
Can never meet, tho' without end they run—  
Alas, I rave!  Lycias. 
Look on thy Glory, Love, and smile to see  
Two faithful Hearts at strife for Victory!  
Who blazing in thy sacred Fires contend  
While both their equal Flames to Heaven ascend,  
The God that dwells in Eyes light on my Tongue  
Lest in my Message I his Passion wrong;  
You'll better guests the Anguish of his Heart,  
From what you feel, than what I can impart;  
But Madam, know the Moment I was come,  
His watchful Eye perceived me in the Room;  
When with a quick precipitated haste  
From Caesar's Bosom where he stood embraced  
Piercing the busy Crowd to me he passed—  
Tears in his Eyes; his Orders in his Hand,  
He scarce had Breath to give this short Command.  
With thy best speed to my Lucina fly,  
If I must part unseen by her I die,  
Decrees inevitable from above,  
And Fate which takes too little Care of Love,  
Force me away: Tell her 'tis my Request,  
By those kind Fires she kindled in my Breast;  
Our future Hopes and all that we hold dear,  
She instantly would come and see me here.  
That parting Griefs to her I may reveal  
And on her Lips propitious Omens seal.  
Affairs that press in this short space of time  
Afford no other place without a Crime;  
And that thou mayst not fail of wished for Ends  
In a success whereon my Life depends  
Give her this Ring. Looks on the Ring.  Lucin. 
How strange soever these Commands appear  
Love awes my Reason, and controls my Fear.  
But how couldst thou employ thy lavish Tongue  
So idly to be telling this so long!  
When every moment thou hast spent in vain,  
Was half the Life that did to me remain.  
Flatter me, Hope, and on my Wishes smile,  
And make me happy yet a little while.  
If through my Fears I can such Sorrow show  
As to convince I perish if he go:  
Pity perhaps his Generous Heart may move  
To sacrifice his Glory to his Love.  
I'll not despair!  
Who knows how eloquent these Eyes may prove  
Begging in Floods of Tears and Flames of Love. Exit Lucina.  Lycias. 
Thanks to the Devil, my Friend, now all's our own,  
How easily this mighty work was done!  
Well! first or last all Women must be won—  
" It is their Fate and cannot be withstood  
" The wise do still comply with Flesh and Blood;  
" Or if through peevish Honour Nature fail  
" They do but lose their Thanks; Art will prevail. Exit.   

SCENE 4.  Enter AEcius pursuing Pontius, and Maximus following. Max. 
Temper yourself, AEcius.  Pont. 
Hold, my Lord— I am a Soldier and a Roman!  Max. 
Pray Sir!  AEcius. 
Thou art a lying Villain and a Traitor.  
Give me myself, or by the Gods, my Friend,  
You'll make me dangerous: How dar'st thou pluck  
The Soldiers to Sedition and I living?  
And sow Seeds of rank Rebellion even then  
When I am drawing out to Action?  Pont. 
Hear me!  Max. 
Are you a man?  AEcius. 
I am true, Maximus!  
And if the Villain live, we are dishonoured.  Max. 
But hear him what he can say!  AEcius. 
That's the way  
To pardon him, I am so easie-natured,  
That if he speak but humbly, I forgive him.  Pont. 
I do beseech you, worthy General!  AEcius. 
H'has found the way already. Give me room,  
And if he scape me then, H'has Mercy.  Pont. 
I do not call you Worthy, that I fear you:  
I never cared for Death; if you will kill me,  
Consider first for what! not what you can do:  
'Tis true I know you are my General;  
And by that great Prerogative may kill.—  AEcius. 
He argues with me!  
By Heaven a made-up finished Rebel.  Max. 
Pray consider what certain ground you have.  AEcius. 
What Grounds?  
Did I not take him preaching to the Soldiers,  
How lazily they lived; and what dishonour  
It was to serve a Prince so full of Softness!  
These were his very Words, Sir.  Max. 
These! AEcius,  
Tho' they were rashly spoken, which was an Error,  
A great one, Pontius! yet from him that hungers  
For War, and brave Employment might be pardoned!  
The Heart, and harboured Thoughts of ill makes Traitors,—  
Not spleeny Speeches—  AEcius. 
Why should you protect him?  
Go to— it scarce shows honest—  Max. 
Taint me not!  
For that shows worse, AEcius! All your Friendship  
And that pretended Love you lay upon me;  
(Hold back my Honesty!) is like a Favour  
You do your Slave to day— to morrow hang him;  
Was I your Bosom-Friend for this?  AEcius. 
Forgive me!  
So zealous is my Duty for my Prince,  
That oft it makes me to forget myself;  
And tho' I strive to be without my Passion,  
I am no God, Sir; For you whose infection  
Has spread itself like Poison throu' the Army,  
And cast a killing Fog on fair Allegiance!  
First thank this Noble Gentleman; you had died else:  
Next from your Place and Honour of a Soldier  
I here seclude you.  Pont. 
May I speak yet?  Max. 
Hear him.  AEcius. 
And while AEcius holds a Reputation  
At least Command! you bear no Arms for Rome, Sir.  Pont. 
Against her I shall never: The condemned man  
Has yet the privilege to speak, my Lord,  
Law were not equal else.  Max. 
Pray hear, AEcius,  
For happily the fault he has committed  
Tho' I believe it mighty; yet considered,  
If Mercy may be thought upon will prove  
Rather a hasty Sin than heinous.  AEcius. 
Speak.  Pont. 
'Tis true, my Lord, you took me tired with peace  
My Words as rough and ragged as my Fortune,  
Telling the Soldiers what a man we serve  
Led from us by the Flourishes of Fencers;  
I blamed him too for softness.  AEcius. 
To the rest, Sir.  Pont. 
'Tis true I told 'em too  
We lay at home to show our Country  
We durst go naked, durst want Meat and Money;  
And when the Slaves drink Wine, we durst be thirsty.  
I told 'em too the Trees and Roots  
Were our best Paymasters.  
'tis likely too I counselled 'em to turn  
Their warlike Pikes to Ploughshares, their sure Targets  
And Swords hatched with the Blood of many Nations  
To Spades and Pruning-Knives: their warlike  
Eagles, into Daws and Starlings.  AEcius. 
What think you  
Were these Words to be spoken by a Captain  
One that should give Example?  Max. 
'Twas too much.  Pont. 
My Lord! I did not woo 'em from the Empire,  
Nor bid 'em turn their daring Steel against Caesar;  
The Gods for ever hate me if that motion  
Were part of me; Give me but Employment  
And way to live, and where you find me vicious  
Bred up to mutiny, my Sword shall tell you,  
And if you please that Place I held maintain it  
'Gainst the most daring Foes of Rome, I'm honest!  
A Lover of my Country one that holds  
His Life no longer His then kept for Caesar:  
Weigh not— (I thus low on my Knee beseech you!  
What my rude Tongue discovered 'twas my want,  
No other part of Pontius; You have seen me  
And you, my Lord, do something for my Country,  
And both the wounds I gave and took  
Not like a backward Traitor.  AEcius. 
All your Language  
Makes but against you, Pontius! you are cast,  
And by my Honour and my Love to Caesar  
By me shall never be restored in Camp;  
I will not have a Tongue, tho' to himself  
Dare talk but near Sedition: As I govern  
All shall obey, and when they want, their Duty  
And ready Service shall redress their needs,  
Not prating what they would be.  Pont. 
Thus I leave you,  
Yet shall my Prayers, although my wretched Fortune  
Must follow you no more, be still about you.  
Gods give you where you fight the Victory!  
You cannot cast my wishes.  AEcius. 
Come, my Lord!  
Now to the Field again.  Max. 
Alas poor Pontius! Exit.   
The End of the Third Act.   


ACT. IU. SCEN. II.  Enter Chylax at one Door, Lycinius and Balbus at another. Lyc. 
HOw now!  Chy. 
she's come.  Balb. 
Then I'll to the Emperor! Ex. Balb.  Chy. 
Is the Music placed well?  Lyc. 
Excellent.  Chy. 
Lycinius, you and Proculus receive 'em  
In the great Chamber at her Entrance.  Lycin. 
Let us alone.  Chy. 
And do you here Lycinius.  
Pray let the Women ply her farther off.  
And with much more Discretion, one word more  
Are all the Maskers ready?  Lycin. 
Take no care man. Ex.  chill. 
I am all over in a Sweat with Pimping;  
'Tis a laborious moiling Trade this.—  Enter Emperor, Balb. and Procul. Emp. 
Is she come?  Chy. 
She is, Sir! but 'twere best  
That you were last seen to her.  Emp. 
So I mean.  
Keep your Court empty Proculus.  Proc. 
'Tis done Sir.  Emp. 
Be not too sudden to her.  Chy. 
Good sweet Sir  
Retire and Man yourself: Let us alone,  
We are no Children this way: One thing Sir!  
'Tis necessary, that her She-Companions  
Be cut off in the Lobby by the Women,  
They'll break the Business else.  Emp. 
'Tis true: They shall.  Chy. 
Remember your Place, Proculus.  Proc. 
I warrant you— Ex. Emp. Balb. and Proculus.  Enter Lucina, Claudia, Marcellina and Lycias. chill. 
She enters! Who waits there? The Emperor  
Calls for his Chariots, He will take the Air.  Lucin. 
I am glad I came in such a happy hour  
When he'll be absent: This removes all Fears;  
But Lycias lead me to my Lord,  
Heaven grant he be not gone.  Lyc. 
'Faith, Madam, that's uncertain!  
I'll run and see. But if you miss my Lord  
And find a better to supply his Room,  
A Change so happy will not discontent you.— Exit.  Luc. 
What means that unwonted Insolence of this Slave?  
Now I begin to fear again. Oh— Honour,  
If ever thou hadst Temple in weak Woman  
And Sacrifice of Modesty offered to Thee  
Hold me fast now and I'll be safe for ever.  Chy. 
The fair Lucina; Nay then I find  
Our Slander'd-Court has not sinned up so high  
To fright all the good Angels from its Care,  
Since they have sent so great a Blessing hither.  
Madam— I beg th'Advantage of my Fortune,  
Who as I am the first have met you here,  
May humbly hope to be made proud and happy  
With the honour of your first Command and Service.  Lucin. 
Sir— I am so far from knowing how to merit  
Your Service, that your Compliments too much,  
And I return it you with all my heart.  
You'll want it Sir, for those who know you better.  Chy. 
Madam, I have the honour to be owned  
By Maximus for his most humble Servant,  
Which gives me Confidence.  Marc. 
Now Claudia, for a Wager,  
What thing is this that cringes to my Lady?  Claud. 
Why some grave Statesman, by his looks a Courtier.  Marc. 
Claudia a Bawd: By all my hopes a Bawd!  
What use can reverend Gravity be of here,  
To any but a trusty Bawd?  
Statesman are marked for Fops by it, besides  
Nothing but Sin and Laziness could make him  
So very fat, and look so fleshy on't.  Lucin. 
But is my Lord not gone yet do you say Sir?  Chy. 
He is not Madam, and must take this kindly,  
Exceeding kindly of you, wondrous kindly,  
You come so far to visit him. I'll guide you.  Lucin. 
Whither?  Chy. 
Why to my Lord.  Lucin. 
Is it impossible  
To find him in this Place without a Guide,  
For I would willingly not trouble you?  Chy. 
My only trouble, Madam, is my fear,  
I'm too unworthy of so great an Honour.  
But here you're in the public Gallery,  
Where th' Emperor must pass, unless you'd see him.  Lucin. 
Bless me Sir— No— pray lead me any whither,  
My Lord cannot be long before he finds me. Exeunt.  Enter Lycinius, Proculus, and Balbus. Music. Lycin. 
She's coming up the Stairs: now the Music,  
And as that softens— her love will grow warm,  
Till she melts down. Then Caesar lays his Stamp.  
Burn these Perfumes there.  Proc. 
Peace, no noise without.  

