THEODOSIUS: OR, The force of Love. A TRAGEDY.  
ACTED BY Their ROYAL highness's Servants, AT THE Duke's Theatre.  
Written by NAT. LEE.  
WITH THE MUSIC betwixt the ACTS.  
╌Nec minus periculum ex magna  
Fama quam ex mala.  Tacit. 
LONDON, Printed for R. Bentley and M. Magnes, in Russel-street, near Covent-garden. 1680.   

The PERSONS.  
Theodosius. Mr. Williams. Varanes. Mr. Betterton. Marcian. Mr. Smith. Lucius. Mr. Wiltshire. Atticus, Chief Priest. Mr. Bowman. Leontine. Mr. Leitherfull. Chorus.   
Pulcheria. Mrs. Betterton. Athenais. Mrs. Barry. Julia.  Delia.  Attendants, Singers.   
The SCENE CONSTANTINOPLE.   

PROLOGUE.  
WIT 〈◊〉 oppressed, and filled at last with rage,  
Thus in a sullen mood rebukes thee Age.  
What loads of Fame do modern Hero's bear,  
For an inglorious, long, and lazy War?  
Who for some skirmish or a safe Retreat,  
(Not to be dragged to Battle) are called Great.  
But oh, what do ambitious Statesmen gain!  
Who into private Chests whole Nations drain?  
What sums of Gold they hoard is daily known,  
To all men's cost, and sometimes to their own.  
Your Lawyer too, that like an O Yes bawls,  
That drowns the Market-Higler in the Stalls,  
That seems begot, conceived, and born in brawls;  
Yet thrives: He and his crowd get what they please,  
Swarming all Termtime through the Strand like Bees,  
They buzz at Westminster, and lie for Fees.  
The godly too their ways of getting have;  
But none so much as your Fanatic Knave:  
Wisely the wealthiest Livings they refuse,  
Who by the fattest Bishoprics would lose;  
Who with short hair, large Ears, and small blue Band,  
True Rogues, their own, not God's Elect, command.  
Let Pigs then be profane; but Broths allowed,  
Possets and Christian Caudles may be good,  
Meet helps to reinforce a Brother's blood;  
Therefore each Female Saint he does advise,  
With groans, and hums, and has, and gogling eyes,  
To rub him down, and make the Spirit rise.  
While with his zeal transported, from the ground  
He mounts, and sanctifies the Sister's round.  
On Poets only no kind Star e'er smilled;  
Cursed Fate has damned 'em every Mother's Child:  
Therefore he warns his Brothers of the Stage  
To write no more to an ingrateful age.  
Think what penurious Masters you have served;  
Tasso ran mad, and noble Spencer starved:  
Turn then, who e'er thou art that canst write well,  
Thy Ink to Gaul, and in Lampoons excel.  
Forswear all honesty, traduce the Great,  
Grow impudent, and rail against the State;  
Bursting with spleen, abroad thy Pasquil's send,  
And choose some Libel-spreader for thy Friend:  
The Wit and Want of Timon point thy mind,  
And for thy Satyr-subject choose Mankind.  THEODOSIUS.  

To her Grace the Duchess of Richmond.  
MADAM,  
THE Reputation that this Play received on the Stage, some few Errors excepted, was more than I could well hope from so Censorions an Age, from whom I ask but so much necessary Praise as will serve, once or twice a Year at most, to gain their good Company, and just keep me alive. 
There is not now that Mankind that was then,  
When as the Sun and Man did seem to strive  
(joint-tenants of the World) who should survive:  
When if a slow-paced Star had stolen away,  
From the Observer's marking, he might stay  
Two or three hundred Years to see't again,  
And then make up his Observation plain.  Dr. Donn.  
For 'tis impossible in our limited Time (and I bring his Opinion to back my own, who is without comparison the best Writer of the Age) to present our Judges a Poem half so perfect as we could make it. I must acknowledge, Madam, with all humility, I ought to have taken more time and more pains in this Tragedy, because it is dedicated to Your Grace, who being the best Judge, (and therefore can when You please make us tremble) yet with exceeding Mercy have pardoned the defects of Theodosius, and given it Your entire Approbation. My Genius, Madam, was Your Favourite when the Poet was unknown, and openly received Your Smiles before I had the Honour to pay Your Grace the most submissive Gratitude for so illustrious and advantageous a Protection. To let the World too know that You do not think it beneath You to be officiously Good, even from extremest Heights to discern the lowest Creatures, and give them all the Noblest Influence You can, You brought Her Royal Highness just at the exigent Time, whose single Presence, on the Poet's Day, is a Subsistence for him all the Year after. Ah, Madam, if all the short-lived Happiness that miserable Poets can enjoy consit in Commendation only; nay, if the most part are content with popular Breath, and even for that are thankful: How shall I express myself to Your Grace, who by a particular Goodness, and innate Sweetness, merely for the sake of doing well, have thus raised me above myself. To have Your Grace's Favour is, in a word, to have the Applause of the whole Court, who are its Noblest Ornament, magnificent and eternal Praise. Something there is in Your Mien so much above that we vulgarly call Charming, that to me it seems Adorable, and Your Presence almost Divine, whosedazling and Majestic Form is a proper Mansion for the most elevated Soul: And let me tell the World, nay, sighing speak it to a Barbarous Age (I cannot help calling it so, when I think of Rome and Greece) Your extraordinary Love for Heroic Poetry is not the least Argument to show the Greatness of Your Mind, and fullness of Perfection. To hear You speak with that infinite Sweetness and Cheerfulness of Spirit that is natural to Your Grace, is methinks to hear our Tutelar Angels: 'Tis to bemoan the present malicious Times, and remember the Golden Age: But to behold you too, is to make Prophets quite forget their Heaven, and bind the Poets with eternal Rapture. 
Here pure and eloquent Blood  
Spoke in her Cheeks, and so distinctly wrought,  
That one might almost say, her Body thought.  
You for whose Body God made better Clay,  
Or took Souls Stuff, such as shall late decay,  
Or such as need small change at the last day.  Dr. Donn.  
Ziphares and Semandra were first Your Grace's Favourites; and though I ought not, Madam, to praise Your Wit by your Judgement of my Painting, yet I must say, Such Characters every Dauber cannot draw. It has been often observed against me, That I abound in ungoverned Fancy; but I hope the World will pardon the Sallies of Youth: Age, Despondence, and Dulness come too fast of themselves. I discommend no Man for keeping the beaten Road; but I am sure the Noble Hunters that follow the Game, must leap Hedges and Ditches sometimes, and run at all, or never come in to the fall of the Quarry. My comfort is, I cannot be so ridiculous a Creature to any Man as I am to myself: for, who should know the House so well as the good Man at home? who, when his Neighbours come to see him, still sets the best Rooms to view; and, if he be not a wilful Ass, keeps the Rubbish and Lumber in some dark Hole, where no body comes but himself, to mortify at melancholy, Hours. But how then, Madam, in this unsuitable condition, how shall I answer the infinite Honours and Obligations Your Grace has laid upon me? Your Grace, who is the most beautiful Idea of Love and Glory; who, to that Divine Composition, have the noblest and best-natured Wit in the World. All I can promise, Madam, and be able to perform, is, That your Grace shall never see a Play of mine that shall give offence to Modesty and Virtue; and what I humbly offer to the World, shall be of use at least, and I hope deserve imitation; which is, or aught to be, I am sure, the Design of all Tragedies and Comedies both Ancient and Modern. I should presume to promise myself too some Success in things of this nature, if. Your Grace (in whom the Charms of Beauty, Wit, and Goodness seem reconciled) at a leisure Hour would condescend to correct with Your excellent Judgement, the Errors of,  
MADAM, Your Grace's most humble, most obedient, and devoted Servant, NAT. LEE.   

THEODOSIUS: OR, THE Force of Love.  


ACT I. SCENE I.  A stately Temple, which represents the Christian Religion, as in its first Magnificence: Being but lately established at Rome and Constantinople. The Side Scenes show the horrid Tortures, with which the Roman Tyrants persecuted the Church, and the Flat Scene, which is the Limit of the Prospect, discovers an Altar richly adorned, before it Constantine, supposed kneels, with Commanders about him, gazing at a bloody Cross in the Air, which being encompassed with many Angels, offers itself to view, with these words distinctly written, (In hoc signo vinces!) Instruments are heard, and many Attendants: The Ministers at Divine Service, walk busily up and down, till Atticus, the Chief of all the Priests, and Successor of St. Chrysostom, in rich Robes, comes forward with the Philosopher Leontine: The Waiters in Ranks bowing all the way before him. A Chorus heard at distance. 
Prepare, prepare! the Rites begin,  
Let none unhallowed enter in,  
The Temple with new Glory shines,  
Adorn the Altars, wash the Shrines,  
And purge the place from Sin.  Attic. 
O Leontine! was ever Morn like this,  
Since the Celestial Incarnation dawned?  
I think no Day since that, such Glory gave  
To Christian Altars, as this Morning brings.  Leont. 
Great Successor of holy Chrysostom,  
Who now triumphs above a Saint of Honour.  
Next in degree to those bright Sons of Heaven;  
Who never fell, nor stained their Orient Beams:  
What shall I answer? How shall I approach you  
Since my Conversion, which your breath inspired?  Attic. 
To see this Day, th' Emperor of the East,  
Leaves all the Pleasures that the Earth can yield,  
That Nature can bestow, or Art invent,  
In his Life's spring, and bloom of gaudy years,  
To undergo the Penance of a Cloister,  
Confined to narrow Rooms, and gloomy Walks,  
Fast, and Exercises of Devotion,  
Which from his Bed at midnight must awake him,  
Methinks, O Leontine! is something more,  
Than yet Philosophy could ever reach.  Leont. 
True, Atticus; you have amazed my reason.  Attic. 
Yet more, to our Religious lasting honour,  
Marina and Flavilla, two young Virgins,  
Imperial born, cast in the fairest mould,  
That e'er the hands of Beauty formed for Woman;  
The Mirrors of our Court, where Chastity  
And Innocence might copy spotless Lustre;  
To Day with Theodosius leave the World.  Leont. 
Methinks at such a glorious resignation,  
The Angelic Orders should at once descend,  
In all the Paint and Drapery of Heaven;  
With charming Voices, and with lulling Strings,  
To give full Grace to such Triumphant Zeal.  Attic. 
No, Leontine; I fear there is a fault:  
For when I last confessed th' Emperor,  
Whether disgust and melancholy Blood,  
From restless Passions, urged not this Divorce?  
He only answered me with Sighs and lushes;  
'Tis sure, his Soul is of the tenderest make:  
Therefore, I'll tax him strictly; but, my Friend,  
Why should give his Character to you,  
Who when his Father sent him into Persia,  
Were by that mighty Monarch then appointed  
To breed him with his Son, the Prince Varanes.  Leont. 
And what will raise your Admiration, is,  
That two such different Tempers should agree:  
You know that Theodosius is composed  
Of all the softness that should make a Woman,  
Judgement almost like fear foreruns his Actions;  
And he will poise an Injury so long,  
As if he had rather pardon than revenge it:  
But the young Persian Prince quite opposite,  
So Fiery sierce, that those who view him nearly  
May see his haughty Soul still mounting in his Face;  
Yet did I study these so different Tempers,  
Till I at last had formed a perfect Union,  
As if two Souls did but inform one Body.  
A friendship that may challenge all the World,  
And at the proof be matchless.  Attic. 
I long to read  
This Gallant Prince, who, as you have informed me,  
Comes from his Father's Court to see our Emperor.  Leon. 
So he intnded till he came to Athens;  
And at my homely board beheld my Daughter;  
Where, as Fate ordered, she who never saw  
The Glories of a Court, bred up to Books  
In Closets like a Sybil. She ay say,  
Long since from Persia brought by me to Athens!  
Unskilled in Charms, but those which Nature gave her,  
Wounded this scornful Prince: In short, he forced me  
To wait him thither, with deep protestations,  
That Moment that bereft him of the sight.  
Of Athenais, gave him certain Death.  Enter Varanes, and Athenais. 
But see my Daughter honoured with his presence.  Vara. 
'Tis strange! O Athenais! wondrous, all  
Wondrous the Shrines, and wonderful the Altars!  
The Martyrs, though but drawn in painted Flames,  
Amaze me with the Image of their sufferings:  
Saints Canonised that dared with Roman Tyrants.  
Hermits that lived in Caves, and fed with Angels,  
By Orosmades, it is wondrous all.  
That bloody Cross, in yonder Azure Sky,  
Above the Head of kneeling Constantine;  
Inscribed about with Golden Characters:  
Thou shalt overcome in this. If it be true,  
I say again, by Heaven 'tis wondrous strange.  Athen. 
O Prince, if thus Imagination stirs you  
A fancy raised from figures in dead Walls,  
How would the Sacred Breath of Atticus  
Inspire your Breast, purge all your dross away,  
And drive this Athenais from your Soul,  
To make a Virgin Room, whom yet the Mould  
Of your rude Fancy cannot comprehend.  Vara. 
What says my Fair? Drive Athenais from me:  
Start me not into Frenzy, lest I rail  
At all Religion, and fall out with Heaven:  
And what is she alas! that should supplant thee?  
Were she the Mistress of the World, as fair  
As Winter Stars, or Summer setting Suns,  
And thou set by in Nature's plainest Dress,  
With that chaste modest look when first I saw thee?  
The Heiress of a poor Philosopher,  [Recorders ready to flourish. 
I swear by all I wish, by all I love,  
Glory and thee, I would not lose a thought,  
Nor cast an Eye that way, but rush to thee,  
To these loved arms, and lose myself for ever.  Athenais. 
Forbear, my Lord.  Vara. 
O cruel Athenais!  
Why dost thou put me off, who pine to death?  
And thrust me from thee when I would approach thee?  
Can there be aught in this? Curse then thy birthright,  
Thy glorious Titles and ill-suited Greatness,  
Since Athenais scorns thee: Take again  
Your ill-timed Honours; take 'em, take 'em Gods!  
And change me to some humble Villager,  
If so at least for toils at scorching Noon,  
In mowing Meadows, or in reaping Fields,  
At night she will but crown me with a smile,  
Or reach the bounty of her hand to bless me.  Athen. 
When Princes speak, their Subjects should be silent,  
Yet with humility I would demand,  
Wherein appears my scorn, or my aversion?  
Have I not for your sake abandoned home,  
Where I had vowed to spend my calmer days?  
But you perhaps imagine it but little  
For a poor Maid to follow you abroad,  
Especially the Daughter of old Leontine,  
Yet I must tell you Prince╌  Vara. 
I cannot bear  
Those Frowns: I have offended, but forgive me.  
For who, Athenais, that is tossed  
With such tempestuous tides of love as I,  
Can steer a steady course? Retire, my Fair,  [Recorders flourish. 
Hark! the Solemnities are now beginning,  
And Theodosius comes: Hide, hide thy Charms,  
If to his clouded Eyes such Day should break,  
The Royal Youth who dotes to Death for Love,  
I fear would forfeit all his Vows to Heaven,  
And six upon thy World, thy World of Beauty.  [Exeunt. Enter Theodosius leading Marina and Flavilla (all three dressed in white) followed by Pulcheria. Theo. 
Farewell, Pulcheria! and I pray, no more:  
For all thy kind Complaints are lost upon me.  
Have I not sworn the World and I must part?  
Fate has proclaimed it, therefore weep no more,  
Wound not the tenderest part of Theodosius,  
My yielding Soul, that would expire in Calms!  
Wound me not with thy Tears, and I will tell thee,  
Yet ere I take my last farewell for ever,  
The cause of all my sufferings: O, my Sister!  
A bleeding Heart, the stings of pointed Love,  
What Constitution soft as mine can bear?  Pulch. 
My Lord, my Emperor, my dearest Brother,  
Why all this while did you conceal it from me?  Theo. 
Because I was ashamed to own my Weakness,  
I knew thy sharper Wit, and stricter Wisdom  
Would dart Reproofs, which I could not endure  
Draw near, O Atticus, and mark me well,  
For never yet did my complaining Spirit  
Unlaid this weighty Secret upon him,  
Nor groan a syllable of her Oppression.  Attic. 
Concealment was a fault; but speak at large,  
Make bare the Wound, and I will pour in Balm.  Theo. 
'Tis folly all, and fondness╌O, remembrance!  
Why dost thou open thus my Wound again,  
And from my Heart call down those warmer drops  
That make me die with shame? Hear then, Pulcheria!  
Some few preceding days before I left  
The Persian Court, hunting one morning early,  
I lost myself and all the Company,  
Still wandering on as Fortune would direct me,  
I passed a Rivulet, and alighted in  
The sweetest Solitude I ever saw!  
When straight, as if Enchantment had been there,  
Two charming Voices drew me till I came,  
Where divers Arbours overlookt the River.  
Upon the Osier Bank two Women sat,  
Who, when their Song was ended, talked to one,  
Who, bathing, stood far in the Crystal stream.  
But, oh, what thought can paint that fair Perfection,  
Or give a glimpse of such a naked Glory!  
Not Sea-born Venus, in the Courts beneath,  
When the green Nymphs first kissed her Coral Lips,  
All polished, fair, and washed with Orient Beauty,  
Could in my dazzling Fancy match her brightness.  Attic. 
Think where you are?  Theo. 
O! Sir, you must forgive me,  
The chaste Enthusiastic Form appears,  
As when I saw her; yet I swear, Pulcheria,  
Had cold Diana been a looker or  
She must have praised the Virtues of the Virgin,  
The Satyrs could not gain, for she was veiled:  
Nothing immodest, from her naked Bosom  
Down to her knees, the Nymph was wrapped in Lawn:  
But oh for me! for me, that was too much!  
Her Legs, her Arms, her Hands, her Neck, her Breasts,  
So nicely shaped, so matchless in their Lustre!  
Such all-perfection, that I took whole draughts  
Of killing Love, and ever since have languished  
With lingering surfeits of her fatal Beauty!  
Alas, too fatal sure! O Atticus!  
Forgive me, for my story now is done,  
The Nymph was dressed, and with her two Companions,  
Having descried me, shrieked and fled away,  
Leaving me motionless, till Leontine,  
Th' Instructor of my Youth, by chance came in,  
And waked me from the wonder that entranced me.  Attic. 
Behold, my Lord, the Man whom you have named,  
The Harbinger of Prince Varanes here.  Theod. 
O Leontine! ten thousand Welcomes meet thee!  
Thou Foster-Father of my tender Youth,  
Who reared the Plant, and pruned it with such Care;  
How shall I look upon thee, who am fallen  
From all the Principles of manlier reason,  
By thee infused, to more than Woman's weakness?  
Now by the Majesty Divine, that awes  
This sacred place, I swear you must not kneel:  
And tell me, for I have a thousand things  
To ask thee; Where, where is my Godlike Friend?  
Is he arrived, and shall I see his Face,  
Before I am cloistered from the World for ever?  Leont. 
He comes, my Lord, with all the expecting Joys  
Of a young promised Lover, from his Eyes  
Big hopes look forth, and boiling Fancy forms  
Nothing but Theodosius still before him;  
His thought, his every word, is Theodosius.  Theo. 
Yet Leontine, yet answer me once more:  
With tremblings I demand thee.  
Say╌hast thou seen? Oh, has that Heavenly form  
Appeared to thee again? Behold he's dumb:  
Proceed then to the Solemn last farewell;  
Never was Man so willing, and prepared.  Enter Varanes, Aranthes, Attendants. Vara. 
Where is my Friend! oh where is my beloved,  
My Theodosius! point him out ye Gods,  
That I may press him dead betwixt my Arms;  
Devour him thus with overhasty Joys,  
That languish at his Breast, quite out of breath,  
And cannot utter more.  Theo. 
Thou mightiest Pleasure!  
And greatest Blessing, that kind Heaven could send,  
To glad my parting Soul, a thousand Welcomes!  
O, when I look on thee, new starts of Glory  
Spring in my Breast, and with a backward bound  
I run the Race of lusty Youth again.  Vara. 
By Heaven it joys me too, when I remember  
Our thousand Pastimes, when we borrowed Names;  
Alcides, I, and Thou, my dearest Theseus,  
When through the Woods, we chased the foaming Boar,  
With Hounds that opened like Thessalian Bulls,  
Like Tigers flued, and sanded as the shore,  
With Ears, and Chests, that dashed the morning Dew:  
Driven with the Sport, as Ships are tossed in Storms,  
We ran like Winds, and matchless was our Course;  
Now sweeping o'er the limit of a Hill!  
Now with a full Career come thundering down  
The Precipice! and sweat along the Valerius  Theo. 
O glorious time! and when the gathering Clouds  
Have called us home, say, Did we rest, my Brother?  
When on the Stage, to the admiring Court,  
We strove to represent Alcides' Fury,  
In all that raging Heat, and pomp of Madness,  
With which the stately Seneca adorned him:  
So lively drawn, and painted with such horror,  
That we were forced to give it o'er; so loud  
The Virgins shrieked, so fast they died away.  Vara. 
My Theodosius still; 'tis my loved Brother;  
And by the Gods we'll see those times again!  
Why then has Rumour wronged thee, that reported  
Christian Enthusiasm had charmed thee from us,  
That drawn by Priests, and worked by Melancholy,  
Thou hadst laid the golden Reins of Empire down,  
And sworn thyself a Votary for ever?  Theo. 
'Tis almost true; and had not you arrived,  
The solemn business had by this been ended.  
This I have made the Empress of the East,  
My elder Sister: These with me retire,  
Devoted to the Power, whom we adore.  Vara. 
What Power is that that merits such Oblations?  
I thought the Sun more great and glorious,  
Than any that e'er mingled with the Gods;  
Yet even to him my Father never offered  
More than a Hecatomb of Bulls and Horses:  
Now by those golden Beams, that glad the World,  
I swear it is too much: For one of these,  
But half so bright, our God would drive no more,  
He'd leave the darkened Globe, and in some Cave  
Enjoy such Charms for ever.  Attic. 
My Lord, forbear!  
Such Language does not suit with our Devotion:  
Nothing profane must dare to murmur here.  
Nor stain the hallowed Beauties of the Place.  
Yet thus far we must yield; the Emperor  
Is not enough prepared to leave the World.  Vara. 
Thus low, most Reverend of this sacred place,  
I kneel for Pardon, and am half converted,  
By your permission that my Theodosius  
Return to my Embraces. O my Brother!  
Why dost thou droop? There will be time enough  
For Prayer and Fasting, and Religious Vows;  
Let us enjoy, while yet thou art my own,  
All the Magnificence of Eastern Courts;  
I hate to walk a lazy Life away:  
Let's run the Race which Fate has set before us,  
And post to the dark Goal.  Theo. 
Cruel Destiny!  
Why am not I thus too? O my Varanes!  
Why are these costly Dishes set before me?  
Why do these sounds of Pleasure strike my Ears?  
Why are these Joys brought to my sick remembrance;  
Who have no appetite; but am to sense,  
From Head to Foot, all a dead Palsy o'er?  Vara. 
Fear not, my Friend, all shall be well again,  
For I have thousand ways, and thousand stories  
To raise thee up to Pleasure, we'll unlock  
Our fastest Secrets, shed upon each other  
Our tenderest Cares, and quite unbarr those Doors,  
Which shall be shut to all Mankind beside.  Attic. 
Silence and Reverence are the Temple's dues:  
Therefore, while we pursue the Sacred Rites,  
Be these observed, or quit the awful place,  
Imperial Sisters, now twin-stars of Heaven,  
Answer the Successor of Chrysostom;  
Without least Reservation answer me;  
By those harmonious Rules I charged ye learn.  Atticus Sings. Attic. 

Canst thou, Marina, leave the World,  
The World that is Devotion's bane;  
Where Crowns are tossed, and Sceptres hurled,  
Where Lust and proud Ambition Reign?   2 Priest. 

Can you your costly Robes forbear,  
To live with us in poor Attire?  
Can you from Courts to Cells repair,  
To sing at midnight in our Choir?   3 Priest. 

Can you forget your golden Beds,  
Where you might sleep beyond the morn,  
On Mats to lay your Royal Heads,  
And have your beauteous Tresses shorn?   Attic. 

Can you resolve to fast all Day,  
And weep and groan to be forgiven?  
Can you in broken slumbers pray,  
And by affliction merit Heaven?   Chor. 

Say, Votaries, can this be done,  
While we the Grace Divine implore,  
The World has lost, the battle's won;  
And sin shall never charm ye more?   Marina Sings. 

The gate to Bliss does open stand,  
And all my penance is in view;  
The World upon the other hand  
Cries out, O do not bid adieu!   

Yet, Sacred Sirs, in these extremes,  
Where Pomp and Pride their Glories tell;  
Where Youth and Beauty are the Themes,  
And plead their moving Cause so well.   

If aught that's vain my thoughts possess,  
Or any Passions govern here,  
But what Divinity may bless;  
O may I never enter there!   Flavilla Sings. 

What! what can Pomp or Glory do;  
Or what can humane Charms persuade,  
That Mind that has a Heaven in view,  
How can it be by Earth betrayed!   

No Monarch full of Youth and Fame,  
The Joy of Eyes, and Nature's Pride,  
Should once my thoughts from Heaven Reclaim!  
Though now he wooed me for his Bride.   

Haste then, Oh haste! and take us in,  
For ever lock Religion's Door,  
Secure us from the Charms of sin,  
And let us see the World no more.   Attic. Sings. 

Hark! hark! behold the Heavenly Choir,  
They cleave the Air in bright Attire,  
And see his Lute each Angel brings,  
And hark Divinely thus he Sings!  
To the Powers Divine, all glory be given,  
By Men upon Earth, and Angels in Heaven.   Scene shuts, and all the Priests with Marina, and Flau. disappear. Pulch. 
For ever gone! for ever parted from me!  
O Theodosius, till this cruel moment  
I never knew how tenderly I loved 'em;  
But on this everlasting separation,  
Methinks my Soul has left me, and my Time  
Of dissolution points me to the Grave.  Theo. 
O my Varanes, does not now thy temper  
Bate something of its fire? dost thou not melt  
In mere Compassion of my Sister's Fate,  
And cool thyself with one relenting thought?  Vara. 
Yes, my dared Soul rolls inward, melancholy,  
Which I ne'er felt before, now comes upon me;  
And I begin to loathe all humane greatness.  
Oh! sigh not then, nor thy hard Fate deplore!  
For, 'tis resolved, we will be Kings no more:  
We'll fly all Courts, and Love shall be our guide;  
Love that's more worth than all the World beside,  
Princes are barred the liberty to roam.  
The fettered mind still languishes at home;  
In golden Bands she treads the thoughtful round,  
Business and Cares eternally abound.  
" And when for Air the Goddess would unbind,  
" She's clogged with Sceptres, and to Crowns confined.  [Exeunt.   