A SONG.  

Nymph.  
INjurious Charmer of my vanquished Heart,  
Canst thou feel Love, and yet no pity know?  
Since of myself from thee I cannot part,  
Invent some gentle Way to let me go.  
For what with joy thou didst obtain,  
And I with more did give;  
In time will make thee false and vain,  
And me unfit to live.   

Shepherd.  
Frail Angel, that wouldst leave a Heart forlorn,  
With vain pretence falsehood therein might lie;  
Seek not to cast wild shadows o'er your scorn,  
You cannot sooner change than I can die.  
To tedious life I le never fall,  
Thrown from thy dear loved Breast;  
He merits not to live at all,  
Who cares to live unblessed.   

Chor.  
Then let our flaming Hearts be joined,  
While in that sacred fire;  
Ere thou prove false, or I unkind,  
Together both expire.    Enter chill. Lucina, Claudia, Marcellina. Lucin. 
Where is this Wretch, this Villain Lycias?  
Pray Heaven my Lord be here; for now I fear it.  
I am certainly betrayed. This cursed Ring  
Is either counterfeit or stolen.  Claud. 
Your fear  
Does but disarm your Resolution,  
Which may defend you in the worst Extremes:  
Or if that fail. Are there not Gods and Angels?  Lucin. 
None in this Place I fear but evil ones.  
Heaven pity me.  Chy. 
But tell me, dearest Madam,  
How do you like the Song?  Lucin. 
Sir, I am no Judge  
Of Music, and the words, I thank my Gods,  
I did not understand.  Chy. 
The Emperor  
Has the best Talon at expounding 'em;  
You'll ne'er forget a Lesson of his Teaching.  Lucin. 
Are you the worthy Friend of Maximus  
Would lead me to him? He shall thank you Sir,  
As you desire.  Chy. 
Madam, he shall not need,  
I have a Master will reward my Service,  
When you have made him happy with your Love,  
For which he hourly languishes— Be kind— Whispers.  Lucin. 
The Gods shall kill me first.  Chy. 
Think better on't.  
'Tis sweeter dying in th' Emperor's Arms.  Enter Phorba and Ardellia. 
But here are Ladies come to see you, Madam,  
They'll entertain you better. I but tire you;  
Therefore I'll leave you for a while, and bring  
Your loved Lord to you— Exit.  Lucin. 
Then I'll thank you.  
I am betrayed for certain.  Phorb. 
You are a welcome Woman.  Ard. 
Bless me Heaven!  
How did you find your way to Court?  Lucin. 
I know not; would I had never trod it.  Phorb. 
Prithee tell me. Call Emperor behind.  
Good pretty Lady, and dear sweet Heart, love us,  
For we love thee extremely. Is not this Place  
A Paradise to live in?  Lucin. 
Yes to you,  
Who know no Paradise but guilty Pleasure.  Ard. 
Heard you the Music yet?  Lucin. 
'Twas none to me.  Phor. 
You must not be thus froward. Well, this Gown  
Is one o'th' prettiest, by my troth Ardelia,  
I ever saw yet; 'twas not to frown in, Madam.  
You put this Gown on when you came.  Ard. 
How d'ee ye?  
Alas, poor Wretch, how cold it is!  Lucin. 
Content you.  
I am as well as may be, and as temperate,  
So you will let me be so— Where's my Lord?  
For that's the business I come for hither.  Phor. 
We'll lead you to him: he's i'th' Gallery.  Ard. 
We'll show you all the Court too.  Lucin. 
Show me him, & you have showed me all I come to look on.  Phor. 
Come on, we'll be your Guides; and as you go,  
We have some pretty Tales to tell you, Madam,  
Shall make you merry too. You come not hither  
To be sad, Lucina.  Lucin. 
Would I might not— Exeunt.  Enter Chylax and Balbus in haste. chill. 
Now see all ready, Balbus: run.  Balb. 
I fly Boy— Exit.  Chy. 
The Women by this time are warning of her,  
If she holds out them; the Emperor  
Takes her to task— he has her— Hark, I hear 'em.  Enter Emperor drawing in Lucina. Ring. Emp. 
Would you have run away so slily, Madam?  Lucin. 
I beseech you Sir,  
Consider what I am, and whose.  Emp. 
I do so.  
For what you are, I am filled with such Amaze,  
So far transported with Desire and Love,  
My slippery Soul flows to you while I speak,  
And whose you were, I care not, for now you are mine,  
Who love you, and will do at on you more  
Than you do on your Virtue.  Lucin. 
Sacred Caesar.  Emp. 
You shall not kneel to me; rise.  Lucin. 
Look upon me,  
And if you be so cruel to abuse me,  
Think how the Gods will take it. Does this Face  
Afflict your Soul? I'll hide it from you ever;  
Nay more, I will become so leprous,  
That you shall curse me from you. My dear Lord  
Has ever served you truly— fought your Battles,  
As if he daily longed to die for Caesar;  
Was never Traitor Sir, nor never tainted,  
In all the Actions of his Life.  Emp. 
How high does this fantastic Virtue swell?  
She thinks it Infamy to please too well. Aside.  
I know it— To her.  Lucin. 
His Merits and his Fame have grown together,  
Together flourished like two spreading Cedars,  
Over the Roman Diadem. O let not.  
(As you have a Heart that's humane in you)  
The having of an honest Wife decline him;  
Let not my Virtue be a Wedge to break him,  
Much less my Shame his undeseryed Dishonour.  
I do not think you are so bad a man;  
I know Report belies you; you are Caesar,  
Which is the Father of the Empire's Glory:  
You are too near the Nature of the Gods,  
To wrong the weakest of all Creatures, Woman.  Emp. 
I dare not do it here. Rise, fair Lucina. Aside.  
When you believe me worthy, make me happy  
Chylax; wait on her to her Lord within.  
Wipe your fair Eyes— Exeunt.  
Ah Love! ah cursed Boy!  
Where art thou that torments me thus unseen,  
And ragest with thy Fires within my Breast,  
With idle purpose to inflame her Heart,  
Which is as inaccessible and cold,  
As the proud tops of those aspiring Hills,  
Whose Heads are wrapped in everlasting Snow,  
Tho' the hot Sun roll o'er 'em every day?  
And as his Beams, which only shine above,  
Scorch and consume in Regions round below,  
Soft Love which throws such brightness through her eyes,  
Leaves her Heart cold, and burns me at her feet;  
My Tyrant, but her flattering Slave thou art,  
A Glory round her lovely Face, a Fire within my Heart.  
Who waits without? Lycinius?  Enter Lycinius. Lycin. 
My Lord.  Emp. 
Where are the Masquers that should dance to night?  Lycin. 
In the old Hall Sir, going now to practise.  Emp. 
About it straight. 'Twill serve to draw away  
Those listening Fools, who trace it in the Gallery;  
And if by chance odd noises should be heard,  
As womens' Shrieks, or so, say, 'tis a Play  
Is practising within.  Lycin. 
The Rape of Lucrece,  
Or some such merry Prank— It shall be done Sir. Ex.  Emp. 
'Tis nobler like a Lion to invade,  
Where Appetite directs, and seize my Prey,  
Than to wait tamely like a begging Dog,  
Till dull Consent throws out the Scraps of Love.  
I scorn those Gods who seek to cross my Wishes,  
And will in spite of 'em be happy: Force  
Of all the Powers is the most generous;  
For what that gives, it freely does bestow,  
Without the after-Bribe of Gratitude.  
I'll plunge into a Sea of my Desires,  
And quench my Fever, tho' I drown my Fame,  
And tear up Pleasure by the Roots: No matter  
Tho' it never grow again; what shall ensue,  
Let Gods and Fate look to it; 'tis their Business. Exit.   