ACT II. SCENE I.  Enter Pulcheria, Julia, Attendants. Pulch. 
THese Packets for the Emperor Honorius;  
Be swift, let the Agent haste to Rome╌  
I hear, my Julia, that our General  
Is from the Goths returned with Conquest home.  Jul. 
He is; to day I saw him in the Presence,  
Sharp to the Courtiers, as he ever was:  
Because they went not with him to the Wars.  
To you he bows, and sues to kiss your Hand.  Pulch. 
He shall, my dearest Julia; oft I have told thee  
The secret of my Soul: It e'er I marry,  
Marcians my Husband; he is a Man, my Julia,  
Whom I have studied long, and found him perfect:  
Old Rome at every glance looks through his Eyes,  
And kindles the Beholders: Some sharp Atoms  
Run through his Frame, which I could wish were out.  
He sickens at the softness of the Emperor,  
And speaks too freely of our Female Court;  
Then sighs, comparing it with what Rome was.  Enter Marcian and Lucius. Pulch. 
Ha! Who are these that dare profane this place  
With more than barbarous Insolence?  Marc. 
At your Feet,  
Behold I cast the scourge of these Offenders,  
And kneel to kiss your Hand.  Pulch. 
Put up your Sword,  
And e'er I bid you welcome from the Wars,  
Be sure you clear your Honour of this rudeness;  
Or, Marcian, leave the Court.  Marc. 
Thus then, Madam;  
The Emperor received me with affection,  
Embraced me for my Conquests, and retired;  
When on a sudden all the gilded Flies  
That buzz about the Court came fluttering round me:  
This with affected Cringes, and mined Words,  
Begs me to tell my Tale of Victories;  
Which done, he thanks me, slips behind his Fellow,  
Whispers him in the Ear, than smiles and listens,  
While I relate my Story once again:  
A third comes in, and asks me the same favour:  
Whereon they laugh, while I still ignorant  
Go on; but one behind, more impudent,  
Strikes on my Shoulder; then they laughed outright,  
But then I guessing the abuse too late,  
Returned my Knight behind a box o'th' Ear;  
Then drew, and briefly told them they were Rascals.  
They, laughing still, cried out the General's musty,  
Whereon I drove 'em, Madam, as you saw:  
This is in short the Truth, I leave the Judgement  
To your own Justice; if I have done ill,  
Sentence me, and I'll leave the Court for ever.  Pulch. 
First you are welcome, Marcian, from the Wars;  
And still when e'er occasion calls for Arms,  
Heaven send th' Emperor a General  
Renowned as Marcian; as to what is past,  
I think the World will rather praise than censure  
Pulcheria, when she pardons you the Action.  Marc. 
Gods! Gods! and thou great Founder of Old Rome!  
What is become of all that mighty Spirit,  
That raised our Empire to a pitch so high?  
Where is it pent? What, but Almighty Power  
Could thus confine it, that but some few Atoms  
Now run through all the East and Occident?  Pulch. 
Speak calmly, Marcian╌  Marc. 
Who can be temperate,  
That thinks as I do, Madam? Why here's a Fellow,  
I have seen him fight against a Troop of Vandals  
In your Defence, as if he loved to bleed:  
Come to my arms, my Dear! Thou canst not talk,  
But hast a Soul above the proudest of 'em.  
O, Madam, when he has been all over Blood,  
And hacked with Wounds that seemed to mouth his Praises;  
I have seen him smile still as he pushed Death from him,  
And with his actions rally distant Fate.  Pulch. 
He has a noble Form.  Marc. 
Yet even this Man,  
That fought so bravely in his Country's Cause,  
This excellent Man this Morning in the Presence,  
Did I see wronged before the Emperor,  
Scorned and despised because he could not cringe,  
Nor plant his Feet as some of them could do.  
One said his clothes were not well made, and damned  
His Taylor╌╌Another said, he looked  
As if he had not lost his Maidenhead.  
If things are suffered to be thus, down all  
Authority, Preeminence, Degree and Virtue.  
Let Rome be never mentioned, no, in the Name  
Of all the Gods, be she forgotten ever.  
Effeminate Persians, and the Lydian softness,  
Make all your Fights, Marcian shall out no more;  
For by my Arms it makes a Woman of me;  
And my swollen Eyes run o'er to think this worth,  
This fuller Honour than the whole Court holds,  
Should be ridiculous to Knaves and Fools;  
Should starve for want of what is necessary  
To Life's Convenience. When luxurious Bawds  
Are so o'er grown with Fat, and crammed with Riot,  
That they can hardly walk without an Engine.  Pulch. 
Why did you not inform the Emperor?  Marc. 
Because he will not hear me: Alas, good Man!  
He flies from this bad World, and still when Wars  
And Dangers come, he runs to his Devotions,  
To your new thing, I know not what you call it,  
Which Constantine began.  Pulch. 
How, Marcian! are not you of that  
Religion which the Emperor owns?  Marc. 
No, Madam, if you'll see my naked thought,  
I am not of their Principle, that take  
A wrong; so far from bearing with a Foe,  
I would strike first, like old Rome; I would forth,  
Elbow the neighbouring Nations round about,  
Invade, enlarge my Empire to the bounds  
Of the too narrow Universe. Yes, I own  
That I despise your holy Innovations.  
I am for the Roman Gods, for Funeral Piles,  
For mounting Eagles, and the fancied greatness  
Of our Forefathers. Methinks my heated Spirit  
Could utter things worth losing of my Head.  Pulch. 
Speak freely, Marcian, for I know thee honest.  Marc. 
O, Madam! long, long may the Emperor live;  
But, I must say, his gentle Disposition  
Suits not, alas, the Oriental sway:  
Bid him but look on Pharamont: O Gods!  
Awake him with the Image of that Spirit,  
Which, like a Pyramid reversed, is grown  
Even from a point to the most dreadful greatness;  
His very Name already shakes the World;  
And still in Person heading his first Squadrons,  
Like the first Caesar o'er the hardy Gauls,  
He seems another Thunderbolt of War.  Pulch. 
I oft have blamed my Brother most for this,  
That to my hand he leaves the State Affairs:  
And how that sounds, you know╌╌  Mar. 
Forgive me, Madam;  
I think that all the greatness of your Sex,  
Rome's Clelia, and the famed Semiramis,  
With all th' Amazonian Valour too,  
Meet in Pulcheria; yet, I say, forgive me,  
If with reluctance I behold a Woman  
Sit at the Empire's Helm, and steer the World.  Pulch. 
I stand rebuk'd╌  Marc. 
Mark but the growing French.  
The most auspicious Omen of their greatness,  
That I can guests, is their late Salic Law,  
Blessed by their Priests, the Salii, and pronounced  
To stand for ever; which excludes all Women  
From the Imperial Crown: But, oh! I speak  
The least of all those infinite grievances,  
Which make the Subjects murmur: In the Army,  
Tho' I proceeded still like Hannibal,  
And punished every Mutineer with Death;  
Yet, oh! it stabbed me through and through the Soul  
To pass the Wretch's Doom, because I knew  
With Justice they complained; for hard they fought,  
And with their Blood earned that forbidden Bread,  
Which some at Court, and great ones, though unnamed,  
Cast to their Hounds, while the poor Soldier's starv'd╌  Pulch. 
Your pity too in mournful fellowship,  
No doubt might soothe their murmurs.  Marc. 
Yes, it did,  
That I might put 'em once again in heart,  
I said 'twas true, the Emperor was to blame,  
Who dealt too coldly with his faithful Servants,  
And paid their great Arrears by second hand:  
I promised too, when we returned to Court,  
Things should be mended╌  
But how! oh Gods! forgive my Blood this Transport!  
To the Eternal Shame of Female Councils!  
And to the blast of Theodosius Name,  
Whom never Warlike Chronicle shall mention!  
O let me speak it with a Roman Spirit,  
We were received like undone Prodigals,  
By cursed ungrateful Stewards, with cold looks;  
Who yet got all by those poor Wretch's ruin.  
Like Malefactors, at the hands of Justice,  
I blush, I almost weep with bursting rage;  
If thus received, how paid our long Arrears?  
Why, as entrusted Misers pay the Rights  
Of helpless Widows, or the Orphan's Tears.  
O Soldier, for to thee, to Thee I speak it,  
Bawd's for the drudgery of citizens' Wives,  
Would better pay debilitated Stallions.  
Madam, I have said perhaps too much; if so,  
It matters not, for he who lies, like me,  
On the hard ground, is sure to fall no further.  Pulch. 
I have given you patient hearing, honest Marcian!  
And, as far as I can see into your Temper,  
I speak my serious Judgement in cold Blood,  
With strictest Consultation on the matter;  
I think this seeming plain and honest, Marcian,  
An exquisite and most notorious Traitor.  Marc. 
Ha! Traitor!  Pulch. 
Yes, a most notorious Traitor.  Marc. 
Your Grandfather, whose Frown could awe the World,  
Would not have called me so╌or if he had╌  Pulch. 
You would have taken it╌But to the Business,  
Was't not enough! Oh Heaven! Thou know'st, too much!  
At first to own yourself an Infidel,  
A bold Contemner, even to Blasphemy,  
Of that Religion which we all profess;  
For which your Heart's best Blood can ne'er suffice:  
But you must dare, with a seditious Army,  
Thus to conspire against the Emperor;  
I mention not your Impudence to me,  
Taxing the folly of my Government,  
Even to my Face: Such an Irreverence,  
As sure no barbarous Vandal would have urged;  
Beside your libelling all the Court, as if  
You had engrossed the whole World's honesty:  
And Flatterers, Fools, Sycophants, Knaves,  
Such was your Language, did inhabit here.  Marc. 
You wrest my honest meaning, by the Gods  
You do, and if you thus go on, I feel  
My struggling Spirit will no longer bear it.  Pulch. 
I thought the meaning of all rational Men  
Should still be gathered out of their Discourse;  
Nor are you so imprudent, without thinking,  
To vent such words, tho' now you fain would hide it;  
You find the Guilt, and bauk the Accusation:  
But think not you shall scape so easily!  
Once more I do confront you, as a Traitor;  
And as I am entrusted with full power,  
Divest you, in the Name of Theodosius,  
Of all your Offices, Commissions, Honours,  
Command you leave the Court within three Days,  
Loyal, plain-dealing, honest Marcian.  Marc. 
Gods! Gods!  Pulch. 
What now! ha! does the Traitor murmur?  
If in three days! mark me; 'tis I that doom thee!  
Rash inconsiderable Man, a Wretch beneath  
The Torments I could execute upon thee!  
If after three days space thou'rt found in Court,  
Thou diest! thy head, thy head shall pay the forfeit.  
Farewell: now rage! now rail and curse the Court;  
Saucily dare to abuse the best of Princes,  
And let thy lawless Tongue lash all it can;  
Do, like a madman rave! deplore thy Fortune,  
While Pages laugh at thee. Then haste to the Army,  
Grow popular, and lead the multitude:  
Preach up thy Wrongs, and drive the giddy Beast  
To kick at Caesar. Nay, if thou weep'st, I am gone.  
O Julia! if I stay, I shall weep too.  
Yet 'tis but just that I the Heart should see  
Of him who once must Lord it over me.  [Ex. Pulcheria, etc. Luc. 
Why do you droop, Sir╌Come, no more o' this,  
You are and shall be still our General:  
Say but the Word, I'll fill the Hippodrome  
With Squadrons that shall make the Emperor tremble;  
We'll fire the Court about his Ears.  
Methinks like Junius Brutus I have watched  
An Opportunity, and now it comes!  
Few words and I are Friends; but, noble Marcian,  
If yet thou art not more than General,  
E'er dead of Night, say Lucius is a Coward.  Marc. 
I charge thee in the name of all the Gods,  
Come back. I charm thee by the name of Friend.  
All's well, and I rejoice I am no General.  
But hush! within three days we must be gone,  
And then, my Friend, farewell to Ceremony.  
We'll fly to some far distant lonely Village,  
Forget our former state, and breed with Slaves.  
Sweat in the Eye of Day, and when Night comes,  
With bodies coursely filled, and vacant Souls,  
Sleep like the laboured Hinds, and never think;  
For if I think again, I shall go mad.  Enter Leontine and Athonais, etc. 
Therefore no thought. But see, we are interrupted!  
O Court! O Emperor! yet let Death threaten,  
I'll find a time. Till then be still my Soul╌  
No General now! A Member of thy Country,  
But most corrupt, therefore to be cut off,  
Loyal, plain-dealing, honest Marcian!  
A Slave, a Traitor! O ye Eternal Gods╌  [Exeunt. Leon. 
So, Athenais! now our compliment,  
To the young Persian Prince, is at an end,  
What then remains but that we take our leave,  
And bid him everlastingly Farewell?  Athen. 
My Lord!  Leon. 
I say that decency requires  
We should be gone, nor can you stay with Honour.  Athen. 
Most true, my Lord.  Leon. 
The Court is now at peace,  
The Emperor's Sisters are retired for ever,  
And he himself composed; what hinders then,  
But that we bid adieu to Prince Varanes?  Athen. 
Ah, Sir, why will you break my heart?  Leon. 
I would not;  
Thou art the only Comfort of my Age;  
Like an old Tree I stand among the storms,  
Thou art the only limb that I have left me:  [She kneels. 
My dear green branch, and how I prize thee, Child,  
Heaven only knows! why dost thou kneel and weep?  Athen. 
Because you are so good, and will I hope  
Forgive my fault, who first occasioned it.  Leon 
I charged thee to receive and hear the Prince.  Athen. 
You did, and, Oh, my Lord! I heard too much!  
Too much I fear for my Eternal Quiet.  Leon. 
Rise, Athenais! Credit him who bears  
More years than thou: Varanes ha; deceived thee.  Athen. 
How do we differ then? You judge the Prince  
Impious and base; while I take Heaven to witness,  
I think him the most Virtuous of men:  
Therefore take heed, my Lord, how you accuse him,  
Before; on make the Trial. Alas, Varanes,  
If thou art false, there's no such thing on Earth  
As solid Goodness, or substantial Honour.  
A thousand times, My Lord, he has sworn to give me  
(And I believe his Oaths) his Crown and Empire,  
That day I make him Master of my Heart.  Leon. 
That day he'll make thee Mistress of his power,  
Which carries a foul name among the Vulgar.  
No, Athenais! let me see thee dead,  
Born a pale Corpse, and gently laid in Earth,  
So I may say she's chaste, and died a Virgin,  
Rather than view thee with these wounded Eyes  
Seated upon the Throne of Isdigerdes,  
The blast of Common Tongues, the Nobles scorn,  
Thy Father's Curse; that is, the Prince's Whore.  Athen. 
O horrid supposition! how I detest it!  
Be witness Heaven, that sees my secret thoughts!  
Have I for this, my Lord, been taught by you  
The nicest Justice, and severest Virtue,  
To fear no Death, to know the end of Life,  
And with a long search discern the highest good?  
No, Athenais! when the Day beholds thee  
So scandalously raised, Pride cast the down,  
The scorn of Honour, and the People's prey!  
No, cruel Leontine, not to redeem  
That aged Head from the descending Axe,  
Not tho' I saw thy trembling Body racked,  
Thy wrinkles about thee filled with Blood,  
Would I for Empire, to the Man I love,  
Be made the object of unlawful Pleasure.  Leon. 
O greatly said, and by the Blood which warms me,  
Which runs as rich as any Athens holds,  
It would improve the Virtue of the World,  
If every Day a thousand Votaries,  
And thousand Virgins came from far to hear thee!  Athen. 
Look down ye powers, take notice we obey  
The rigid Principles ye have infused;  
Yet oh my noble Father! to convince you,  
Since you will have it so, propose a Marriage;  
Tho with the thought I am covered o'er with Blushes,  
Not that I doubt the Prince, that were to doubt  
The Heavens themselves. I know he is all truth:  
But modesty╌  
The Virgin's troublesome and constant guest,  
That, that alone forbids╌  Leon. 
I wish to Heaven  
There prove no greater bar to my belief:  
Behold the Prince, I will retire a while,  
And, when occasion calls, come to thy aid.  [Ex. L Enter Varanes, and Aranthes. Vara. 
To fix her on the Throne, to me, seems little,  
Were I a God, yet would I raise her higher.  
This is the nature of thy Prince: But oh!  
As to the World thy judgement soars above me,  
And I am dared with this Gigantic Honour;  
Glory forbids her prospect to a Crown,  
Nor must she gaze that way; my haughty Soul,  
That day when she ascends the Throne of Cyrus,  
Will leave my Body pale, and to the Stars  
Retire in Blushes, lost, quite lost for ever,  Aran. 
What do you purpose then?  Vara. 
I know not what,  
But see she comes, the glory of my arms,  
The only business of my instant thought,  
My Souls best Joy, and all my true repose.  
I swear I cannot bear these strange desires,  
These strong impulses which will shortly leave me  
Dead at thy Feet╌  Athen. 
What have you found, my Lord,  
In me so harsh or cruel, that you fear  
To speak your griefs?  Vara. 
First let me kneel and swear,  
And on thy hand seal my Religious Vow,  
Straight let the breath of Gods blow me from Earth,  
Swept from the Book of Fame, forgotten ever,  
If I prefer thee not, O Athenais,  
To all the Persian greatness!  Athen. 
I believe you!  
For I have heard you swear as much before.  Vara. 
Hast thou? O why then did I swear again?  
But that my Love knew nothing worthier of thee,  
And could no better way express my Passion.  Athen. 
O rise, my Lord╌  Vara. 
I will do every thing  
Which Athenais bids: If there be more  
In Nature to convince thee of my Love,  
Whisper it, oh some God, into my Ear!  
And on her Breasts thus to her listening Soul  
I'll breathe th'inspiration! Wilt thou not speak?  
What but one sigh, no more! Can that suffice  
For all my vast expense of Prodigal Love?  
O Athenais! What shall I say or do,  
To gain the thing I wish?  Athen. 
What's that, my Lord?  Vara. 
Thus to approach thee still! thus to behold thee╌  
Yet there is more╌  Athen. 
My Lord, I dare not hear you.  Vara. 
Why dost thou frown at what thou dost not know  
'Tis an imagination which ne'er pierced thee;  
Yet as 'tis ravishing, 'tis full of Honour.  Athen. 
I must not doubt you, Sir: But oh I tremble  
To think if Isdigerdes should behold you,  
Should hear you thus protesting to a Maid  
Of no Degree, but Virtue, in the World╌  Vara. 
No more of this, no more; for I disdain  
All Pomp when thou art by; far be the noise  
Of Kings and Courts from us, whose gentle Souls  
Our kinder Stars have steered another way.  
Free as the Forest-Birds, we'll pair together,  
Without remembering who our Fathers were;  
Fly to the Arbours, Grots, and flowery Meads,  
And in soft murmurs interchange our Souls.  
Together drink the Crystal of the stream,  
Or taste the yellow Fruit which Autumn yields,  
And when the Golden Evening calls us home,  
Wing to our Downy Nest, and sleep till Morn.  Athen. 
Ah Prince! no more!  
Forbear, forbear to charm me,  
Since I am doomed to leave you, Sir, for ever.  Vara. 
Hold, Athenais╌  Athen. 
I know your Royal Temper,  
And that high Honour reigns within your Breast,  
Which would disdain to waste so many hours  
With one of humble blood compared to you:  
Unless strong passion swayed your thoughts to love her,  
Therefore receive, oh Prince! and take it kindly,  
For none on Earth but you could win it from me,  
Receive the gift of my Eternal Love.  
'Tis all I can bestow, nor is it little,  
For sure a heart so coldly chaste as mine,  
No Charms but yours, my Lord, could e'er have warmed!  Vara. 
Well have you made amends by this last comfort,  
For the cold Dart you shot at me before,  
For this last Goodness? (Oh, my Athenais!)  
(For now, methinks, I ought to call you mine!)  
I empty all my Soul in thanks before you:  
Yet oh! one Fear remains, like Death it chills me;  
Why my relenting Love did talk of parting!  Athen. 
Look there, and cease your wonder, I have sworn  
To obey my Father and he calls me hence╌  Enter Leontine. Vara. 
Ha, Leontine! by which of all my Actions  
Have I so deeply injured thee, to merit  
The smartest wound revenge could form to end me?  Leon. 
Answer me now, O Prince! for virtue prompts me,  
And honesty will dally now no longer,  
What can the end of all this Passion be,  
Glory requires this strict account, and asks  
What you intent at last to Athenais?  Vara. 
How, Leontine!  Leon. 
You saw her, Sir, at Athens; said you loved her,  
I charged her humbly to receive the Honour,  
And hear your Passion: Has she not, Sir, obeyed me?  Vara. 
She has, I thank the Gods! but whither wouldst thou?  Leon. 
Having resolved to visit Theodosius,  
You swore you would not go without my Daughter,  
Whereon I gave command that she should follow.  Vara. 
Yes, Leontine, my old Remembrancer,  
Most learned of all Philosophers, you did.  Leon. 
Thus long she has attended, you have seen her,  
Sounded her Virtues and her Imperfections;  
Therefore, dread Sir, forgive this bolder Charge,  
Which Honour sounds, and now let me demand you╌  Vara. 
Now help, Aranthes, or I am dashed for ever.  Aran. 
Whatever happens, Sir, disdain the Marriage.  Leon. 
Can your high thoughts so far forget themselves,  
To admit this humble Virgin for your Bride?  Vara. 
Ha!  Athen. 
He blushes, Gods! and stammers at the question.  Leon. 
Why do you walk, and chafe yourself, my Lord?  
The business is not much.  Vara. 
How, Leontine!  
Not much; I know that she deserves a Crown;  
Yet 'tis to Reason much, tho' not to Love?  
And sure the World would blush to see the Daughter  
Of a Philosopher on the Throne of Cyrus.  Athen. 
Undone for ever!  Leon. 
Is this your answer, Sir?  Vara. 
Why dost thou urge me thus, and push me to  
The very brink of Glory? where, alas!  
I look and tremble at the vast Descent:  
Yet even there, to the vast bottom, down  
My rash Adventurer Love would have me leap,  
And grasp my Athenais with my Ruin.  Leon. 
'Tis well, my Lord╌  Vara. 
Why dost thou thus provoke me,  
I thought that Persia's Court had store of Honour  
To satisfy the height of thy Ambition.  
Besides, old Man, my Love is too well grown,  
To want a Tutor for his good Behaviour;  
What he will do, he will do of himself,  
And not be taught by you╌  Leon. 
I know he will not!  
Fond Tears away; I know, I know he will not;  
But he would buy with his Old Man's Preferment,  
My Daughter for your Whore.  Vara. 
Away, I say, my Soul disdains the Motion!  Leon. 
The Motion of a Marriage; yes, I see it;  
Your angry looks and haughty words betray it:  
I found it at the first; I thank you, Sir,  
You have at last rewarded your old Tutor  
For all his Cares, his Watchings, Services;  
Yet, let me tell you, Sir, this humble Maid,  
This Daughter of a poor Philosopher,  
Shall, if she please, be seated on a Throne  
As high as that of th' Immortal Cyrus.  Vara. 
I think that Age and deep Philosophy  
Have cracked thy Brain: Farewell, old Leontine,  
Retire to rest, and when this brawling Humour  
Is rocked asleep, I'll meet my Athenais,  
And clear the accounts of Love, which thou hast blotted.  Leon. 
Old Leontine! perhaps I am mad indeed.  
But, hold my Heart, and let that solid Virtue,  
Which I so long adored, still keep the Reins.  
O Athenais! But I will not chide thee,  
Fate is in all our Actions, and, methinks,  
At least a Father judges so; it has  
Rebuked thee smartly for thy Easiness:  
There is a kind of mournful Eloquence  
In thy dumb grief, which shames all clamorous sorrow.  Athen. 
Alas! my Breast is full of Death; methinks  
I fear even you╌  Leon. 
Why shouldst thou fear thy Father?  Athen. 
Because you have the Figure of a Man!  
Is there, O speak, a possibility  
To be forgiven?  Leon. 
Thy Father does forgive thee,  
And Honour will; but on this hard Condition,  
Never to see him more╌  Athen. 
See him! Oh Heavens!  Leon. 
Unless it be, my Daughter, to upbraid him:  
Not tho' he should repent and straight return,  
Nay proffer thee his Crown╌No more of that.  
Honour too cries revenge, revenge thy Wrongs,  
Revenge thyself, revenge thy injured Father.  
For 'tis Revenge so wise, so glorious too,  
As all the World shall praise╌  Athen. 
O give me leave,  
For yet I am all tenderness, the Woman,  
The weak, the mild, the fond, the coward Woman,  
Dares not look forth; but runs about my Breast,  
And visits all the warmer Mansions there,  
Where she so oft has harboured false Varanes.  
Cruel Varanes! false forsworn Varanes!  Leon. 
Is this forgetting him? is this the Course  
Which Honour bids thee take?  Athen. 
Ah, Sir, allow  
A little time for Love to make his way;  
Hardly he won the place, and many sighs,  
And many tears, and thousand Oaths it cost him.  
And oh I find he will not be dislodged  
Without a Groan at parting hence for ever.  
No, no! he vows he will not yet be razed  
Without whole Floods of Grief at his farewell,  
Which thus I sacrifice! and oh I swear,  
Had he proved true, I would as easily  
Have emptied all my Blood, and died to serve him,  
As now I shed these drops, or vent these sighs,  
To show how well, how perfectly I loved him.  Leon. 
No Woman sure, but thou, so low in Fortune,  
Therefore the nobler is thy fair Example,  
Would thus have grieved, because a Prince adored her;  
Nor will it be believed in aftertimes,  
That there was ever such a Maid in being;  
Yet do I advise, preserve thy Virtue;  
And since he does disdain thee for his Bride,  
Scorn thou to be╌  Athen. 
Hold, Sir, oh hold, forbear.  
For my nice Soul abhors the very sound;  
Yet with the shame of that, and the desire  
Of an Immortal Name, I am inspired!  
All kinder Thoughts are fled for ever from me,  
All Tenderness, as if I ne'er had loved,  
Has left my Bosom colder than the Grave.  Leon. 
On, Athenais! on, 'tis bright before thee,  
Pursue the Track, and thou shalt be a Star:  Athen. 
O, Leontine, I swear, my noble Father,  
That I will starve e'er once forego my Virtue;  
And thus let's join to contradict the World,  
That Empire could not tempt a poor old Man,  
To sell his Prince the Honour of his Daughter;  
And she, too, matched the Spirit of her Father;  
Tho' humbly born, and yet more humbly bred;  
She for her Fame refused a Royal Bed;  
Who, tho' she loved, yet did put off the Hour,  
Nor could her Virtue be betrayed by Power.  
" Patterns like these will guilty Courts improve,  
" And teach the Fair to blush at Conscious Love:  
" Then let all Maids for Honour come in view,  
" If any Maid can more for Glory do.    