SCENE III.  Opens and discovers 5 or 6 Dancing-masters practising. 1 Dan. 
That is the damn'st shuffling Step, Pox on't.  2 Dan. 
I shall never hit it.  
Thou hast naturally  
All the neat Motions of a merry Tailor,  
Ten thousand Riggles with thy Toes inward,  
Cut clear and strong: let thy Limbs play about thee;  
Keep time, and hold thy Back upright and firm:  
It may prefer thee to a waiting Woman.  1 Dan. 
Or to her Lady, which is worse.  Enter Lycinius. Ten dance. Lycin. 
Bless me, the loud Shrieks and horrid Outcries  
Of the poor Lady! Ravishing d'ye call it?  
She roars as if she were upon the Rack:  
'Tis strange there should be such a difference  
Betwixt half-ravishing, which most Women love,  
And through force, which takes away all Blame,  
And should be therefore welcome to the virtuous.  
These tumbling Rogues, I fear, have overheard 'em;  
But their Ears with their Brains are in their Heels.  
Good morrow Gentlemen:  
What is all perfect? I have taken care  
Your Habits shall be rich and glorious.  3 Dan. 
That will set off. Pray sit down and see,  
How the last Entry I have made will please you.  Second Dance. Lycin. 
'Tis very fine indeed.  2 Dan. 
I hope so Sir—. Ex. Dancers.  Enter chill. Proculus and Lycias. Proc. 
'Tis done Lycinius.  Lycin. 
How?  Proc. 
I blush to tell it.  
If there be any Justice, we are Villains,  
And must be so rewarded.  Lycias. 
Since 'tis done,  
I take it is not time now to repent it,  
Let's make the best of our Trade.  Chy. 
Now Vengeance take it:  
Why should not he have settled on a Beauty,  
Whose Modesty stuck in a piece of Tissue?  
Or one a Ring might rule? or such a one  
That had a Husband itching to be honourable,  
And ground to get it? If he must have Women,  
And no allay without 'em, why not those  
That know the Mystery, and are best able  
To play a Game with judgement, such as she is?  
Grant they be won with long siege, endless travel,  
And brought to opportunities with millions,  
Yet when they come to Motion, their cold Virtue  
Keeps 'em like Beds of Snow.  Lycin. 
A good Whore  
Had saved all this, and happily as wholesome,  
And the thing once done as well thought of too.  
But this same Chastity forsooth.  Chy. 
A Pox on't.  
Why should not Women be as free as we are?  
They are, but will not own it, and far freer,  
And the more bold you bear yourself, more welcome,  
And there is nothing you dare say but Truth,  
But they dare hear.  Proc. 
No doubt of it— away,  
Let them who can repent, go home and pray. Exeunt.  Scene opens, discovers th' Emperor's Chamber. Lucina newly unbound by th' Emperor. Emp. 
Your only Virtue now is Patience,  
Be wise and save your Honour; if you talk—  Lucin. 
As long as there is Life in this Body,  
And Breath to give me words, I'll cry for Justice.  Emp. 
Justice will never hear you; I am Justice.  Lucin. 
Wilt thou not kill me Monster, Ravisher?  
Thou bitter Bane o'th' Empire, look upon me,  
And if thy guilty eyes dare see the Ruins  
Thy wild Lust hath laid level with Dishonour,  
The sacrilegious razing of that Temple,  
The Tempter to thy black sins would have blushed at.  
Behold, and curse thyself. The Gods will find thee,  
That's all my Refuge now, for they are righteous;  
Vengeance and Horror circled thee. The Empire,  
In which thou liv'st a strong continued Surfeit,  
Like Poison will disgorge thee; good men raze thee  
From ever being read again;  
chaste Wives and fearful Maids make Vows against thee;  
Thy worst Slaves, when they hear of this, shall hate thee,  
And those thou hast corrupted, first fall from thee,  
And if thou lettest me live, the Soldier  
Tired with thy Tyrannies break through Obedience,  
And shake his strong Steel at thee.  Emp. 
This prevails not,  
Nor any Agony you utter Madam:  
If I have done a sin, curse her that drew me;  
Curse the first Cause, the Witchcraft that abused me;  
Curse your fair Eyes, and curse that heavenly Beauty,  
And curse your being good too.  Lucin. 
Glorious Thief!  
What restitution canst thou make to save me?  Emp. 
I'll ever love— and ever honour you.  Lucin. 
Thou canst not;  
For that which was my Honour, thou hast murdered;  
And can there be a Love in Violence?  Emp. 
You shall be only mine.  Lucin. 
Yet I like better  
Thy Villainy than Flattery; that's thy own,  
The other basely counterfeit. Fly from me,  
Or for thy safety's sake and wisdom kill me;  
For I am worse than thou art: Thou mayst pray,  
And so recover Grace— I am lost for ever,  
And if thou lettest me live, thou'rt lost thyself too.  Emp. 
I fear no loss but Love— I stand above it.  Lucin. 
Gods! what a wretched thing has this man made me?  
For I am now no Wise for Maximus;  
No Company for Women that are virtuous;  
No Family I now can claim or Country,  
Nor Name but Caesar's Whore: Of sacred Caesar!  
(For that should be your Title) was your Empire,  
Your Rods and Axes that are Types of Justice,  
And from the Gods themselves— to ravish Women.  
The Curses that I owe to Enemies, even those the Sabins sent,  
When Romulus (as thou hast me) ravished their noble Maids,  
Made more and heavier light on thee.  Emp. 
This helps not.  Lucin. 
The sins of Tarquin be remembered in thee,  
And where there has a chaste Wife been abused,  
Let it be thine, the Shame thine, thine the Slaughter,  
And last for ever thine the feared Example.  
Where shall poor Virtue live now I am fallen?  
What can your Honours now and Empire make me,  
But a more glorious Whore?  Emp. 
A better Woman.  
If you be blind and scorn it, who can help it?  
Come leave these Lamentations; you do nothing  
But make a noise— I am the same man still,  
Were it to do again: Therefore be wiser; by all  
This holy Light I would attempt it.  
You are so excellent, and made to ravish,  
There were no pleasure in you else.  Lucin. 
Oh Villain!  Emp. 
So bred for man's Amazement, that my Reason  
And every help to do me right has left me:  
The God of Love himself had been before me,  
Had he but Eyes to see you, tell me justly  
How should I choose but err— then if you will  
Be mine and only mine (for you are so precious)  
I envy any other should enjoy you;  
Almost look on you, and your daring Husband  
Shall know he has kept an Offering from th' Emperor,  
Too holy for the Altars— be the greatest;  
More than myself I'll make you; if you will not,  
Sit down with this and silence: for which wisdom,  
You shall have use of me, if you divulge it,  
Know I am far above the faults I do,  
And those I do, I am able to forgive;  
And where your credit in the telling of it  
May be with gloss enough suspected, mine  
Is as my own Command shall make it. Princes  
Tho' they be sometimes subject to lose Whispers,  
Yet wear they two edged Swords for open Censures:  
Your Husband cannot help you, nor the Soldiers;  
Your Husband is my Creature, they my Weapons,  
And only where I bid 'em strike— I feed 'em,  
Nor can the Gods be angry at this Action,  
Who as they made me greatest, meant me happiest,  
Which I had never been without this pleasure.  
Consider, and farewell. You'll find your Women  
Waiting without. Ex. Emperor.  Lucin. 
Destruction find thee.  
Now which way shall I go— my honest House  
Will shake to shelter me— my Husband fly me,  
My Family,  
Because they're honest, and desire to be so.  
Is this the end of Goodness? This the price  
Of all my early prayers to protect me?  
Why then I see there is no God— but Power,  
Nor Virtue now alive that cares for us,  
But what is either lame or sensual;  
How had I been thus wretched else?  Enter Maximus and AEcius. AEcius. 
Let Titus  
Command the Company that Pontius lost.  Max. 
How now sweet Heart!  
What make you here and thus?  AEcius. 
Lucina weeping.  
This is some strange offence.  Max. 
Look up and tell me.  
Why art thou thus? my Ring! oh Friend I have found it!  
You are at Court then.  Lucin. 
This and that vile Wretch Lycias brought me hither.  Max. 
Rise and go home. I have my Fears, AEcius.  
Oh my best Friend! I am ruined. Go Lucina,  
Already in thy tears I've read thy Wrongs.  
Already found a Caesar? Go thou Lily,  
Thou sweetly drooping Flower; be gone, I say,  
And if thou dar'st— outlive this Wrong.  Lucin. 
I dare not.  AEcius. 
Is that the Ring you lost?  Max. 
That, that AEcius,  
That cursed Ring, myself and all my Fortunes have undone.  
Thus pleased th' Emperor, my noble Master,  
For all my Services and Dangers for him,  
To make me my own Pander! was this Justice?  
Oh my AEcius! have I lived to bear this?  Lucin. 
Farewell for ever Sir.  Max. 
That's a sad saying;  
But such a one becomes you well, Lucina.  
And yet methinks we should not part so slightly;  
Our Loves have been of longer growth, more rooted  
Than the sharp blast of one Farewell can scatter.  
Kiss me— I find no Caesar here. These Lips  
Taste not of Ravisher, in my opinion.  
Was it not so?  Lucin. 
O yes.  Max. 
I dare believe you.  
I know him and thy truth too well to doubt it.  
Oh my most dear Lucina! oh my Comfort!  
Thou Blessing of my Youth! Life of my Life!  AEcius. 
I have seen enough to stagger my Obedience.  
Hold me, ye equal Gods! this is too sinful.  Max. 
Why wert thou chosen out to make a Whore of,  
Thou only among millions of thy Sex?  
Unfeignedly virtuous! fall, fall crystal Fountains,  
And ever feed your Streams, you rising Sorrows,  
Till you have wept your Mistress into marble.  
Now go for ever from me.  Lucin. 
A long farewell Sir!  
And as I have been faithful, Gods, think on me.  AEcius. 
Madam farewell, since you resolve to die.  
Which well considered,  
If you can cease a while from these strange thoughts,  
I wish were rather altered.  Lucin. 
No.  AEcius. 
Mistake not.  
I would not stain your Virtue for the Empire,  
Nor any way decline you to Dishonour:  
It is not my profession, but a Villain's;  
I find and feel your loss as deep as you do,  
And still am the same AEcius, still as honest;  
The same Life I have still for Maximus,  
The same Sword wear for you where Justice bids me,  
And 'tis no dull one. Therefore misconceive me not.  
Only I'd have you live a little longer.  Lucin. 
Alas Sir! why  
Am I not wretched enough already?  AEcius. 
To draw from that wild man a sweet repentance,  
And goodness in his days to come.  Max. 
They are so.  
And will be ever coming, my AEcius.  AEcius. 
For who knows but the sight of you, presenting  
His swollen sins at the full, and your wronged Virtue,  
May like a fearful Vision fright his Follies,  
And once more bend him right again, which Blessing  
If your dark Wrongs would give you leave to read,  
Is more than Death, and the Reward more glorious;  
Death only eases you. This the whole Empire  
Besides compelled and forced by violence,  
To what was done. The deed was none of yours;  
For should th' eternal Gods desire to perish,  
Because we daily violate their Truth,  
Which is the Chastity of Heaven? No Madam—  Lucin. 
The Tongues of Angels cannot alter me.  
For could the World again restore my Honour,  
As fair and absolute as ere I bred it,  
That World I should not trust; again, the Emperor  
Can by my Life get nothing but my Story,  
Which whilst I breathe must be his Infamy:  
And where you counsel me to live, that Caesar  
May see his Errors and repent; I'll tell you,  
His Penitence is but increase of Pleasure;  
His Prayers are never said but to deceive us;  
And when he weeps, (as you think, for his Vices)  
'Tis but as killing Drops from baleful Yew-trees,  
That rot his harmless Neighbours, if he can grieve  
As one that yet desires his free Conversion,  
I'll leave him Robes to mourn in— my sad Ashes.  AEcius. 
The Farewell then of happy Souls be with thee,  
And to thy Memory be ever sung,  
The Praises of a just and constant Woman:  
This sad day whilst I live, a Soldiers Tears  
I'll offer on thy Monument.  Max. 
All that is chaste upon thy Tomb shall flourish;  
All living Epitaphs be thine; Times Story,  
And what is left behind to piece our Lives,  
Shall be no more abused with Tales and Trifles.  AEcius. 
But full of thee stand to Eternity,  
Once more farewell— Go find Elysium,  
There where deserving Souls are crowned with Blessings.  Max. 
There where no vicious Tyrants come: Truth, Honour,  
Are keepers of that blessed Place; go thither. Ex. Lucina.  AEcius. 
Gods give thee Justice.  
His Thoughts begin to work, I fear him yet;  
He ever was a worthy Roman, but  
I know not what to think on't. He has suffered  
Beyond a man, if he stand this.  Max. 
AEcius,  
Am I alive, or has a dead Sleep seized me?  
It was my Wife th' Emperor abused thus,  
And I must say— I am glad I had her for him.  
Must I not AEcius?  AEcius. 
I am stricken  
With such a stiff Amazement, that no Answer  
Can readily come from me, nor no Comfort.  
Will you go home, or go to my House?  Max. 
Neither.  
I have no home, and you are mad AEcius,  
To keep me Company— I am a Fellow  
My own Sword would forsake, not tied to me.  
By Heaven I dare do nothing.  AEcius. 
You do better.  Max. 
I am made a branded Slave, AEcius,  
Yet I must bless the Maker.  
Death on my Soul! shall I endure this tamely?  
Must Maximus be mentioned for his Wrongs?  
I am a Child too; what do I do railing?  
I cannot mend myself. 'Twas Caesar did it.  
And what am I to him?  AEcius. 
'Tis well remembered;  
However you are tainted, be not Traitor.  Max. 
O that thou wert not living, and my Friend!  AEcius. 
I'll bear a wary Eye upon your Actions:  
I fear you, Maximus, nor can I blame you,  
If you break out; for by the Gods, your Wrong  
Deserves a general Ruin. Do you love me?  Max. 
That's all I have to live on.  AEcius. 
Then go with me.  
You shall not to your own House.  Max. 
Nor to any.  
My Griefs are greater far than Walls can compass;  
And yet I wonder how it happens with me.  
I am not dangerous, and in my Conscience,  
Should I now see the Emperor i'th' heat on't,  
I should scarce blame him for't: an awe runs through me,  
I feel it sensibly that binds me to it,  
'Tis at my Heart now, there it sits and rules,  
And methinks 'tis a pleasure to obey it.  AEcius. 
This is a Mask to cozen me. I know you,  
And how far you dare do. No Roman farther,  
Nor with more fearless valour, and I'll watch you.  Max. 
Is a Wife's loss—  
More than the fading of a few fresh Colours?  AEcius. 
No more, Maximus,  
To one that truly lives.  Max. 
Why then I care not; I can live well enough, AEcius:  
For look you, Friend, for Virtue and those Trifles,  
They may be bought they say.  AEcius. 
He's crazed a little.  
His grief has made him talk things from his nature.  
Will you go any ways?  Max. 
I'll tell thee Friend,  
If my Wife for all this should be a Whore now,  
'Twould vex me,  
For I am not angry yet. The Emperor  
Is young and handsome, and the Woman Flesh,  
And may not these two couple without Scratching?  AEcius. 
Alas, my Maximus!  Max. 
Alas not me, I am not wretched, for there's no man miserable  
But he that makes himself so.  AEcius. 
Will you walk yet?  Max. 
Come, come; she dares not die, Friend, that's the truth on't  
She knows the enticing Sweets and Delicacies  
Of a young Prince's Pleasure, and I thank her,  
She has made way for Maximus to rise.  
Wilt not become me bravely?  AEcius. 
Dearest Friend,  
These wild words show your violated mind,  
Urged with the last extremity of grief;  
Which since I cannot like a Man redress,  
With tears I must lament it like a Child;  
For when 'tis Caesar does the injury,  
Sorrow is all the Remedy I know.  Max. 
'Tis then a certain truth that I am wronged,  
Wronged in that barbarous manner I imagined:  
Alas, I was in hopes I had been mad,  
And that these Horrors which invade my Heart,  
Were but distracted melancholy Whimsies:  
But they are real truths (it seems) and I  
The last of men, and vilest of all Being's.  
Bear me cold Earth, who am too weak to move  
Beneath my load of Shame and Misery!  
Wronged by my lawful Prince, robbed of my Love,  
Branded with everlasting infamy.  
Take pity Fate, and give me leave to die:  
Gods! would you be adored for being good,  
Or only feared for proving mischievous?  
How would you have your Mercy understood?  
Who could create a Wretch like Maximus,  
Ordained tho' guiltless to be infamous?  
Supreme first Causes! you, whence all things flow,  
Whose infiniteness does each little fill,  
You, who decree each seeming Chance below,  
(So great in Power) were you as good in Will,  
How could you ever have produced such ill?  
Had your eternal minds been bent to good?  
Could humane happiness have proved so lame,  
Rapine, Revenge, Injustice, thirst of Blood,  
Grief, Anguish, Horror, Want, Despair and Shame,  
Had never found a Being nor a Name.  
'Tis therefore less impiety to say,  
Evil with you has Coeternity,  
Than blindly taking it the other way,  
That merciful and of election free,  
You did create the mischiefs you foresee.  
Wretch that I am, on Heaven to exclaim,  
When this poor tributary Worm below,  
More than myself in nothing but in name,  
Who durst invade me with this fatal Blow,  
I dare not crush in the revenge I owe.  
Not all his Power shall the wild Monster save;  
Him and my shame I'll tread into one Grave.  AEcius. 
Does he but seem so?  
Or is he mad indeed?— Now to reprove him,  
Were council lost; but something must be done  
With speed and care, which may prevent that Fate  
Which threatens this unhappy Emperor.  Max. 
O Gods! my Heart, would it would fairly break;  
Methinks I am somewhat wilder than I was,  
And yet I thank the Gods I know my Duty.  Enter Claudia. Claud. 
Forgive me my sad Tidings Sir— She's dead,  Max. 
Why so it should be— [He rises] How?  Claud. 
When first she entered  
Into the House, after a world of weeping,  
And blushing like the Sunset—  
Dare I, said she, defile my Husband's House,  
Wherein his spotless Family has flourished?  
At this she fell— Choked with a thousand sighs!  
And now the pleased expiring Saint,  
Her dying Looks, where new born Beauty shines,  
Oppressed with Blushes, modestly declines,  
While Death approached with a Majestic Grace,  
Proud to look lovely once in such a Face:  
Her Arms spread to receive her welcome Guest,  
With a glad sigh she drew into her Breast:  
Her Eyes then languishing towards Heaven she cast,  
To thank the Powers that Death was come at last.  
And at the approach of the cold silent God;  
Ten thousand hidden Glories rushed abroad.  Max. 
No more of this— begone. Now my AEcius,  
If thou wilt do me pleasure, weep a little;  
I am so parched I cannot— Your Example  
Has taught my tears to flow— Now lead away Friend,  
And as we walk together— Let us pray,  
I may not fall from truth,  AEcius. 
That's nobly spoken.  Max. 
Was I not wild, AEcius?  AEcius. 
You were troubled.  Max. 
I felt no sorrows then, but now my Grief,  
Like festering Wounds grown cold begins to smart,  
The raging Anguish gnaws and tears my Heart.  
Lead on and weep, but do not name the Woman.  Exeunt.  
The End of the fourth Act.   