ACT III. SCENE I.  Enter Varanes and Aranthes. Vara 
COme to my Arms, my faithful, dear Aranth  
Soft Counsellor, Companion of my Youth;  
If I had longer been alone, most sure,  
With the Distraction that surrounds my Heart,  
My Hand would have rebelled against his Master,  
And done a Murder here.  Aranth. 
The Gods forbid.  Vara. 
I swear, I press thee with as hearty Joy,  
As ever fearful Bride embraced her Man,  
When from a Dream of Death she waked and found  
Her Lover safe, and sleeping by her side.  Aranth. 
The Cause, my Lord?  Vara. 
Early thou know'st last Night I went to rest;  
But long, my Friend, e'er Slumber closed my Eyes;  
Long was the Combat fought, 'twixt Love and Glory;  
The Fever of my Passion burned me up,  
My Pangs grew stronger, and my Rack was doubled;  
My Bed was all afloat with the cold drops  
That mortal Pain wrong from my labouring Limbs;  
My Groans more deep than others dying Gasps:  
Therefore, I charge thee, haste to her Apartment;  
I do conjure thee tell her, tell her all  
My Fears can urge, or Fondness can invent:  
Tell her how I repent, say any thing;  
For any thing I'll do to quench my Fires:  
Say, I will marry her now on the instant:  
Say all that I would say; yet in the end  
My Love shall make it more than Gods can utter.  Aranth. 
My Lord! both Leontine and she are'gone  
From their Apartment╌  Vara. 
Ha! gone, sayst thou! whither?  Aranth. 
That was my whole Employment all this day:  
But, Sir, I grieve to speak it, they have left  

SONG after the Second ACT.  
Sad as Death at dead of night the fair complaining Caelia sat, but one poor Lamp was all her light, while thus she rea╌soned with her Fate; Why should Man such Tri╌umphss gain, and purchase Joys that gives us pain. Ah! what Glory; ah what Glory can en╌sue, a help╌less Vir╌gin to un╌do. Curse the Night then, Curse the Hour when first he drew thee to his arms, when vir╌tue was betrayed by pour, and yield╌ed to un╌law╌ful Charms, when Love approached with all his Fires armed with hopes and strong desires, sighs and tears, & every wile with which the Men, with which the Men the Maids be- guile, with which the Men, with which the Men the Maids beguile.   

SONG after the Second ACT.  
Dream no more of Pleasure's past, since all thy torment's are to come; the se╌cret is made known at last, and end╌less shame is now thy Doom; The false for╌sworn a╌las is gone, and left thee to de-spair a╌lone. Who that hears of Caelia's pain, will e╌ver trust, will e╌ver trust a Man a╌gain. Chorus. The false for-sworn a╌las is gone, and left thee to de╌spair a╌lone. The false for-sworn a╌las is gone, and left thee to de╌spair a╌lone. Who that hears of Caelia's pain, will e╌ver Who that hears of Caelia's pain, will e╌ver trust, will e╌ver trust a Man a╌gain. trust, will e╌ver trust a Man a╌gain:   
No tract behind for Care to find 'em out;  
Nor is it possible╌  Vara. 
It is, it shall;  
I'll struggle with impossibilities,  
To find my Athenais: Not the Walls  
Of Athens, nor of Thebes, shall hide her from me:  
I'll bring the Force of all my Father's Arms,  
And lay 'em waste, but I'll redeem my Love.  
O, Leontine! morose old Leontine,  
Thou mere Philosopher! O cruel Sage,  
Who for one hasty word, one Choleric doubt,  
Hast turned the Scale; though in the sacred Balance  
My Life, my Glory, and my Empire hung.  Aranth. 
Most sure, my Lord, they are retired to Athens,  
I will send Post to Night╌  Vara. 
No, no, Aranthes,  
Prepare my Chariots, for I'll go in Person;  
I swear till now, till I began to fear  
Some other might enjoy my Athenais,  
I swear, I did not know how much I loved her;  
But let's away, I'll to the Emperor,  
Thou to the hasty management of my business;  
Prepare, to day I'll go, to day I'll find her:  
No more; I'll take my leave of Theodosius,  
And meet thee on the Hippodrome: away,  
Let the wild hurry of thy Master's Love,  
Make quick thy apprehension: Haste, and leave me.  [Exeunt.  

SCENE II.  Pulcheria, Atticus, Leontine, Votaries leading Athenais in procession after her Baptism, to be confirmed. Atticus Sings. 

O, Chrysostom! look down and see,  
An Offering worthy Heaven and thee!  
So rich the Victim, bright and fair,  
That she on Earth appears a Star.   Chor. 

Endosia is the Virgin's Name,  
And aftertimes shall sing her Fame.   Atticus Sings. 

Lead her, Votaries, lead her in,  
Her holy Birth does now begin.   1 Votary. 

In humble Weeds, but clean Array,  
Your hours shall sweetly pass away;  
And, when the Rites Divine are past,  
To pleasant Gardens you shall haste.   2 Votary. 

Where many a flowery Bed we have,  
That Emblem still to each a Grave:  
And when within the Stream we look,  
With Tears we use to swell the Brook:  
But oh, when in the liquid Glass,  
Our Heaven appears, we sigh to pass!   Chor. 