ACT V. SCENE I.  AEcius Solus. A Letter. AEcius. 
LOOK down, ye equal Gods, and guide my heart,  
Or it will throw upon my hands an act  
Which after Ages shall record with horror:  
As well may I kill my offended Friend,  
As think to punish my offending Prince.  
The Laws of Friendship we ourselves create,  
And 'tis but simple Villainy to break 'em;  
But Faith to Princes broke, is Sacrilege,  
An injury to the Gods, And that lost Wretch  
Whose Breast is poisoned with so vile a Purpose,  
Tears Thunder down from Heaven on his own head,  
And leaves a Curse to his Posterity:  
Judge him yourselves, ye mighty Gods, who know  
Why you permit sometimes that Honour bleed,  
That Faith be broke, and Innocence oppressed.  
My Duty's my Religion, and howe'er  
The great Account may rise 'twixt him and you,  
Through all his Crimes I see your Image on him,  
And must protect it no way then but this,  
To draw far off the injured Maximus,  
And keep him there fast Prisoner to my Friendship;  
Revenge shall thus be flattered or destroyed,  
And my bad Master whom I blush to serve,  
Shall by my means at least be safe. This Letter  
Informs him I am gone to Egypt, there  
I shall live secure and innocent;  
His sins shall ne'er o'ertake me, nor his fears,  Enter Proculus. 
Here comes one for my Purpose, Proculus;  
Well met, I have a Courtesy to ask of you.  Proc. 
Of me, my Lord! Is there a House on fire?  
Or is there some knotty Point now in debate  
Betwixt your Lordship and the Scavengers?  
For you have such a popular, and public Spirit,  
As in dull times of Peace will not disdain  
The meanest opportunity to serve your Country.  AEcius. 
You witty Fools are apt to get your Heads broke:  
This is no season for Buffooning Sirrah;  
Though heretofore I tamely have endured  
Before th' Emperor your ridiculous Mirth,  
Think not you have a Title to be saucy;  
When Monkey's grow mischievous, they are whipped,  
Chained up and whipped. There has been mischief done,  
And you (I hear) a wretched Instrument:  
Look to't, when e'er I draw this Sword to punish,  
You and your grinning Crew will tremble, Slaves;  
Nor shall the ruined world afford a Corner  
To shelter you, nor that poor Prince's Bosom,  
You have envenomed and polluted so;  
As if the Gods were willing it should be  
A Dungeon for such Toads to crawl and croak in.  Proc. 
All this in earnest to your humblest Creature?  
Nay, than my Lord, I must no more pretend  
With my poor Talon to divert your Ears;  
Since my wellmeaning Mirth is grown offensive.  
Tho' Heaven can tell,  
There's not so low an Act of servile Duty,  
I would not with more Pride throw me self on,  
For great Aecius' sake, than gain a Province,  
Or share with Valentinian in his Empire.  AEcius. 
Thou art so fawning and so mean a Villain,  
That I disdain to hate, tho' I despise thee;  
When e'er thou art not fearful, thou art saucy;  
Be so again, my Pardon gives thee leave,  
And to deserve it, carry this my Letter  
To the Emperor: Tell him I am gone for Egypt,  
And with me, Maximus; 'twas scarce fit we two  
Should take our leaves of him: Pray use your Interest  
He may forgive us. 'Twill concern you much,  
For when we are gone, to be base vicious Villains,  
Will prove less dangerous— Exit AEcius.  Proc. 
What the Devil possesses  
This rusty Back and Breast without a Head-Piece?  
Villains and Vicious! Maximus and Egypt!  
This may be Treason, or I'll make it so:  
The Emperor's apt enough to fears and jealousies;  
Since his late Rape. I must blow up the fire,  
And aggravate this doting Hero's Notions,  
Till they such Terrors in the Prince have bred,  
May cost the Fool his worst part, that's his Head. Exit.   

SCENE II.  Enter Emperor, Lycinius, Chylax, and Balbus. Emp. 
Dead?  Balb. 
'Tis too certain.  Emp. 
How?  Lycin. 
Grief and Disgrace,  
As people say.  Emp. 
No more, I have too much on't,  
Too much by you. You whetters of my Follies;  
Ye Angel-formers of my sins; but Devils,  
Where is your cunning now? you would work Wonders.  
There was no Chastity above your practice;  
You'd undertake to make her love her Wrongs,  
And dote upon her Rape. Mark what I tell you,  
If she be dead!  Chy. 
Alas Sir!  Emp. 
Hang you Rascals.  
Ye blasters of my Youth, if she be gone,  
'Twere better ye had been your Father's Camels,  
Groaned under weights of Wool and Water.  
Am I not Caesar?  Lycin. 
Mighty, and our Maker—  Emp. 
Then thus have given my Pleasures to destruction—  
Look she be living, Slaves—  Chy. 
We are no Gods, Sir,  
If she be dead, to make her live again.  Emp. 
She cannot die, she must not die: are those  
I plant my Love upon but common livers?  
Their Hours told out to 'em? Can they be Ashes?  
Why do you flatter a belief in me,  
That I am all that is? The World my Creature;  
The Trees bring forth their Fruit, when I say Summer;  
The Wind that knows no limits but its wildness,  
At my command moves not a Leaf: The Sea,  
With his proud mountain-Waters envying Heaven,  
When I say still, runs into crystal Mirrors.  
Can I do this and she die? Why ye Bubbles,  
That with my least breath break, no more remembered,  
Ye Moths that fly about my Flames and perish;  
Why do ye make me God, that can do nothing?  
Is she not dead?  Chy. 
All Women are not dead with her.  Emp. 
A common Whore serves you, and far above you,  
The Pleasures of a Body lamed with lewdness,  
A mere perpetual Motion makes you happy.  
Am I a man to traffic with Diseases?  
You think, because ye have bred me up to Pleasures,  
And almost run me over all the rare ones,  
Your Wives will serve the turn; I care not for 'em,  
Your Wives are Fencers Whores, and shall be Footman's,  
Tho' sometimes my Fantastic Lust or Scorn,  
Has made you Cuckolds for variety;  
I would not have ye hope or dream, ye poor ones,  
Always so great a Blessing from me. Go,  
Get your own Infamy hereafter Rascals; ye enjoy  
Each one an Heir, the Royal Seed of Caesar,  
And I may curse ye for it.  
Thou Lycinius,  
Hast such a Messelina, such a Lais,  
The Backs of Bulls cannot content, nor Stallions,  
The sweat of fifty men a night does nothing.  Lycin. 
I hope Sir, you know better things of her.  Emp. 
'Tis Oracle,  
The City can bear witness, thine's a Fool, Chylax,  
Yet she can tell her twenty, and all Lovers,  
All have lain with her too; and all as she is,  
Rotten and ready for an Hospital:  
Yours is a holy Whore, friend Balbus.  Balb. 
Well Sir.  Emp. 
One that can pray away the Sins she suffers,  
But not the Punishment; she has had ten Bastards,  
Five of'em now are Lictors, yet she prays.  
She has been the Song of Rome and common Pasquil,  
Since I durst see a Wench, she was Camp-Mistress,  
And mustered all the Cohorts, paid 'em too,  
They have it yet to show, and yet she prays.  
She is now to enter old Men turned Children,  
That have forgot their Rudiments; and am I  
Left for these withered Vices? And was there but one,  
But one of all the World that could content me,  
And snatched away in showing? if your Wives  
Be not yet Witches, or yourselves? now be so,  
And save your Lives; raise me the dearest Beauty,  
As when I forced her full of Chastity,  
Or by the Gods—  Lycin. 
Most sacred Caesar—  Emp. 
Slaves.  Enter Proculus. Proc. 
Hail Caesar, Tidings of Concern and Danger,  
My Message does contain in furious manner,  
With Oaths and threatenings, stern AEcius,  
Enjoined me on the peril of my life,  
To give this Letter into Caesar's hands,  
Armed at all points, prepared to march he stands,  
With crowds of mutinous Officers about him,  
Among these, full of Anguish and Despair,  
Like pale Tisiphone along Hell-brinks,  
Plotting Revenge and Ruin— Maximus  
With Ominous aspect walks in silent horror,  
In threatning Murmurs and harsh broken speeches,  
They talk of Egypt and their Provinces,  
Of Cohorts ready with their lives to serve 'em,  
And then with bitter Curses they named you.  Emp. 
Go tell thy fears to thy Companions, Slave!  
For 'tis a Language Princes understand not;  
Be gone, and leave me to myself. Ex. all but Emperor.  
The names of AEcius and of Maximus,  
Run through me like a Fever, shake and burn me;  
But to my Slaves I must not show my poorness.  
They know me vicious, should they find me base,  
How would the Villains scorn me and insult?  Letter. He reads. 
Sir,  
Would some God inspire me with another way to serve you,  
I would not thus fly from you without leave; but  
Maximus his wrongs have touched too many, and should  
His presence here encourage 'em, dangers to you might follow;  
In Egypt he will be more forgot, and you more safe by his Absence.  Emp. 
A Plot, by Heaven! a Plot laid for my Life,  
This is too subtle for my dull friend AEcius;  
Heaven give you Sir, a better servant to guard you,  
A faithfuller you will never find than AEcius,  
Since he resents his Friend's Wrongs, he'll revenge 'em;  
I know the Soldiers love him more than Heaven,  
Me they hate more than Peace; what this may breed  
If dull security and confidence  
Let him grow up, a Fool may find and laugh at.  
Who waits there? Proculus.  Enter Proculus. 
Well, hast thou observed  
The growing power and pride of this AEcius?  
He writes to me with terms of Insolence,  
And shortly will rebel, if not prevented;  
But in my base lewd Herd of vicious Slaves,  
There's not a man that dares stand up to strike  
At my Command, and kill this rising Traitor.  Proc. 
The Gods forbid Caesar should thus be served,  
The Earth will swallow him, did you command it!  
But I have studied a safe sure way,  
How he shall die and your will ne'er suspected.  
A Soldiers waits without, whom he has wronged,  
Cashiered, disgraced, and turned to beg or starve.  
This fellow for revenge would kill the Devil;  
Encouragement of Pardon and Reward,  
Which in your name I'll give him instantly,  
Will make him fly more swiftly on the Murder,  
Than longing Lovers to their first appointment.  Emp. 
Thou art the wisest, watchful, wary Villain,  
And shalt partake the secrets of my soul,  
And ever feel my Favour and my Bounty.  
Tell the poor Soldier he shall be a General,  
AEcius once dead.  Proc. 
Ay, there you've found the point Sir,  
If he can be so brutish to believe it.  Emp. 
Oh never fear! urge it with Confidence.  
What will not flattered angry fools believe?  
Minutes are precious, lose not one.  Proc. 
I fly Sir— Exit Proculus.  Emp. 
What an infected Conscience do I live with,  
And what a Beast I'm grown? when Lust has gained  
An uncontrolled Dominion in man's Heart!  
Then fears succeed with horror and amazement,  
Which rack the wretch and tyrannize by turns.  
But hold—  
Shall I grow then so poor as to repent?  
Tho' AEcius, Mankind, and the Gods forsake me,  
I'll never alter and forsake myself.  
Can I forget the last discourse he held?  
As if he had intent to make me odious  
To my own face, and by a way of terror,  
What Vices I was grounded in, and almost  
Proclaimed the Soldiers hate against me. Is not  
The sacred Name and Dignity of Caesar?  
Were this AEcius more than man sufficient  
To shake off all his Honesty? He is dangerous,  
Tho' he be good, and tho' a Friend, a feared one,  
And such I must not sleep by; as for Maximus,  
I'll find a time when AEcius is dispatched.  
I do believe this Proculus, and I thank him;  
'Twas time to look about; if I must perish,  
Yet shall my fears go foremost, that's determined.  Exit Emperor.  