For Heaven alone we are designed,  
And all things bring our Heaven to mind.   Athen. 
O Princes! O most worthy of the World,  [Kneels. 
That is submitted by its Emperor,  
To your most wise and providential sway:  
What Greek or Roman Eloquence can paint  
The Rapture and Devotion of my Soul!  
I am adopted yours; you are my Goddess,  
That have new-formed, new-moulded my Conceptions,  
And by the platform of a Work Divine,  
New-framed, new-built me to your own desires;  
Thrown all the Lumber of my Passions out,  
And made my heart a Mansion of perfection;  
Clean as an Anchorite's Grot, or Votary's Cell,  
And spotless as the Glories of his steps  
Whom we far off adore!  Pulch. 
Rise, Eudosia,  
And let me fold my Christian in my Arms,  
With this dear pledge of an Eternal Love  
I Seal thee, O Eudosia! mine for ever.  
Accept, blessed Charge, the Vows of my Affection;  
For by the sacred Friendship that I give thee,  
I think that Heaven by Miracle did send thee,  
To ease my Cares, to help me in my Councils,  
To be my Sister, partner in my Bed;  
And equally, through my whole Course of Life,  
To be the better part of thy Pulcheria,  
And share my Griefs and Joys.  Athen. 
No, Madam, no;  
Excuse the Cares that this sad Wretch must bring you;  
O rather let me leave the World for ever;  
Or if I must partake your Royal Secrets,  
If you resolve to load me with such Honour,  
Let it be far from Cities, far from Courts,  
Where I may fly all human Conversation;  
Where I may never see, nor hear, nor name,  
Nor think, nor dream, O Heaven If possible,  
Of Mankind more.  Pulch. 
What now, in Tears, Eudosia?  Athen. 
Far from the guilt of Palaces! O send me!  
Drive me! O drive me from the Traitor Man:  
So I might 'scape that Monster, let me dwell  
In Lion's haunts, or in some Tyger's Den;  
Place me on some steep, craggy, ruined Rock,  
That bellies out, just dropping in the Ocean;  
Bury me in the hollow of its Womb;  
Where, starving on my cold and flinty Bed,  
I may from far, with giddy apprehension,  
See infinite Fathoms down the rumbling deep!  
Yet not even there, in that vast whirl of Death,  
Can there be found so terrible a ruin,  
As Man: false Man, smiling destructive Man.  Pulch. 
Then thou hast loved, Eudosia, or my Sister;  
Still nearer to my heart, so much the dearer;  
Because our Fates are like, and hand in hand  
Our Fortunes lead us through the Maze of Life:  
I am glad that thou hast loved; nay, loved with Danger;  
Since thou hast 'scap'd the ruin╌╌Methinks it lightens  
The weight of my Calamities, that thou  
(In all things else so perfect and Divine,)  
Art yet akin to my Infirmity,  
And bear'st thy part in Love's melodious ill:  
Love that like bane perfumed infects the mind,  
That sad delight that Charms all womankind.  Athen. 
Yes, Madam, I confess, that Love has charmed me  
But never shall again. No, I renounce him;  
Inspire me all the wrongs of abused Women,  
All you that have been cozened by false Men:  
See what a strict Example I will make;  
But for the Perjuries of one I will revenge ye  
For all that's past, that's present, and to come.  Pulch. 
O thou far more than the most Masculine Virtue!  
Where our Astraea; where, O drowning brightness,  
Where hast thou been so long? Let me again  
Protest my Admiration and my Love;  
Let me declare aloud, while thou art here,  
While such clear Virtue shines within our Circle,  
Vice shall no more appear within the Palace,  
But hide her dazzled Eyes, and this be called  
The holy Court: But lo, the Emperor comes:  Enter Theodosius, and Attendants: 
Beauty, like thine, may drive that Form away  
That has so long entranced his Soul╌My Lord╌  Theod. 
If yet, alas! I might but hope to see her;  
But, oh forgive me Heaven! this wilder start,  
That thus would reach impossibility:  
No, no, I never must behold her more,  
As well my Atticus might raise the Dead,  
As Leontine should charm that Form in view.  Pulch. 
My Lord, I come to give your grief a Cure,  
With purer Flames to draw that cruel Fire  
That tortured you so long╌Behold this Virgin╌  
The Daughter of your Tutor Leontine.  Theo. 
Ha!  Pulch. 
She is your Sister's Charge, and made a Christian,  
And Athenais is Eudosia now;  
Be sure a fairer never graced Religion,  
And for her Virtue she transcends Example.  Theod. 
O all ye blessed above how can this be?  
Am I awake, or is this possible?  [Athen. Kneels Pulch. 
She kneels, my Lord, will you not go and raise her?  Theod. 
Nay, do thou raise her, for I am rooted here;  
Yet if laborious Love and Melancholy  
Have not o'ercome me, and quite turned me mad,  
It must be she! that naked dazzling sweetness:  
The very Figure of that morning Star,  
That dropping Pearls, and shedding dewy Beams,  
Fled from the greedy Waves when I approached:  
Answer me, Leontine, am I distracted?  
Or is this true? by thee in all encounters  
I will be ruled, in Temperance and Wildness,  
When Reason clashes with extravagance;  
But speak╌  Leon. 
'Tis true, my Lord, this is my Daughter,  
Whom I concealed in Persia from all Eyes  
But yours, when chance directed you that way.  Theo. 
He says, 'tis true: Why then this heartless Carriage?  
O? were I proof against the Darts of Love,  
And cold to Beauty as the Marble-Lover  
That lies without a thought upon his Tomb;  
Would not this glorious dawn of Life run through me,  
And waken Death itself ╌Why am I slow then?  
What hinders now but in spite of Rules  
I burst through all the bands of Death that hold me,  [He kneels. 
And fly with such a haste to that Appearance,  
As buried Saints shall make at the last Summons?  Athen. 
The Emperor at my Feet; O Sir! forgive me,  
Drown me not thus with everlasting shame;  
Both Heaven and Earth must blush at such a view?  
Nor can I bear it longer╌  Leon. 
My Lord, she is unworthy╌  Theo. 
Ha! what sayst thou, Leontine!  
Unworthy! O thou Atheist to perfection!  
All that the blooming Earth could send forth fair;  
All that the gaudy heavens' could drop down glorious!  
Unworthy sayst thou! Wert thou not her Father,  
I swear I would revenge╌But haste, and tell me,  
For love like mine will bear no second thought,  
Can all the Honours of the Orient,  
Thus sacrificed with the most pure Affection,  
With spotless thoughts and languishing desires,  
Obtain, O Leontine, (the Crown at last)  
To thee, I speak, thy Daughter to my Bride?  Leon. 
My Lord, the Honour bears such estimation,  
It calls the Blood into my aged Cheeks,  
And quite o'er-whelms my Daughter with Confusion;  
Who with her Body prostrate on the Earth  
Ought to adore you for the proffered Glory.  Theo. 
Let me embrace, and thank thee: O kind Heaven!  
O Atticus! Pulcheria! O my Father!  
Was ever change like mine? Run through the Streets;  
Who waits there? Run, and loud as Fame can speak,  
With Trumpet-sounds proclaim your Emperor's joy.  
And as of old, on the great Festival  
Of her they call the Mother of the Gods;  
Let all work cease, at least an Oaken Garland  
Crown each Plebeian Head: Let sprightly Bowls  
Be doaled about, and the tossed Cymbals sound:  
Tell 'em their much lamented Theodosius  
By Miracle is brought from Death to Life:  
His Melancholy's gone, and now once more  
He shall appear at the State's Helm again;  
Nor fear a Wrack while this bright Star direct us;  
For while she shines, no Sands, no cowering Rocks  
Shall lie unseen, but I will cut my way  
Secure as Neptune through the highest stream,  
And to the Port in safety steer the World.  Athen. 
Alas, my Lord, consider my Extraction,  
With all my other Wants╌  Theo. 
Peace, Empress, peace!  
No more the Daughter of old Leontine.  
A Christian now, and Partner of the East.  Athen. 
My Father has disposed me, you command me;  
What can I answer then but my Obedience?  Theo. 
Attend her, dear Pulcheria; and, oh tell her,  
To Morrow, if she please, I will be happy.  [Ex. Pulch. and Athen. 
O why so long should I my Joys delay?  
Time imp thy Wings, let not thy Minute's stay,  
But to a moment change the tedious day.  
The day! 'twill be an Age before to Morrow:  
An Age, a Death, a vast Eternity,  
Where we shall cold, and past Enjoyment lie.  Enter Varanes and Aranthes: Vara. 
O, Theodosius!  Theo. 
Ha! my Brother here!  
Why dost thou come to make my Bliss run o'er?  
What is there more to wish? Fortune can find  
No flaw in such a glut of happiness,  
To let one Misery in╌O, my Varanes!  
Thou that of late didst seem to walk on Clouds,  
Now give a loose, let go the slackened Reins,  
Let us drive down the Precipice of Joy,  
As if that all the Winds of Heaven were for us.  Vara. 
My Lord, I am glad to find the Gale is turned,  
And give you Joy of this auspicious Fortune.  
Plough on your way, with all your Streamers out:  
With all your glorious Flags and Streamers ride  
Triumphant on╌And leave me to the Waves,  
The Sands, the Winds, the Rocks, the sure destruction  
And ready Gulfs that gape to swallow me.  Theo. 
It was thy Hand that drew me from the Grave,  
Who had been dead by this time to Ambition,  
To Crowns, to Titles, and my slighted Greatness.  
But still as if each work of thine deserved  
The smile of Heav'n╌thy Theodosius met  
With something dearer than his Diadem,  
With all that's worth a wish, that's worth a life;  
I met with that which made me leave the world.  Vara. 
And I, O turn of Chance! O cursed Fortune!  
Have lost at once all that could make me happy.  
O ye too partial Powers! But now no more  
The Gods, my dear, my most loved Theodosius,  
Double all those Joys that thou hast met upon thee;  
For sure thou art most worthy, worthy more  
Than Jove in all his Prodigality  
Can e'er bestow in Blessings on Mankind!  
And oh, methinks, my Soul is strangely moved,  
Takes it the more unkindly of her Stars,  
That thou and I cannot be blessed together:  
For I must leave thee, Friend! this night must leave thee,  
To go in doubtful search of what perhaps  
I ne'er shall find: if so my cruel Fate  
Has ordered it: Why then farewell for ever,  
For I shall never, never see thee more.  Theo. 
How sensible my tender Soul is grown  
Of what you utter! O my gallant Friend!  
O Brother! O Varanes! Do not judge  
By what I speak? for Sighs will interrupt me;  
Judge by my Tears, judge by these strict Embraces,  
And by my last Resolve: Tho' I have met  
With what in silence I so long adored,  
Tho' in the Rapture of protesting Joys,  
I had set down to morrow for my Nuptials;  
And Atticus to Night prepares the Temple.  
Yet my Varanes, I will rob my Soul  
Of all her Health, of my Imperial Bride,  
And wander with thee in the search of that  
On which thy Life depends╌  Vara. 
If this I suffer,  
Conclude me then begotten of a Hind,  
And bred in wild's: No, Theodosius, no;  
I charge thee by our Friendship, and conjure thee  
By all the Gods, to mention this no more:  
Perhaps, dear Friend, I shall be sooner hear  
Than you expect, or I myself imagine:  
What most I grieve, is that I cannot wait  
To see your Nuptials: Yet my Soul is with you,  
And all my Adorations to your Bride.  Theo. 
What, my Varanes, will you be so cruel  
As not to see my Bride before you go?  
Or are you angry at your Rival's Charms,  
Who has already ravished half my Heart,  
That once was all your own?  Vara. 
You know I am disordered!  
My melancholy will not suit her blessed Condition.  [Exit. Theo. 
And the Gods know, since thou, my Athenais,  
Art fled from these sick Eyes, all other Women  
To my palled Soul seem like the Ghost of Beauty,  
And haunt my memory with the loss of thee.  Enter Athenais, Theodosius Leading her. Theo. 
Behold, my Lord, the occasion of my Joy.  Vara. 
O ye immortal Gods! Aranthes! oh!  
Look there, and wonder: Ha! is't possible?  Athen. 
My Lord, the Emperor says you are his Friend,  
He charges me to use my Interest,  
And beg of you to stay, at least so long  
As our Espousals will be solemnising;  
I told him I was honoured once to know you;  
But that so slightly, as I could not warrant  
The grant of any thing that I should ask you╌  Vara. 
O Heaven! and Earth! O Athenais! why,  
Why dost thou use me thus? Had I the World,  
Thou know'st it should be thine.  Athen. 
I know not that╌  
But yet, to make sure work, one half of it  
Is mine already, Sir, without your giving.  
My Lord, the Prince is obstinate, his Glory  
Scorns to be moved by the weak Breath of Woman;  
He is all Hero, bent for higher Game;  
Therefore, 'tis nobler, Sir, to let him go:  
If not for him, my Lord, yet for myself,  
I must entreat the Favour to retire.  [Exit. Athen. etc. Vara. 
Death! and Despair! Confusion! Hell and Furies!  Theo. 
Heaven guard thy Health, and still preserve thy Virtue.  
What should this mean? I fear the Consequence,  
For 'tis too plain they know each other well.  Vara. 
Undone! Aranthes! lost, undone for ever,  
I see my Doom, I read it with broad Eyes,  
As plain as if I saw the Book of Fate:  
Yet I will muster all my Spirits up,  
Digest my Griefs, swallow the rising Passions.  
Yes, I will stand this Shock of all the Gods  
Well as I can, and struggle for my Life.  Theo. 
You muse, my Lord: and if you'll give me leave  
To judge your thoughts, they seem employed at present  
About my Bride: I guess you know her too.  Vara. 
His Bride! O Gods! give me a moment's Patience!  
I must confess the sight of Athenais,  
Where I so little did expect to see her,  
So graced and so adorned, did raise my wonder;  
But what exceeds all admiration, is  
That you should talk of making her your Bride;  
'Tis such a blind effect of monstrous Fortune,  
That tho' I well remember you affirmed it,  
I cannot yet believe╌  Theo. 
Then now believe me:  
By all the Powers Divine, I will espouse her.  Vara. 
Ha! I shall leap the bounds, Come, come, my Lord.  
By all these Powers you named, I say you must not.  Theo. 
I say, I will; and who shall bar my pleasure?  
Yet more, I speak the Judgement of my Soul,  
Weigh but with Fortune Merit in the Balance,  
And Athenais loses by the Marriage.  Vara. 
Relentless Fates! malicious cruel Powers!  
O for what Crime do you thus rack your Creature?  
Sir, I must tell you this unkingly meanness  
Suits the Profession of an Anchorite well,  
But in an Oriental Emperor  
It gives offence; nor can you without Scandal,  
Without the notion of a groveling Spirit,  
Espouse the Daughter of old Leontine,  
Whose utmost Glory is to have been my Tutor.  Theo. 
He has so well acquitted that Employment,  
Breeding you up to such a gallant height  
Of full perfection, and imperial greatness,  
That even for this respect, if for no other,  
I will esteem him worthy while I live.  Vara. 
My Lord, you'll pardon me a little Freedom?  
For I must boldly urge in such a Cause,  
whoever slatters you, tho' ne'er so near  
Related to your Blood, should be suspected.  Theo, 
If Friendship would admit a cold Suspicion,  
After what I have heard, and seen to day,  
Of all Mankind I should suspect Varanes.  Vara. 
He has stung me to the Heart; my Groans will choke me,  
Unless my struggling Passion gets a vent.  
Out with it then╌I can no more dissemble╌  
Yes, yes, my Lord, since you reduce me to  
The last necessity, I must confess it;  
I must avow my Flame for Athenais.  
I am all Fire! my Passion eats me up,  
It grows incorporate with my flesh and Blood!  
My Pangs redouble, now they cleave my heart!  
O Athenais! O Eudosia╌ oh╌  
Though plain as day I see my own destruction,  
Yet to my death, and oh, let all the Gods  
Bear Witness! I swear I will adore thee.  Theo. 
Alas! Varanes. Which of us two the heavens'  
Have marked for death is yet above the Stars;  
But while we live let us preserve our Friendship  
Sacred and just, as we have ever done.  
This only Mean in two such hard Extremes  
Remains for both: To morrow you shall see her,  
With all advantage, in her own Apartment;  
Take your own time, say all you can to gain her,  
If you can win her, lead her into Persia;  
If not, consent that I espouse her here.  Vara. 
Still worse and worse! O Theodosius! oh,  
I cannot speak for sighs, my death is sealed  
By this last sweetness; had you been less good,  
I might have hoped; but now my Dooms at hand.  
Go then, and take her, take her to the Temple:  
The Gods too give you joy. O Athenais!  
Why does thy Image mock my Foolish sorrow?  
O Theodosius, do not see my Tears:  
Away, and leave me! leave me to the Grave.  Theo. 
Farewell; let's leave the Issue to the heavens',  
I will prepare your way with all that Honour  
Can urge in your behalf, tho' to my Ruin.  [Ex. Theod. Vara. 
O I could tear my Limbs, and eat my Elesh;  
Fool that I was, fond, proud, vainglorious Fool!  
Damned be all Courts, and treble damned Ambition:  
Blasted be thy remembrance! Curses on thee,  
And plagues on plagues fall on those Fools that seek thee.  Aranth. 
Have comfort, Sir╌  Vara. 
Away, and leave me, Villain;  
Traitor, who wrought me first to my destruction╌  
Yet stay and help me, help me to curse my pride,  
Help me to wish that I had ne'er been Royal,  
That I had never heard the name of Cyrus,  
That my first Brawl in Court had been my last.  
O that I had been born some happy Swain,  
And never known a life so great, so vain!  
Where I extremes might not be forced to choose,  
And blessed with some mean Wife, no Crown could lose:  
Where the dearer Partner of my little state  
With all her smiling Offspring at the Gate,  
Blessing my Labours, might my coming wait.  
Where in our humble Beds all safe might lie,  
And not in cursed Courts for Glory dy. ╌  [Exeunt. 