SCENE III.  Enter Proculus and Pontius. Proc. 
Besides this, if you do it, you enjoy  
The noble name of Patrician, more than that too;  
The Friend of Caesar you're styled. There's nothing  
Within the hopes of Rome, or present being,  
But you may safely say is yours.  Pont. 
Pray stay Sir.  
What has AEcius done to be destroyed?  
At least I would have a Colour.  Proc. 
You have more.  
Nay, all that can be given; he is a Traitor.  
One, any man would strike that were a Subject.  Pont. 
Is he so foul?  Proc. 
Yes, a most fearful Traitor.  Pont. 
A fearful Plague upon thee, for thou liest; Aside.  
I ever thought the Soldiers would undo him,  
With their too much Affection.  Proc. 
You have it.  
They have brought him to Ambition.  Pont. 
Then he is gone.  Proc. 
The Emperor, out of a foolish Pity,  
Would save him yet.  Pont. 
Is he so mad?  Proc. 
He's madder,  
Would go to th'Army to him.  Pont. 
Would he so?  Proc. 
Yes Pontius, but we consider.  Pont. 
Wisely.  Proc. 
How else man, that the State lies in it?  Pont. 
And your Lives?  Proc. 
And every man's.  Pont. 
He did me Aretus here.  
All the disgrace he could.  Proc. 
And scurvily.  Pont. 
Out of a Mischief merely. Did you mark it?  Proc. 
Yes, well enough.  
Now you have means to quit it;  
The Deed done, take his Place.  Pont. 
Pray let me think on't,  
'Tis ten to one I do it.  Proc. 
Do, and be happy— Exit Proculus.  Pont. 
This Emperor is made of nought but mischief,  
Sure Murder was his Mother. None to lop  
But the main Link he had? Upon my Conscience,  
The man is truly honest, and that kills him.  
For to live here, and study to be true,  
Is all one as to be a Traitor. Why should he die?  
Have they not Slaves and Rascals for their Offerings;  
In full abundance, Bawds, more than Beasts for slaughter?  
Have they not singing Whores enough, and Knaves besides,  
And millions of such Martyrs to sink Charon,  
But the best Sons of Rome must fall too? I will show him  
(Since he must die) a way to do it truly.  
And tho' he bears me hard, yet shall he know  
I'm born to make him bless me for a Blow. Exit.   

SCENE IU.  Enter Phidius, Aretus, and AEcius. Aret. 
The Treason is too certain; fly my Lord.  
I heard that Villain Proculus instruct  
The desperate Pontius to dispatch you here,  
Here in the Antichamber.  Phid. 
Cursed Wretches,  
Yet you may escape to the Camp, we'll hazard with you.  Aret. 
Lose not your Life so basely Sir; you are armed,  
And many when they see your Sword, and know why,  
Must follow your Adventures.  AEcius. 
Get ye from me.  
Is not the Doom of Caesar on this Body?  
Do I not bear my last hour here now sent me?  
Am I not old AEcius ever dying?  
You think this Tenderness and Love you bring me;  
'Tis Treason and the strength of Disobedience;  
And if ye tempt me further ye shall feel it.  
I seek the Camp for safety, when my Death,  
Ten times more glorious than my Life and lasting,  
Bids me be happy. Let Fools fear to die,  
Or he that weds a Woman for his Honour,  
Dreaming no other Life to come but Kisses.  
AEcius is not now to learn to suffer;  
If ye dare show a just affection, kill me,  
I stay but those that must; why do ye weep?  
Am I so wretched as to deserve men's Pity's?  
Go, give your Tears to those that lose their worths,  
Bewail their miseries: For me, wear Garlands,  
Drink Wine, and much. Sing Paeans to my Praise,  
I am to triumph, Friends, and more than Caesar,  
For Caesar fears to die, I love to die.  Phid. 
O my dear Lord!  AEcius. 
No more, go, go I say,  
Show me not signs of sorrow, I deserve none.  
Dare any man lament I should die nobly?  
When I am dead, speak honourably of me;  
That is, preserve my Memory from dying,  
There if you needs must weep your ruined Master,  
A Tear or two will seem well; This I charge you,  
(Because ye say ye yet love old AEcius.)  
See my poor Body burnt, and some to sing  
About my Pile what I have done and suffered.  
If Caesar kill not that too: At your Banquets,  
When I am gone, if any chance to number  
The times that have been sad and dangerous;  
Say how I fell, and 'tis sufficient.  
No more I say; he that laments my end,  
By all the Gods, dishonours me; be gone,  
And suddenly and wisely from my Dangers,  
My Death is catching else.  Phid. 
We fear not dying.  AEcius. 
Yet fear a wilful Death, the just Gods hate it,  
I need no Company to that, that Children  
Dare do alone, and Slaves are proud to purchase,  
Live till your honesties, as mine has done,  
Make this corrupted Age sick of your Virtues.  
Then die a Sacrifice, and then you'll know  
The noble use of dying well and Romans.  Aret. 
And must we leave you Sir?  AEcius. 
We must all die,  
All leave ourselves, it matters not where, when  
Nor how, so we die well. And can that man that does so,  
Need Lamentation for him? Children weep  
Because they have offended, or for fear;  
Women for want of Will and Anger; is there  
In noble man, that truly feels both Poises  
Of Life and Death, so much of this weakness,  
To drown a glorious Death in Child and Woman?  
I am ashamed to see you, yet you move me,  
And were it not my Manhood would accuse me,  
For covetous to live, I should weep with you.  Phid. 
O we shall never see you more!  AEcius. 
'tis true.  
Nor I the Miseries that Rome shall suffer,  
Which is a Benefit Life cannot reckon;  
But what I have been, which is just and faithful;  
One that grew old for Rome, when Rome forgot him,  
And for he was an honest man durst die.  
Ye shall have daily with you, could that die too,  
And I return no Traffic of my Travels,  
No Annals of old AEcius, but he lived.  
My Friends, ye had cause to weep, and bitterly;  
The common overflows of tender Women  
And Children new born; Crying were too little  
To show me then most wretched; if Tears must be,  
I should in justice weep 'em, and for you;  
You are to live, and yet behold those Slaughters,  
The dry and withered bones of Death would bleed at.  
But sooner than I have time to think what must be,  
I fear you'll find what shall be.  
If you love me,  
Let that word serve for all. Be gone, and leave me;  
I have some little practice with my Soul,  
And then the sharpest Sword is welcomest— God,  
Pray be gone. Ye have obeyed me living,  
Be not for shame now stubborn— So— I thank ye—  
And fare you well— A better Fortune guide ye.  Phid. 
What shall we do to save our best loved Master? Aside.  Aret. 
I'll to Affranius, who with half a Legion  
Lies in the old Subbura, all will rise  
For the brave AEcius.  Phid. 
I'll to Maximus,  
And lead him hither to prevent this Murder,  
Or help in the Revenge, which I'll make sure of.  Exit Phidius and Aretus. AEcius. 
I hear 'em come, who strikes first? I stay for you.  Enter Balbus, Chylax, Lycinius. 
Yet will I die a Soldier, my Sword drawn,  
But against none. Why do you fear? Come forward.  Balb. 
You were a Soldier Chylax.  Chy. 
Yes, I mustered,  
But never saw the Enemy.  Lycin. 
He's armed.  
By Heaven I dare not do it.  AEcius. 
Why do you tremble?  
I am to die. Come ye not from Caesar  
To that end? speak.  Balb. 
We do, and we must kill you.  
'Tis Caesar's Will.  Chy. 
I charge you put your Sword up,  
That we may do it handsomely.  AEcius. 
Ha, ha, ha!  
My Sword up! handsomely! where were you bred?  
You are the merriest Murderers, my Masters,  
I ever met withal. Come forward, Fools.  
Why do you stare? Upon my Honour, Bawds,  
I will not strike you.  Lycin. 
I'll not be first.  Balb. 
Nor I.  Chy. 
You had best die quietly. The Emperor  
Sees how you bear yourself.  AEcius. 
I would die, Rascals,  
If you would kill me quietly.  Balb. 
Plague on Proculus,  
He promised to bring a Captain hither,  
That has been used to kill.  AEcius. 
I'll call the Guard,  
Uuless you kill me quickly, and proclaim  
What beastly, base, cowardly Companions  
The Emperor has trusted with his safety;  
Nay, I'll give out you fell on my side, Villains;  
Strike home you bawdy Slaves.  Chy. 
He will kill us,  
I marked his hand, he waits but time to reach us;  
Now do you offer.  AEcius. 
If you do mangle me,  
And kill me not at two blows, or at three,  
Or not so, stagger me, my Senses fail me,  
Look to yourselves.  Chy. 
I told ye.  AEcius. 
Strike me manly,  
And take a thousand strokes. Enter Pontius.  Balb. 
Here's Pontius. Licinius runs away.  Pont. 
Not kill him yet?  
Is this the Love you bear the Emperor?  
Nay, than I see you are Traitors all; have at ye.  Chy. 
Oh I am hurt.  Balb. 
And I am killed— Exit Chylax and Balbus.  Pont. 
die Bawds,  
As you have lived and flourished.  AEcius. 
Wretched Fellow,  
What hast thou done?  Pont. 
Killed them that durst not kill,  
And you are next.  AEcius. 
Art thou not Pontius?  Pont. 
I am the same you cast, AEcius,  
And in the face of all the Camp disgraced.  AEcius. 
Then so much nobler, as thou art a Soldier,  
Shall my death be. Is it revenge provoked thee?  
Or art thou hired to kill me?  Pont. 
Both.  AEcius. 
Then do it.  Pont. 
Is that all?  AEcius. 
Yes.  Pont. 
Would you not live?  AEcius. 
Why should I?  
To thank thee for my Life?  Pont. 
Yes, if I spare it.  AEcius. 
Be not deceived, I was not made to thank  
For any Courtesy but killing me,  
A fellow of thy Fortune. Do thy Duty.  Pont. 
Do you not fear me?  AEcius. 
No.  Pont. 
Nor love me for it?  AEcius. 
That's as thou dost thy Business.  Pont. 
When you are dead, your Place is mine, AEcius.  AEcius. 
Now I fear thee,  
And not alone thee, Pontius, but the Empire.  Pont. 
Why? I can govern Sir.  AEcius. 
I would thou couldst,  
And first thyself: Thou canst fight well and bravely,  
Thou canst endure all Dangers, Heats, Colds, Hunger's;  
heavens' angry Flashes are not suddener,  
Than I have seen thee execute, nor more mortal,  
The winged feet-of flying Enemies,  
I have stood and seen thee mow away like Rushes,  
And still kill the Killers were thy mind  
But half so sweet in Peace as rough in Dangers,  
I died to leave a happy Heir behind me.  
Come strike and be a General—  Pont. 
Prepare then,  
And for I see your honour cannot lessen,  
And 'twere a shame for me to strike a dead man,  
Fight your short span out.  AEcius. 
No. Thou know'st I must not;  
I dare net give thee such advantage of me  
As Disobedience.  Pont. 
Dare you not defend you  
Against your Enemy?  AEcius. 
Not sent from Caesar?  
I have no power to make such Enemies,  
For as I am condemned, my naked Sword  
Stands but a Hatchment by me, only held  
To show I was a Soldier; had not Caesar  
Chained all defence in this Doom. Let him die,  
Old as I am, and quenched with Scars and Sorrows,  
Yet would I make this withered Arm do wonders,  
And open in an Enemy such wounds,  
Mercy would weep to look on.  Pont. 
Then have at you,  
And look upon me, and be sure you fear not,  
Remember who you are, and why you live,  
And what I have been to you: Cry not hold,  
Nor think it base injustice I should kill thee.  AEcius. 
I am prepared for all.  Pont. 
For now AEcius,  
Thou shalt behold and find I was no Traitor, Pontius kills himself.  
And as I do it, bless me— die as I do—  AEcius. 
Thou hast deceived me Pontius, and I thank thee,  
By all my Hopes in Heaven thou art a Roman.  Pont. 
To show you what you ought to do this is not;  
But noble Sir, you have been jealous of me,  
And held me in the Rank of dangerous persons,  
And I must dying say it was but justice,  
You cast me from my Credit, Yet believe me,  
For there is nothing now but truth to save me,  
And your forgiveness, tho' you hold me heinous  
And of a troubled Spirit that like fire  
Turns all to flames it meets with: You mistook me,  
If I were Foe to any thing, 'twas ease,  
Want of the Soldiers due.— The Enemy.  
The nakedness we found at home, and scorn  
Children of Peace and pleasures, no regard  
Nor comfort for our Scars, nor how we got 'em;  
To rusty time that eats our Bodies up,  
And even began to prey upon our hours,  
To Wants at home, and more than Wants, Abuses;  
To them that when the Enemy invaded,  
Made us their Saints, but now the Sores of Rome;  
To silken Flattery, and Pride plained over,  
Forgetting with what Wind their Fathers sailed,  
And under whose protection their soft pleasures  
Grow full and numberless. To this I am Foe,  
Not to the State or any point of Duty;  
And let me speak but what a Soldier may,  
Truly I ought to be so, yet I erred,  
Because a far more noble Sufferer,  
Showed me the way to Patience, and I lost it;  
This is the end I die for, to live basely,  
And not the follower of him that bred me,  
In full account and Virtue, Pontius dares not,  
Much less to outlive all that is good, and flatter.  AEcius. 
I want a Name to give thy Virtue, Soldier,  
For only good is far below thee, Pontius,  
The Gods shall find thee one: Thou hast fashioned Death  
In such an excellent and beauteous manner,  
I wonder men can live! Canst thou speak one word more?  
For thy words are such Harmony, a Soul  
Would choose to fly to Heaven in.  Pont. 
A farewell,  
Good noble General your hand: Forgive me,  
And think whatever was displeasing to you,  
Was none of mine, you cannot live.  AEcius. 
I will not,  
Yet one word more.  Pont. 
die nobly, Rome farewell,  
And Valentinian fall.  
In joy you have given me a quiet Death,  
I would strike more Wounds if I had more Breath Dies  AEcius. 
Is there an hour of goodness beyond this?  
Or any man that would outlive such Dying?  
Would Caesar double all my Honours on me,  
And stick me o'er with Favours like a Mistress;  
Yet would I grow to this man: I have Loved,  
But never doted on a Face till now.  
Oh Death! Thou art more than Beauty, and thy Pleasures  
Beyond Posterity: Come Friends and kill me.  
Caesar be kind and send a thousand Swords,  
The more the greater is my fall: why stay you?  
Come and I'll kiss your Weapons: fear me not;  
By all the Gods I'll honour ye for killing:  
Appear, or through the Court and World I'll search ye,  
I'll follow ye, and ere I die proclaim ye  
The Weeds of Italy; the dross of Nature,  
Where are ye Villains, Traitors, Slaves— Exit.   

SCENE V.  Valentinian and the Eunuch discovered on a Couch. Emp. 
Oh let me press these balmy Lips all day,  
And bathe my Love-scorched Soul in thy moist Kisses.  
Now by my Joys thou art all sweet and soft,  
And thou shalt be the Altar of my Love,  
Upon thy Beauties hourly will I offer,  
And pour out Pleasure and blessed Sacrifice,  
To the dear memory of my Lucina,  
No God, nor Goddess ever was adored  
With such Religion, as my Love shall be.  
For in these charming Raptures of my Soul,  
Clasped in thy Arms, I'll waste myself away,  
And rob the ruined World of their great Lord,  
While to the Honour of Lucina's Name,  
I leave Mankind to mourn the loss for ever.  

A SONG.  

1.  
KIndness hath resistless Charms,  
All besides can weakly move;  
Fiercest Anger it disarms,  
And clips the wings of flying Love.   

2.  
Beauty does the heart invade,  
Kindness only can persuade;  
It guilds the Lover's servile-chain,  
And makes the Slave grow pleased and vain.    Enter AEcius with two Swords. Emp. 
Ha!  
What desperate Madman weary of his Being,  
Presumes to press upon my happy Moment's?  
AEcius? And armed? Whence comes this impious Boldness?  
Did not my Will, the World's most sacred Law,  
Doom thee to die?  
And dar'st thou in Rebellion be alive?  
Is Death more frightful grown than Disobedience?  AEcius. 
Not for a hated Life condemned by you,  
Which in your Service has been still exposed  
To Pain and Labours, Famine, Slaughter, Fire,  
And all the dreadful Toils of horrid War!  
Am I thus lowly laid before your feet?  
For what mean Wretch, who has his Duty done,  
Would care to live, when you declare him worthless?  
If I must fall, which your severe Disfavour  
Hath made the easier and the nobler Choice,  
Yield me not up a wretched Sacrifice  
To the poor Spleen of a base Favourite.  
Let not vile Instruments destroy the man  
Whom once you loved: but let your hand bestow  
That welcome Death your anger has decreed.  Lays his Sword at his feet. Emp. 
Go, seek the common Executioner  
Old man, through vanity and years grown mad,  
Or to reprieve thee from the Hangman's stroke,  
Go, use thy military Interest  
To beg a milder Death among the Guards,  
And tempt my kindled Wrath no more with folly.  AEcius. 
Ill-counselled thankless Prince, you did indeed  
Bestow that Office on a Soldier;  
But in the Army could you hope to find  
With all your Bribes a Murderer of AEcius?  
Whom they so long have followed, known and owned  
Their God in War? and thy good Genius ever!  
Speechless and cold without, upon the Ground  
The Soldier lies, whose generous Death will teach  
Posterity true Gratitude and Honour.  
And press as heavily upon thy Soul,  
Lost Valentinian, as thy barbarous Rape.  
For which since Heaven alone must punish thee,  
I'll do heavens' justice on thy base Assister. Runs at Lycias.  Lycias. 
Save me, my Lord.  Emp. 
Hold honest AEcius, hold.  
I was too rash. Oh spare the gentle Boy!  
And I'll forgive thee all.  Lycias. 
Furies and Death. Dies.  Emp. 
He bleeds! mourn ye Inhabitants of Heaven!  
For sure my lovely Boy was one of you!  
But he is dead, and now ye may rejoice,  
For ye have stolen him from me, spiteful Powers!  
Empire and Life I ever have despised,  
The vanity of Pride, of Hope and Fear,  
In Love alone my Soul found real Joys!  
And still ye tyrannize and cross my Love.  
Oh that I had a Sword, Throws him a Sword.  
To drive this raving Fool headlong to Hell. Fight.  AEcius. 
Take your desire, and try if lawless Lust  
Can stand against Truth, Honesty and Justice!  
I have my Wish. Gods! Give you true Repentance,  
And bless you still: beware of Maximus.  They fight. Acius runs on the Emp. Sword, and falls. Dies. Emp. 
Farewell dull Honesty, which tho' despised,  
Canst make thy owner run on certain Ruin.  
Old AEcius! Where is now thy Name in War?  
Thy Interest with so many conquered Nations?  
The Soldier's Reverence, and the People's Love?  
Thy mighty Fame and Popularity?  
With which thou keptest me still in certain fear,  
Depending on thee for uncertain safety:  
Ah what a lamentable Wretch is he,  
Who urged by Fear or Sloth, yields up his power  
To hope protection from his Favourite?  
Wallowing in Ease and Vice? feels no Contempt,  
But wears the empty Name of Prince with scorn?  
And lives a poor lead Pageant to his Slave?  
Such have I been to thee, honest AEcius!  
Thy power kept me in awe, thy pride in pain,  
Till now I lived; but since thouart dead, I'll reign.  Enter Phidius with Maximus. Phid. 
Behold my Lord the cruel Emperor,  
By whose tyrannic Doom the noble AEcius  
Was judged to die.  Emp. 
He was so, saucy Slave!  
Struck by this hand, here grovelling at my feet  
The Traitor lies! as thou shalt do bold Villain!  
Go to the Furies, carry my Defiance, Kills him.  
And tell 'em, Caesar fears nor Earth nor Hell.  Phid. 
Stay AEcius, and I'll wait thy mightier Ghost.  
Oh Maximus, through the long vault of Death,  
I hear thy Wife cry out, revenge me!  
Revenge me on the Ravisher! no more  
Aretus comes to aid thee! oh farewell! Dies.  Emp. 
Ha! what not speak yet? thou whose wrongs are greatest;  
Or do the Horrors that we have been doing,  
Amaze thy feeble Soul? If thou art a Roman,  
Answer the Emperor: Caesar bids thee speak.  Max. 
A Roman? Ha! And Caesar bids thee speak?  
Pronounce thy Wrongs, and tell 'em o'er in Groans;  
But oh the Story is ineffable!  
Caesar's Commands, backed with the Eloquence  
Of all the inspiring Gods, cannot declare it.  
Oh Emperor, thou Picture of a Glory!  
Thou mangled Figure of a ruined Greatness!  
Speak, sayst thou? Speak the Wrongs of Maximus.  
Yes, I will speak. Imperial Murderer!  
Ravisher! Oh thou royal Villainy!  
In Purple dipped to give a Gloss to Mischief.  
Yet ere thy Death inriches my Revenge,  
And swells the Book of Fate, you statelier Madman,  
Placed by the Gods upon a Precipice,  
To make thy Fall more dreadful. Why hast thou slain  
Thy Friend? thy only Stay for sinking Greatness?  
What Frenzy, what blind Fury did possess thee,  
To cut off thy right Hand, and fling it from thee?  
For such was AEcius.  Emp. 
Yes, and such art thou;  
Joint Traitors to my Empire and my Glory.  
Put up thy Sword; be gone for ever, leave me,  
Tho' Traitor, yet because I once did wrong thee,  
Live Like a vagrant Slave. I banish thee.  Max. 
Hold me you Gods; and judge our Passions rightly,  
Lest I should kill him: kill this luxurious Worm,  
Ere yet a thought of Danger has awaked him.  
End him even in the midst of night-Debauches,  
Mounted upon a Tripos, drinking Healths  
With shallow Rascals, Pimps, Buffoons and Bawds,  
Who with vile Laughter take him in their Arms,  
And bear the drunken Caesar to his Bed,  
Where to the scandal of all Majesty,  
At every grasp he belches Provinces,  
Kisses off Fame, and at the Empire's ruin,  
Enjoys his costly Whore.  Emp. 
Peace Traitor, or thou diest.  
Tho' pale Lucina should direct thy Sword,  
I would assault thee if thou offer more.  Max. 
More? By the immortal Gods I will awake thee;  
I'll rouse thee Caesar, if strong Reason can,  
If thou hadst ever sense of Roman Honour,  
Or th' imperial Genius ever warmed thee.  
Why hast thou used me thus? for all my Service,  
My Toils, my Frights, my Wounds in horrid War?  
Why didst thou tear the only Garland from me,  
That could make proud my Conquests? Oh ye Gods!  
If there be no such thing as Right or Wrong,  
But Force alone must swallow all possession,  
Then to what purpose in so long descents  
Were Roman Laws observed or Heaven obeyed?  
If still the Great for Ease or Vice were formed,  
Why did our first King's toil? Why was the Blow  
Advanced to be the Pillar of the State?  
Why was the lustful Tarquin with his House  
Expelled, but for the Rape of bleeding Lucrece?  Emp. 
I cannot bear thy words. Vexed Wretch no more.  
He shocks me. Prithee Maximus no more.  
Reason no more; thou troublest me with Reason.  Max. 
What servile Rascal, what most abject Slave,  
That licked the Dust where ere his Master trod,  
Bounded not from the Earth upon his feet,  
And shook his Chain, that heard of Brutus Vengeance?  
Who that ere heard the Cause, applauded not  
That Roman-Spirit, for his great Revenge?  
Yet mine is more, and touches me far nearer:  
Lucrece was not his Wife as she was mine,  
For ever ravished, ever lost Lucina.  Emp. 
Ah name her not! That Name, thy Face, and Reason,  
Are the three things on Earth I would avoid:  
Let me forget her, I'll forgive thee all,  
And give thee half the Empire to be gone.  Max. 
Thus steeled with such a Cause, what Soul but mine  
Had not upon the instant ended thee?  
Sworn in that moment.— Caesar is no more;  
And so I had. But I will tell thee Tyrant,  
To make thee hate thy Guilt, and curse thy Fears,  
AEcius, whom thou hast slain, prevented me;  
AEcius, who on this bloody Spot lies murdered  
By barbarous Caesar, watched my vowed Revenge,  
And from my Sword preserved ungrateful Caesar.  Emp. 
How then dar'st thou, viewing this great Example,  
With impious Arms assault thy Emperor?  Max. 
Because I have more Wit than Honesty,  
More of thyself, more Villainy than Virtue,  
More Passion, more Revenge, and more Ambition,  
Than foolish Honour, and fantastic Glory.  
What share your Empire? Suffer you to live?  
After the impious Wrongs I have received,  
Couldst thou thus lull me, thou might'st laugh indeed.  Emp. 
I am satisfied that thou didst ever hate me,  
Thy Wife's Rape therefore was an act of Justice,  
And so far thou hast eased my tender Conscience.  
Therefore to hope a Friendship from thee now,  
Were vain to me, as is the World's Continuance,  
Where solid pains succeed our senseless joys,  
And short-lived pleasures fleet like passing Dreams.  
AEcius, I mourn thy Fate as much as man  
Can do in my condition, that am going,  
And therefore should be busy with myself:  
Yet to thy memory I will allow  
Some grains of Time, and drop some sorrowing Tears.  
Oh AEcius! oh!  Max. 
Why this is right, my Lord,  
And if these Drops are orient, you will set  
True Caesar, glorious in your going down,  
Tho' all the Journey of your Life was cloudy.  
Allow at least a Possibility,  
Where Thought is lost, and think there may be Gods,  
An unknown Country after you are dead,  
As well as there was one ere you were born.  Emp. 
I've thought enough, and with that thought resolve  
To mount Imperial from the burning Pile.  
I grieve for AEcius! Yes, I mourn him, Gods,  
As if I had met my Father in the dark,  
And striving for the Way had murdered him.  
Oh such a faithful Friend! that when he knew  
I hated him, and had contrived his Death,  
Yet than he ran his Heart upon my Sword,  
And gave a fatal proof of dying Love.  Max. 
'Tis now fit time, I've wrought you to my purpose,  
Else at my entrance with a brutal Blow,  
I'd felled you like a Victim for the Altar,  
Not warned you thus, and armed you for your hour,  
As if when ere Fate called a Caesar home,  
The judging Gods looked down to mark his dying.  Emp. 
Oh subtle Traitor! how he dallies with me?  
Think not thou saucy Counsellor, my Slave,  
Tho' at this moment I should feel thy Foot  
Upon my Neck, and Sword within my Bowels,  
That I would ask a Life from thee. No Villain,  
When once the Emperor is at thy Command,  
Power, Life and Glory must take leave for ever.  
Therefore prepare the utmost of thy malice;  
But to torment thee more, and show how little  
All thy Revenge can do, appears to Caesar.  
Would the Gods raise Lucina from the Grave,  
And fetter thee but while I might enjoy her,  
Before thy Face I'd ravish her again.  Max. 
Hark, hark Aretus, and the Legions come.  Emp. 
Come all, Aretus, and the Rebel Legions;  
Let AEcius too part from the Gaol of Death,  
And run the flying race of Life again.  
I'll be the foremost still, and snatch fresh Glory  
To my last Gasp, from the contending World;  
Garlands and Crowns too shall attend my Dying;  
Statues and Temples, Altars shall be raised  
To my great Name, while your more vile Inscriptions  
Time rots, and mouldering Clay is all your Portion.  Enter Aretus and Soldiers. They kill the Emperor. Max. 
Lead me to Death or Empire, which you please,  
For both are equal to a ruined man:  
But fellow-soldiers, if you are my Friends,  
Bring me to Death, that I may there find peace,  
Since Empire is too poor to make amends  
For half the Losses I have undergone,  
A true Friend and a tender faithful Wife,  
The two blessed Miracles of humane Life.  
Go now and seek new Worlds to add to this,  
Search Heaven for Blessings to enrich the gift,  
Bring Power and Pleasure on the wings of Fame,  
And heap this Treasure upon Maximus,  
You'll make a great man not a happy one;  
Sorrows so just as mine must never end,  
For my Love ravished, and my murdered Friend. Ex. omnes.     

Epilogue.  Written by a Person of Quality. 
'TIS well the Scene is laid remote from hence,  
'Twould bring in question else our Author's sense.  
Two monstrous things, produced for this our Age,  
And no where to be seen but on the Stage.  
A Woman ravished, and a Great man wise,  
Nay honest too, without the least disguise.  
Another Character deserves great blame,  
A Cuckold daring to revenge his shame.  
Surly, ill-natured Roman, wanting wit,  
Angry when all true Englishmen submit,  
Witness the Horns of the well-headed Pit.  
Tell me ye fair ones, pray now tell me, why  
For such a fault as this to bid me die.  
Should Husbands thus command, and Wives obey,  
'Twould spoil our Audience for the next new Play,  
Too many wanting who are here to day.  
For I suppose if ere that happened to ye,  
'Twas force prevailed, ye said he would undo ye.  
Struggling, cried out, but all alas in vain,  
Like me ye underwent the killing pain.  
Did you not pity me, lament each groan,  
When lest with the wild Emperor alone?  
I know in thought ye kindly bore a part,  
Each had her Valentinian in her heart.  
FINIS.