SONG.  

1.  
Hail to the Myrtle Shade,  
All hail to the Nymphs of the Fields;  
Kings would not here invade  
Those pleasures that virtue yields. 

SONG after the Third ACT.  
Hail to the Myrtle shade, all Hail to the Nymphs of the Fields, King's will not her in-vade, though Vir╌tue all free╌dom yields. Beauty here opens her arms to soften the languishing mind, and Phillis un╌lockss her Charms, ah Phillis! ah! why so kind? Chorus. Beauty here opens her Arms to soften the languishing mind, and Beauty here opens her Arms to soften the languishing mind, and Phillis un locks her Charms; ah! Phillis! ah! why so kind? ah Phillis un locks her Charms; ah Phillis! ah! why so kind? ah Phil╌lis! ah! why so kind? Phil╌lis! ah! why so kind?    
Chor. Beauty here opens her Arms,  
To soften the languishing mind;  
And Phillis unlocks her Charms;  
Ah Phillis! ah why so kind?   

2.  
Phillis, thou Soul of Love,  
Thou joy of the Neighbouring Swains;  
Phillis that Crowns the Grove,  
And Phillis that guilds the Plains.  
Chor. Phillis, that ne'er had the skill,  
To paint, to patch, and be fine;  
Yet Phillis whose Eyes can kill,  
Whom Nature hath made Divine.   

3.  
Phillis, whose charming Song,  
Makes labour and pains a delight;  
Phillis that makes the day young,  
And shortens the livelong night.  
Chor. Phillis, whose lips like May,  
Still laughs at the sweets that they bring;  
Where Love never knows decay,  
But sets with Eternal Spring.      


ACT IV. SCENE II.  Enter Marcian, and Lucius at a distance. Marc. 
THE General of the Oriental Armies,  
Was a Commission large as Fate could give:  
'Tis gone: why what care I: O Fortune, Fortune!  
Thou laughing Empress of this busy World,  
Marcian defies thee now╌  
Why what a thing is a discarded Favourite?  
He who but now tho' longing to retire,  
Could not for busy Waiters be alone,  
Thronged in his Chamber, haunted to his Closet  
With a full Crowd, and an Eternal Court;  
When once the Favour of his Prince is turned,  
Shunned as a Ghost, the clouded Man appears;  
And all the gaudy worshippers forsake him;  
So fares it now with me wherever I come,  
As if I were another Catiline.  
The Courtiers rise, and no man will sit near me,  
As if the Plague were on me all men fly me:  
O Lucius! Lucius! if thou leav'st me too,  
I think, I swear I think I could not bear it;  
But, like a Slave, my Spirit broke with Suffering,  
Should on these Coward Knees fall down and beg,  
Once to be great again╌  Luc. 
Forbid it, Heaven!  
That e'er the noble Marcian condescend  
To ask of any, but the Immortal Gods;  
Nay, I avow, if yet your Spirit dare,  
Spite of the Court, you shall be great as Caesar.  Mar. 
No, Lucius, no; the Gods repel that humour.  
Yet since we are alone, and must ere long  
Leave this bad Court; let us, like Veterans,  
Speak out╌Thou sayst, alas! as great as Caesar:  
But where's his Greatness? Where is his ambition?  
If any Sparks of Virtue yet remain  
In this poor Figure of the Roman Glory;  
I say, if any be, how dim they shine,  
Compared with what his great Forefathers were?  
How should he lighten then, or awe the World,  
Whose Soul in Courts is but a Lambent-fire,  
And scarce, O Rome! a Glow-worm in the Field:  
Soft, Young, Religious, Godlike qualities,  
For one that should recover the lost Empire:  
And wade through Seas of Blood, and walk o'er Mountains  
Of slaughtered Bodies to immortal Honour.  Luc. 
Poor heart! he pined awhile ago for Love.  Marc. 
And for his Mistress vowed to leave the World;  
But some new chance it seems has changed his Mind.  
A Marriage! but to whom or whence she came,  
None knows: but yet a Marriage is proclaimed,  
Pageants prepared; the Arches are adorned;  
The Statues Crowned; the Hippodrome does groan  
Beneath the Burden of the mounted Warriors;  
The Theatre is opened too, where he  
And the hot Persian mean to act their Follies.  
Gods! Gods! Is this the Image of our Caesars?  
Is this the Model of our Romulus?  
O why so poorly have you stamped Rome's glory!  
Not Rome's but yours! is this Man fit to bear it?  
This waxen Portraiture of Majesty!  
Which every warmer Passion does melt down,  
And makes him fonder than a Woman's longing!  Luc. 
Thus much I know to the eternal shame  
Of the Imperial Blood; this upstart Empress,  
This fine new Queen is sprung from abject Parents;  
Nay, basely born! but that's all one to him,  
He likes and loves, and therefore marries her.  Marc. 
Shall I not speak? Shall I not tell him of it?  
I feel this big-swollen throbbing Roman Spirit  
Will burst, unless I utter what I ought.  Enter Pulcheria with a Paper in her hand, and Julia. Marc. 
Pulcheria here! why she's the Scourge of Marcian;  
I tremble too when ever she approaches,  
And my Heart dances an unusual measure;  
Spite of myself I blush and cannot stir  
While she is here╌What, Lucius, can this mean?  
'Tis said Calphurnia had the heart of Caesar:  
Augustus doted on the subtle Livia:  
Why then should I not worship that fair Anger?  
Oh didst thou mark her when her Fury lightened,  
She seemed all Goddess; nay, her Frowns became her,  
There was a Beauty in her very Wildness.  
Were I a Man born great as our first Founder,  
Sprung from the Blood Divine: But I am cast  
Beyond all possibility of Hope.  Pulch. 
Come hither, Marcian! read this Paper o'er,  
And mark the strange neglect of Theodosius:  
He signs what-e'er I bring; perhaps you have heard  
To morrow he intends to wed a Maid of Athens,  
Newmade a Christian, and new-named Eudosia;  
Whom he more dearly prizes than his Empire:  
Yet in this Paper he hath set his Hand,  
And sealed it too with th'Imperial Signet,  
That she should lose her Head to morrow morning.  Marc. 
'Tis not for me to judge; yet this seems strange╌  Pulch. 
I know he rather would commit a murder  
On his own Person, than permit a Vein  
Of her to bleed; yet, Marcian, what might follow,  
If I were envious of this Virgin's Honour,  
By his rash passing whatsoever I offer╌╌  
Without a view╌ha, but I had forgot!  
Julia, let's haste from this infectious Person╌  
I had forgot that Marcian was a Traitor;  
Yet by the Powers Divine, I swear 'tis pity,  
That one so formed by Nature for all Honour,  
All Titles, Greatness, Dignities Imperial,  
The noblest Person, and the bravest Courage,  
Should not be honest: Julia, is't not pity? ╌  
O Marcian, Marcian! I could weep to think  
Virtue should lose itself as thine has done.  
Repent, rash Man, if yet 'tis not too late,  
And mend thy Errors; so farewell for ever.  [Ex. Pulch. Jul. Marc. 
Farewell for ever! no, Madam, ere I go,  
I am resolved to speak, and you shall hear me:  
Then, if you please, take off this traitor's Head?  
End my Commission and my Life together.  Luc. 
Perhaps you'll laugh at what I am going to say;  
But by your Life, my Lord, I think 'tis true:  
Pulcheria loves this Traitor! Did you mark her?  
At first she had forgot your Banishment;  
Makes you her Counsellor, and tells her Secrets,  
As to a Friend; nay, leaves them in your Hand,  
And says, 'tis pity that you are not honest,  
With such Description of your Gallantry,  
As none but Love could make: Then taking leave,  
Through the dark Lashes of her darting Eyes,  
Methought she shot her Soul at every Glance;  
Still looking back, as if she had a mind  
That you should know she left her Heart behind her.  Marc. 
Alas! thou dost not know her, nor do I!  
Nor can the Wit of all Mankind conceive her;  
But let's away. This Paper is of use.  Luc. 
I guess your purpose;  
He is a Boy, and as a Boy you'll use him.  
There is no other way.  Marc. 
Yes, if he be not  
Quite dead with sleep, for ever lost to Honour,  
Marcian with this shall rouse him. O, my Lucius!  
Methinks the Ghosts of the great Theodosius,  
And thundering Constantine appear before me:  
They charge me as a Soldier to chastise him,  
To lash him with keen words from lazy Love,  
And show him how they trod the paths of honour.  [Exeunt.  

SCENE II.  Theodosius lying on a Couch, with two Boys dressed like Cupid's singing to him as he sleeps. 

SONG.  

Happy day! ah happy day,  
That Caesar's Beams did first display,  
So peaceful was the happy day.  
The Gods themselves did all look down,  
The Royal Infant's Birth to Crown,  
So pleased, they searce did on the guilty frown.  
Happy day! ah happy day!  
And oh thrice happy hour,  
That made such Goodness Master of such Power.  
For thus the Gods declare to Men,  
No day like this shall ever come again.    Enter Marcian with an Order. Theo. 
Ha! what rash thing art thou, who settest so small  
A value on thy Life, thus to presume  
Against the fatal Orders I have given,  
Thus to entrench on Caesar's solitude,  
And urge me to thy ruin?  Marc. 
Mighty Caesar,  
I have transgressed, and for my Pardon bow  
To thee, as to the Gods when I offend:  
Nor can I doubt your Mercy, when you know  
The nature of my Crime. I am Commissioned  
From all the Earth to give thee thanks and praises,  
Thou Darling of Mankind! whose Conquering Arms  
Already drown the Glory of great Julius,  
Whose deeper reach in Laws and Policy,  
Makes wise Augustus envy thee in Heaven?  
What mean the Fates by such prodigious Virtue?  
When scarce the manly Down yet shades thy Face,  
With Conquest thus to overrun the World,  
And make Barbarians tremble? O, ye Gods!  
Should Destiny now end thee in the Bloom,  
Methinks I see thee mourned above the loss  
Of loved Germanicus, thy Funerals  
Like his, are solemnised with Tears and Blood.  Theo. 
How, Marcian!  Marc. 
Yes, the raging Multitude,  
Like Torrents, set no bound to their mad grief;  
Shave their Wives Heads, and tear off their own Hair;  
With wild Despair they bring their Infants out,  
To brawl their Parent's sorrow in the Streets;  
Trade is no more, all Courts of Justice stopped;  
With Stones they dash the Windows of their Temples,  
Pull down their Altars; break their Household Gods;  
And still the Universal Groan is this,  
Constantinople's lost, our Empire's ruined:  
Since he is gone, that Father of his Country;  
Since he is dead, O Life, where is thy Pleasure?  
O Rome! Oh conquered World, where is thy Glory?  Theo. 
I know thee well, thy Custom and thy Manners;  
Thou dost upbraid me; but no more of this,  
Not for thy Life╌  Marc. 
What's Life without my Honour?  
Could you transform yourself into a Gorgon,  
Or make that beardless Face like Jupiter's,  
I would be heard in spite of all your Thunder:  
O power of Guilt, you fear to stand the Test  
Which Virtue brings; like Sores your Vices shake  
Before this Roman-healer. But, by the Gods,  
Before I go I'll rip the Malady,  
And let the Venom flow before your Eyes.  
This is a Debt to the great Theodosius,  
The Grandfather of your Illustrious Blood;  
And then farewell for ever.  Theo. 
Presuming Marcian!  
What canst thou urge against my Innocence?  
Through the whole Course of all my harmless Youth,  
Even to this hour, I cannot call to mind  
One wicked act which I have done to shame me.  Marc. 
This may be true: yet if you give the sway  
To other Hands, and your poor Subjects suffer,  
Your negligence to them is as the Cause.  
O Theodosius credit me, who know  
The World, and hear how Soldiers censure Kings;  
In aftertimes, if thus you should go on,  
Your Memory by Warriors will be scorned,  
As much as Nero or Caligula loathed;  
They will despise your sloth, and backward case,  
More than they hate the other's Cruelty.  
And what a thing, ye Gods, is scorn or pity?  
Heap on me, Heaven, the hate of all Mankind;  
Load me with Malice, Envy, Detestation:  
Let me be horrid to all apprehension,  
And the World shun me, so I escape but Scorn.  Theo. 
Prithee, no more!  Marc. 
Nay, when the Legions make Comparisons;  
And say, thus cruel Nero once resolved  
On Galba's Insurrection, for Revenge,  
To give all France as Plunder to the Arms,  
To poison the whole Senate at a Feast;  
To burn the City, turn the wild Beasts out;  
Bears, Lions, Tigers, on the Multitude;  
That so obstructing those that quenched the Fire,  
He might at once destroy Rebellious Rome.  Theo. 
O cruelty! why tell'st thou me of this?  
Am I of such a barbarous bloody temper?  Marc. 
Yet some will say, this showed he had a spirit,  
However fierce, avenging, and pernicious,  
That savoured of a Roman; but for you,  
What can your partial Sycophants invent,  
To make you room among the Emperors?  
Whose utmost is the smallest part of Nero;  
A pretty Player, one that can act a Hero,  
And never be one. O ye immortal Gods,  
Is this the old Caesarian Majesty?  
Now, in the name of our great Romulus,  
Why sing you not, and siddle too as he did?  
Why have you not, like Nero, a Phenascus?  
One to take care of your Celestial Voice?  
Lie on your Back, my Lord, and on your Stomach  
Lay a thin Plate of Lead, abstain from Fruits;  
And when the Business of the Stage is done,  
Retire with your loose Friends, to costly Banquets,  
While the lean Army groans upon the Ground.  Theo. 
Leave me, I say, lest I chastise thee:  
Hence, be gone, I say╌  Marc. 
Not till you have heard me out╌  
Build too, like him, a Palace lined with Gold,  
As long and large as that to the Esquiline:  
Enclose a Pool too in it, like the Sea,  
And at the Empire's cost let Navies meet:  
Adorn your starry Chambers too with Gems,  
Contrive the plated Ceiling to turn round,  
With Pipes to cast Ambrosian Oils upon you:  
Consume with his prodigious Vanity,  
In mere Perfumes and Odorous Distillations,  
Of Sesterces at once 400 Millions,  
Let naked Virgins wait you at your Table,  
And wanton Cupid's dance and clap their Wings,  
No matter what becomes of the poor Soldier;  
So they perform the Drudgery they are sit for;  
Why let 'em starve for want of their Arrears,  
Drop as they go, and lie like Dogs in Ditches.  Theo. 
Come, you are a Traitor!  Marc. 
Go too, you are a Boy╌  
Or by the Gods╌  Theo. 
If Arrogance, like this,  
And to the Emperor's Face, should 'scape unpunished,  
I'll write myself a Coward; die then, Villain,  
A Death too glorious for so bad a Man,  
By Theodosius' hand.  [Marcian disarms him, but is wounded. Marc. 
Now, Sir, where are you?  
What, in the name of all our Roman Spirits,  
Now charms my Hand from giving thee thy Fate?  
Has he not cut me off from all my Honours?  
Torn my Commissions, shamed me to the Earth,  
Banished the Court, a Vagabond for ever?  
Does not the Soldier hourly ask it from me?  
Sigh their own wrongs, and beg me to revenge 'em?  
What hinders now, but that I mount the Throne?  
And make to that this purple Youth my Footstool?  
The Armies court me, and my Country's Cause:  
The Injuries of Rome and Greece persuade me.  
Show but this Roman Blood which he has drawn,  
They'll make me Emperor whether I will or no:  
Did not for less than this the latter Brutus,  
Because he thought Rome wronged, in Person, head,  
Against his Friend, a black Conspiracy?  
And stab the Majesty of all the World?  Theo. 
Act as you please, I am within your Power.  Marc. 
Did not the former Brutus, for the Crime  
Of Sextus, drive old Tarquin from his Kingdom?  
And shall this Prince too, by permitting others  
To act their wicked Wills and lawless Pleasures,  
Ravish from the Empire its dear Health,  
Wellbeing, Happiness, and ancient Glory,  
Go on in this dishonourable rest?  
Shall he, I say, dream on, while the starved Troops  
Lie cold and waking in the Winter Camp;  
And like pined Birds, for want of sustenance,  
Feed on the Haws and Berries of the Fields!  
O temper! temper me! ye gracious Gods!  
Give to my Hand forbearance, to my Heart  
Its constant Loyalty! I would but shake him,  
Rouse him a little from this death of Honour,  
And show him what he should be.  Theo. 
You accuse me,  
As if I were some Monster, most unheard of:  
First, as the Ruin of the Army, then  
Of taking your Commission: But, by Heaven,  
I swear, O Marcian! this I never did,  
Nor ere intended it: Nor say I this  
To alter thy stern usage; for with what  
Thou hast said, and done, and brought to my remembrance,  
I grow already weary of my life,  Marc. 
My Lord, I take your word: you do not know  
The wounds which rage within your Country's Bowels:  
The horrid usage of the suffering Soldier:  
But why will not our Theodosius know,  
If you intrust the Government to others  
That act these Crimes; who but your selves to blame?  
Be witness, ye Gods! of my plain dealing,  
Of Marcian's honesty, however degraded:  
I thank you for my banishment! but alas!  
My loss is little to what soon will follow;  
Reflect but on yourself and your own Joys:  
Let not this Lethargy for ever hold you!  
'Twas rumoured through the City that you loved:  
That your Espousals should be solemnised;  
When on a sudden here you send your Orders  
That this bright Favourite, the loved Eudosia,  
Should lose her Head.  Theo: 
O Heaven, and Earth! What sayst thou,  
That I have sealed the death of my Eudosia?  Marc. 
'Tis your own Hand and Signet: Yet I swear,  
Tho' you have given to Female hands your sway,  
And therefore I, as well as the whole Army,  
For ever aught to curse all Womankind;  
Yet when the Virgin came, as she was doomed,  
And on the Scaffold, for that purpose raised,  
Without the walls appeared before the Army!  Theo. 
What, on a Scaffold! ha, before the Army!  Marc. 
How quickly was the Tide of Fury turned!  
To soft Compassion and relenting Tears: But when the Axe  
Severed the brightest Beauty of the Earth  
From that fair Body, had you heard the groan,  
Which like a peal of distant Thunder, ran  
Through all the armed Host, you would have thought,  
By the immediate Darkness that fell round us,  
Whole Nature was concerned at such a Suffering,  
And all the Gods were angry.  Theo. 
O Pulcheria!  
Cruel ambitious Sister, this must be  
Thy doing. O support me, noble Marcian!  
Now, now's the time, if thou dar'st strike; behold  
I offer thee my Breast, with my last Breath,  
I'll thank thee too, if now thou drawest my Blood.  
Were I to live, thy Council shall direct me;  
But 'tis too late╌  [He swoons. Marc. 
He faints! what, hoa there, Lucius'!  [Enter Lucius. 
My Lord, the Emperor, Eudosia lives;  
She's here, or will be in a minute, moment,  
Quick as a thought she calls you to the Temple.  
O Lucius, help╌I have gone too far; but see,  
He breathes again╌ Eudosia has awaked him.  Theo. 
Did you not name Eudosia?  Marc. 
Yes, she lives;  
I did but feign the story of her Death,  
To find how near you placed her to your Heart:  
And may the Gods rain all their Plagues upon me,  
If ever I rebuke you thus again:  
Yet 'tis most certain, that you signed her death,  
Not knowing what the wise Pulcberia offered,  
Who left it in my Hand to startle you:  
But by my Life and Fame, I did not think  
It would have touched your Life. O pardon me,  
Dear Prince, my Lord, my Emperor! Royal Master!  
Droop not because I uttered some rash words,  
And was a mad Man╌by th'immortal Gods!  
I love you as my Soul: what e'er I said,  
My thoughts were otherwise; believe these Tears  
Which do not use to flow; all shall be well:  
I swear that there are Seeds in that sweet Temper,  
To atone for all the Crimes in this bad Age.  Theo. 
I thank thee first for my Eudosia's Life.  
What, but my Love, could have called back that Life  
Which thou hast made me hate? But oh, methought  
'Twas hard, dear Marcian, very hard from thee,  
From him I ever reverenced as my Father,  
To hear so harsh a Message╌but no more:  
We are Friends: Thy hand; Nay, if thou wilt not rise,  
And let me told my Arms about thy Neck,  
I'll not believe thy Love! In this forgive me.  
First let me wed Eudosia, and we'll out;  
We will, my General, and make amends  
For all that's past: Glory and Arms ye call,  
And Marcian leads me on╌  Marc. 
Let her not rest then,  
Espouse her straight; I'll strike you at a heat;  
May this great humour get large growth within you,  
And be encouraged by the emboldening Gods,  
O what a sight will this be to the Soldier,  
To see me bring you dressed in shining Armour,  
To head the shouting Squadrons╌O ye Gods!  
Methinks I hear the echoing Cries of Joy;  
The sound of Trumpets, and the beat of Drums.  
I see each starving Soldier bound from Earth,  
As is some God by Miracle had raised him,  
And with beholding you grow fat again.  
Nothing but gazing Eyes, and opening Mouths;  
Cheeks red with Joy, and lifted Hands about you:  
Some wiping the glad Tears that trickle down  
With broken Io's, and with sobbing Raptures,  
Crying to Arms: He's come! our Emp'rour's come  
To win the World. Why is not this far better  
Than lolling in a Lady's lap, and sleeping,  
Fasting, or praying? Come, come, you shall be merry:  
And for Eudosia, she is yours already:  
Marcian has said it, Sir, she shall be yours.  Theo. 
O Marcian! oh my Brother! Father! all:  
Thou best of Friends, most faithful Counsellor,  
I'll find a Match for thee too e'er I rest,  
To make thee love me. For when thou art with me  
I'm strong and well; but when thou art gone, I am nothing.  Enter Athenais, meeting Theodosius. Theo. 
Alas! Eudosia, tell me what to say;  
For my full Heart can scarce bring forth a word  
Of that which I have sworn to see performed.  Athen. 
I am perfectly obedient to your pleasure.  Theo. 
Well, than I come to tell thee, that Varanes  
Of all mankind is nearest to my Heart;  
I love him, dear Eudosia; and to prove  
That Love on trial, all my Blood's too little;  
Even thee, if I were sure to die this moment,  
(As Heaven alone can tell how far my Fate  
Is off!) O thou my Soul's most tender Joy,  
With my last Breath I would bequeath him thee.  Athen. 
Then you are pleased, my Lord, to yield me to him.  Theo. 
No, my Eudosia; no, I will not yield thee,  
While I have Life; for Worlds I will not yield thee:  
Yet, thus far I am engaged to let thee know,  
He loves thee, Athenais, more than ever.  
He languishes, despairs, and dies like me;  
And I have past my word that he shall see thee.  Athen. 
Ah, Sir, what have you done against yourself,  
And me? Why have you past your fatal word?  
Why will you trust me, who am now afraid  
To trust myself? Why do you leave me naked  
To an assault, who had made proof my Virtue,  
With this sure Guard, never to see him more.  
For, oh with trembling Agonies I speak it,  
I cannot see a Prince, whom once I loved,  
Bathed in his Grief, and gasping at my Feet,  
In all the violent Trances of Despair,  
Without a sorrow, that perhaps may end me.  Theo. 
O ye severer Powers! too cruel Fate!  
Did ever Love tread such a maze before?  
Yet, Athenais, still I trust thy Virtue;  
But if thy bleeding Heart cannot refrain,  
Give, give thyself away; yet still remember,  
That moment Theodosius is no more. ╌  [Ex. Theo. with Attic. Pulc. Leon. Athen. 
Now glory! now, if ever thou didst work  
In Woman's Mind, assist me╌Oh my Heart,  
Why dost thou throb, as if thou were't a breaking?  
Down, down, I say, think on thy Injuries,  
Thy wrongs! thy wrongs. 'Tis well my Eyes are dry,  
And all within my Bosom now is still.  Enter Varanes, leaning on Aranthes. 
Ha! is this he! or is't Varanes Ghost?  
He looks as if he had bespoke his Grave,  
Trembling and pale; I must not dare to view him;  
For oh I feel his melancholy here,  
And fear I shall too soon partake his sickness!  Vara. 
Thus to the angry Gods offending Mortals,  
Made sensible by some severe Affliction,  
How all their Crimes are registered in Heaven,  
In that nice Court, how no rash word escapes,  
But even extravagant Thoughts are all set down:  
Thus the poor penitents with Fear approach  
The Reverend Shrines, and thus for Mercy bow;  [Kneels. 
Thus melting too, they wash the hallowed Earth,  
And groan to be forgiven╌  
O Empress! O Eudosia! such you are now,  
These are your Titles, and I must not dare  
Ever to call you Athenais more.  Athen. 
Rise, rise, my Lord, let me entreat you rise,  
I will not hear you in that humble Posture:  
Rise, or I must withdraw╌The World will blush  
For you and me, should it behold a Prince,  
Sprung from Immortal Cyrus, on his Knees  
Before the Daughter of a poor Philosopher.  Vara. 
'Tis just, you righteous Gods! my Doom is just;  
Nor will I strive to deprecate her Anger.  
If possible, I'll aggravate my Crimes,  
That she may rage till she has broke my heart:  
For all I now desire, and let the Gods,  
Those cruel Gods that join to my undoing,  
Be Witnesses to this unnatural Wish,  
Is to fall dead without a Wound before her.  Athen. 
O ye known sounds! But I must steel my Soul.  
Methinks these Robes, my Delia, are too heavy.  Vara. 
Not worth a word, a look, nor one regard!  
Is then the Nature of my Fault so heinous,  
That when I come to take my eternal leave,  
You'll not vouchsafe to view me? This is scorn,  
Which the fair Soul of gentle Athenais,  
Would ne'er have harbour'd╌  
O, for the sake of him, whom you erelong  
Shall hold as fast as now your Wishes form him,  
Give me a patient hearing; for however  
I talk of Death, and seem to loathe my Life,  
I would deliberate with my Fate a while,  
With snatching Glances eye thee to the last;  
Pause o'er a loss like that of Athenais,  
And parley with my ruin.  Athen. 
Speak, my Lord;  
To hear you is the Emperor's Command;  
And for that Cause I readily obey.  Vara. 
The Emperor, the Emperor's Command  
And for that Cause she readily obeys.  
I thank you, Madam, that on any terms  
You condescend to hear me╌  
Know then, Eudosia. Ah, rather let me call thee:  
By the loved Name of Athenais still;  
That Name that I so often have invoked!  
And which was once auspicious to my Vows;  
So oft at Midnight sighed amongst the Groves,  
The River's murmur and the Echo's burden,  
Which every Bird could sing, and Wind did bear!  
By that dear Name, I make this Protestation,  
By all that's good on Earth, or blessed in Heaven,  
I swear I love thee more, far more than ever,  
With conscious Blushes too! Here, help me, Gods!  
Help me to tell her, tho' to my Confusion,  
And everlasting Shame; yet I must tell her,  
I lay the Persian Crown before her Feet.  Athen. 
My Lord, I thank you, and to express those thanks,  
As nobly as you offer 'em, I return  
The gift you make; nor will I now upbraid you  
With the Example of the Emperor;  
Not but I know 'tis that that draws you on,  
Thus to descend beneath your Majesty;  
And swell the Daughter of a poor Philosopher  
With hopes of being great.  Vara. 
Ah, Madam! ah, you wrong me; by the Gods  
I had repented e'er I knew the Emp'rour╌  Athen. 
You find perhaps, too late, that Athenais,  
However slighted for her Birth and Fortune,  
Has something in her Person, and her Virtue,  
Worth the Regard of Emperors themselves;  
And, to return the Compliment you gave  
My Father, Leontine, that poor Philosopher,  
Whose utmost Glory is to have been your Tutor:  
I here protest, by Virtue, and by Glory,  
I swear by Heaven and all the Powers Divine,  
The abandoned Daughter of that poor old Man  
Shall ne'er be seated on the Throne of Cyrus:  Vara. 
O Death to all my Hopes! what hast thou sworn?  
To turn me wild! Ah cursed Throne of Cyrus,  
Would thou hadst been overturned and laid in Dust,  
His Crown too Thunderstruck. My Father, all  
The Persian Race, like poor Darius, ruined,  
Blotted, and swept for ever from the World;  
When first Ambition blasted thy Remembrance╌  Athen. 
O Heaven! I had forgot the base Affront  
Offered by this proud Man! a Wrong so great,  
It is removed beyond all hope of Mercy:  
He had designed to bribe my Father's Virtue,  
And by unlawful means╌  
Fly from my sight, left I become a Fury╌  
And break those Rules of Temperance I proposed;  
Fly, fly, Varanes! fly this sacred place  
Where Virtue and Religion are professed:  
This City will not harbour Insidels,  
Traitors to Chastity, licentious Princes;  
Be gone, I say, thou canst not here be safe,  
Fly to Imperial Libertines abroad;  
In foreign Courts thou'lt find a thousand Beauties  
That will comply for Gold, for Gold they'll weep,  
For Gold be fond as Athenais was;  
And charm thee still as if they loved indeed.  
Thou'lt find enough Companions too for Riot:  
Luxuriant all, and Royal as thyself,  
Tho' thy loud Vices should resound to Heaven.  
Art thou not gone yet?  Vara. 
No, I am charmed to hear you:  
O from my Soul I do confess myself  
The very blot of Honour; I am more black  
Than thou, in all thy Heat of just Revenge,  
With all thy glorious Eloquence, canst make me.  Athen. 
Away, Varanes.  Vara. 
Yes, Madam, I am going╌  
Nay, by the Gods, I do not ask thee pardon:  
Nor while I live will I implore thy mercy:  
But when I am dead, if as thou dost return,  
With happy Theodosius from the Temple,  
If as thou go'st in Triumph through the streets,  
Thou chance to meet the cold Varanes there,  
Born by his Friends to his Eternal home;  
Stop then, O Athenais! and behold me;  
Say as thou hangest about the Emp'rour's Neck,  
Alas! my Lord, this sight is worth our pity;  
If to those pitying words, thou add a Tear,  
Or give one parting groan╌If possible,  
If the good Gods will grant my Soul the freedom,  
I'll leave my shroud, and wake from Death to thank thee.  Athen. 
He shakes my resolution from the Bottom:  
My bleeding Heart too speaks in his behalf,  
And says my Virtue has been too severe.  Vara. 
Farewell! O Empress: No, Athenais, now  
I will not call thee by that tender Name,  
Since cold despair begins to freeze my Bosom,  
And all my Powers are now resolved on Death.  
'Tis said, that from my Youth I have been rash,  
Choleric, and hot, but let the Gods now judge  
By my last wish, if ever patient Man  
Did calmly bear so great a loss as mine;  
Since 'tis so doomed, by Fate you must be wedded,  
For your own Peace, when I am laid in Earth,  
Forget that e'er Varanes had a Being;  
Turn all your Soul to Theodosius Bosom:  
Continue Gods their Days, and make 'em long:  
Lucina wait upon their fruitful Hymen,  
And many Children, beauteous as the Mother,  
And pious as the Father, make 'em smile.  Athen. 
O heavens'!  Vara. 
Farewell╌I'll trouble you no more:  
The malady that's lodged within grows stronger;  
I feel the shock of my approaching Fate:  
My heart too trembles at his distant march;  
Nor can I utter more, if you should ask me.  
Thy arm, Aranthes! O farewell for ever╌╌  Athen. 
Varanes, stay, and ere you go for ever,  
Let me unfold my heart.  Vara. 
O Athenais!  
What further cruelty hast thou in store  
To add to what I suffer?  Athen. 
Since it is doomed  
That we must part, let's part as Lovers should,  
As those that have loved long, and loved well.  Vara. 
Art thou so good! O Athenais, oh!  Athen. 
First from my Soul I pity and forgive you;  
I pardon you that hasty little Error,  
Which yet has been the cause of both our Ruins.  
And let this sorrow witness for my Heart,  
How eagerly I wish it had not been,  
And since I cannot keep it, take it all.  
Take all the Love, O Prince, I ever bore you:  
Or, if 'tis possible, I'll give you more;  
Your noble Carriage forces this confession:  
I rage! I burn! I bleed! I die for Love:  
I am distracted with this World of Passion.  Vara. 
Gods! cruel Gods! take notice I forgive you.  Athen. 
Alas! my Lord! my weaker tender Sex  
Has not your manly Patience; cannot curb  
This Fury in; therefore I let it lose;  
Spite of my rigid Duty, I will speak  
With all the dearness of a dying Lover,  
Farewell most lovely, and most loved of Men;  
Why comes this dying paleness o'er thy Face?  
Why wander thus thy Eyes? Why dost thou bend  
As if the fatal weight of Death were on thee?  Vara. 
Speak yet a little more; For, by the Gods!  
And as I prize those blessed happy moments,  
I swear, O Athenais! all is well!  
O never better!  Athen. 
I doubt thee, dear Varanes;  
Yet, if thou diest, I shall not long be from thee.  
Once more farewell, and take these last Embraces,  
Oh! I could crush him to my Heart! Farewell;  
And as a dying pledge of my last Love,  
Take this, which all thy Prayers could never Charm;  
What have I done? oh lead me, lead me, Delia!  
Ah, Prince farewell! Angels protect and guard thee.  Vara. 
Turn back! O Athenais! and behold me!  
Hear my last words, and then farewell for ever:  
Thou hast undone me more by this confession:  
You say, you swear, you love me more than ever;  
Yet, I must see you married to another:  
Can there be any Plague or Hell like this?  
O Athenais! Whither shall I turn me?  
You have brought me back to life; but, oh, what life?  

SONG after the Fourth ACT.  
Ah Cru╌el Bloo╌dy Fate, what canst thou now do more? A╌las 'tis now too late Philander to re-store. Why should the Heavenly Powers persuade poor Mortals to believe that they guard us here, or re╌ward us there, yet all our Joys deceive.   

2.  
Her Poniard than she took,  
And held it in her Hand,  
And with a dying look,  
Cried, thus I Fate command.  
Philander! Ah my Love, I come  
To meet thy Shade below!  
Ah! I come, she cried,  
With a Wound so wide,  
There needs no second blow.   

3.  
In Purple Waves her Blood,  
Ran streaming down the Floor,  
Unmoved she saw the Flood,  
And blessed the Dying Hour  
Philander! Ah Philander! still  
The bleeding Phillis cried;  
She wept a while,  
And she forced a smile,  
Then closed her Eyes, and died.  
FINIS.   
To a life more terrible than a thousand deaths;  
Like one that had been buried in a Trance,  
With racking starts, he wakes and gazes round,  
Forced by despair his whirling Limbs to wound,  
And bellow like a Spirit under ground.  
Still urged by Fate, to turn, to toss, and rave,  
Tormented, dashed, and broken in the Grave.  [Exeunt.   


ACT V. SCENE I.  Athenais dressed in Imperial Robes, and Crowned: A Table with a Bowl of Poison. Athen. 
A Midnight Marriage! must I to the Temple  
Thus, at the Murderer's hour? 'Tis wondrous strange!  
But so thou sayst my Father has commanded;  
And that's Almighty Reason.  Delia. 
Th' Emperor in compassion to the Prince,  
Who would, perhaps, fly to extravagance,  
If he in public should resolve to espouse you,  
Contrived by this close Marriage to deceive him.  Athen. 
Go fetch thy Lute, and sing those Lines I gave thee;  
So, now I am alone, yet my Soul shakes;  
For where this dreadful Draught may carry me,  
The heavens' can only tell; yet I am resolved  
To drink it off in spite of Consequence,  
Whisper him, O some Angel! what I am doing;  
By sympathy of Soul let him too tremble,  
To hear my wondrous Faith, my wondrous Love,  
Whose Spirit not content with an Ovation,  
Of lingering Fate, with Triumph thus resolved:  
Thus in the rapid Chariot of the Soul;  
To mount and dare as never Woman dared:  
'Tis done, haste, Delia, haste! come bring thy Lute,  [Drinks. 
And sing my waftage to immortal Joys,  
Methinks I cannot but smile at my own bravery,  
Thus from my lowest Fortune raised to Empire,  
Crowned and adorned! worshipped by half the Earth,  
While a young Monarch dies for my Embraces:  
Yet now to wave the Glories of the World,  
O my Varanes! tho' my Births unequal,  
My Virtue sure has richly recompensed,  
And quite outgone Example!  

SONG.  

1.  
Ab Cruel bloody Fate,  
What oanst thou now do more?  
Alas, 'tis all too late,  
Philander to restore:  
Why should the Heavenly Powers persuade  
Poor Mortals to believe,  
That they guard us here,  
And reward us there,  
Yet all our Joys deceive?   

2.  
Her Poniard than she took,  
And held it in her Hand;  
And with a dying look,  
Cried, thus I Fate command:  
Philander! ah my Love I come,  
To meet thy shade below;  
Ah, I come, she cried,  
With a Wound so wide,  
There needs no second Blow:   

3.  
In Purple Waves her Blood  
Ran streaming down the Floor,  
Unmoved she saw the Flood,  
And blessed her dying hour:  
Philander! ah, Philander! still  
The bleeding Phillis cried,  
She wept a while,  
And forced a smile;  
Then closed her Eyes and died.    Enter Pulcheria. Pulch. 
How fares my dear Eudosia? ha, thou look'st,  
Or, else the Tapers cheat my sight, like one  
That's fitter for thy Tomb than Caesar's Bed;  
A fatal Sorrow dims thy shaded Eyes,  
And in despite of all thy Ornaments,  
Thou seem'st to me the Ghost of Athenais.  Athen. 
And what's the punishment, my dear Pulcheria?  
What Torments are allotted those sad Spirits,  
Who groaning with the burden of Despair;  
No longer will endure the Cares of Life,  
But boldly set themselves at liberty,  
Through the dark Caves of Death to wander on,  
Like wilded Travellers without a Guide,  
Eternal Rovers in the gloomy Maze,  
Where scarce the Twilight of an Infant Moon,  
By a faint Glimmer checkering through the Trees,  
Reflects to dismal view the walking Ghosts,  
And never hope to reach the blessed Fields?  Pulch. 
No more o' that, Atticus shall resolve thee;  
But see, he waits thee from the Emperor;  
Thy Father too attends.  Enter Leontine, Atticus, etc. Leont. 
Come, Athenais! Ha, what now in Tears?  
O fall of Honour, but no more I charge thee,  
I charge thee, as thou ever hop'st my Blessing,  
Or fear'st my Curse, to banish from thy Soul  
All Thoughts, if possible, the Memory  
Of that ungrateful Prince that has undone thee.  
Attend me to the Temple on this Instant,  
To make the Emperor thine, this Night to wed him,  
And lie within his Arms.  Athen. 
Yes, Sir, I'll go╌  
Let me but dry my Eyes, and I will go;  
Eudosia, this unhappy Bride shall go,  
Thus like a Victim crowned and doomed to bleed,  
I'll wait you to the Altar, wed the Emperor,  
And if he pleases, lie within his Arms.  Leont. 
Thou art my Child again.  Athen. 
But do not, Sir, imagine that any Charms,  
Or threatenings shall compel me  
Never to think of poor Varanes more:  
No, my Varanes: No╌  
While I have Breath, I will remember thee:  
To thee alone I will my Thoughts consine,  
And all my Meditations shall be thine:  
The Image of thy Woes my Soul shall fill,  
Fate and my End, and thy Remembrance still;  
As in some popular Shade the Nightingale,  
With piercing Moans does her lost Young bewail,  
Which the rough Hind, observing as they lay  
Warm in their Downy Nest, had stolen away,  
But she in mournful Sounds does still complain,  
Sings all the Night, tho' all her Songs are vain,  
And still renews her miserable strain:  
So my Varanes, till my Death comes on,  
Shall sad Eudosia thy dear Loss bemoan.  [Ex. Athenais, Atticus.  

SCENE II.  Enter Varanes. Vraa. 
'Tis Night, dead Night, and weary Nature lies  
So fast, as if she never were to rise:  
No breath of Wind now whispers through the Trees;  
No noise at Land, nor murmur in the Seas;  
Lean Wolves forget to howl at Night's pale Noon;  
No wakeful Dogs bark at the silent Moon:  
Nor ' bay the Ghosts that glide with Horror by,  
To view the Caverns where their Bodies lie,  
The Raven's perch, and no Presages give;  
Nor to the Windows of the dying cleave.  
The Owls forget to scream, no midnight sound  
Calls drowsy Echo from the hollow ground;  
In Vaults the walking Fires extinguished lie;  
The Stars, heavens' Sentry, wink and seem to die.  
Such universal Silence spreads below,  
Through the vast Shades where I am doomed to go;  
Nor shall I need a Violence to wound:  
The Storm is here that drives me on the Ground,  
Sure means to make the Soul and Body part,  
A burning Fever, and a broken Heart.  
What, hoa, Aranthes!  [Enter Aranthes. 
I sent thee to the Apartment of  
Athenais! I sent thee, did I not, to be admitted?  Aran. 
You did, my Lord; but oh  
I fear to give you an account.  Vara. 
Alas!  
Aranthes, I am got on the other side  
Of this bad World; and now am passed all fear.  
O ye avenging Gods, is there a Plague  
Among your hoarded Bolts and heaps of Vengeance  
Beyond the mighty Loss of Athenais?  
'Tis contradiction, speak, then speak, Aranthes.  
For all misfortunes, if compared with that,  
Will make Varanes smile╌  Aranth. 
My Lord, the Empress,  
Crowned and adorned with the Imperial Robes,  
At this dead time of Night with silent Pomp,  
As they designed from all to keep it secret,  
But chiefly sure from you; I say the Empress  
Is now conducted by the General.  
Atticus and her Father, to the Temple,  
There to espouse th' Emperor, Theodosius.  Vara. 
sayst thou? is't certain! hah.  Arant. 
Most certain, Sir, I saw 'em in procession.  Vara. 
Give me thy Sword, malicious Fate! O Fortune!  
O giddy Chance! O turn of Love and Greatness!  
Married! she has kept her Promise now indeed;  
And oh her pointed Fame and nice Revenge,  
Have reached their end. No Aranthes! no!  
I will not stay the lazy Execution  
Of a slow Fever: Give me thy Hand, and swear  
By all the Love and Duty that thou ow'st me,  
To observe the last Commands that I shall give thee;  
Stir not against my purpose, as thou fear'st  
My Anger and Disdain; Nor dare to oppose me  
With troublesome unnecessary formal Reasons;  
For what my Thought has doomed, my Hand shall seal.  
I charge thee hold it steadfast to my Heart,  
Fixed as the Fate that throws me on the Point.  
Tho' I have lived a Persian, I will fall  
As fair, as fearless, and as full resolved  
As any Greek or Roman of 'em all.  Aranth. 
What you command is terrible but sacred,  
And to atone for this too cruel Duty,  
My Lord, I'll follow you╌╌╌  Vara. 
I charge thee not!  
But when I am dead take the attending Slaves,  
And bear me, with my Blood distilling down,  
Straight to the Temple; lay me, O Aranthes!  
Lay my cold corpse at Athenais' Feet,  
And say, O why, why, do my Eyes run o'er!  
Say with my latest Gasp I groaned for Pardon.  
Just here my Friend, hold fast, and fix the Sword;  
I feel the Artery, where the Life-Blood lies;  
It heaves against the Point╌╌Now, O ye Gods,  
If for the greatly wretched you have room,  
Prepare my place, for dauntless lo I come!  
The force of Love thus makes the Mortal Wound,  
And Athenais sends me to the Ground.  [Kills himself.  

SCENE III. The outward part of the Temple.  Enter Pulcheria and Julia at one Door, Marcian and Lucius at another. Pulch. 
Look Julia, see the pensive Marcian comes;  
'Tis to my wish, I must no longer lose him,  
Lest he should leave the Court indeed: he looks  
As if some mighty secret worked within him,  
And laboured for a Vent; inspire me Woman,  
That what my Soul desires above the World,  
May seem imposed and forced on my Affections╌  Luc. 
I say she loves you, and she stays to hear it  
From your own Mouth: Now, in the Name of all  
The Gods at once, my Lord, why are you silent?  
Take heed, Sir, mark your opportunity;  
For if the Woman lays it in your way,  
And you oversee it, she is lost for ever.  Marc. 
Madam, I come to take my eternal leave;  
Your Doom has banished me, and I obey:  
The Court and I shake Hands, and now we part,  
Never to see each other more; the Court  
Where I was born, and bred a Gentleman:  
No more, till your Illustrious Bounty raised me,  
And drew the Earthborn Vapour to the Clouds:  
But, as the Gods ordained it, I have lost,  
I know not how, through Ignorance, your Grace:  
And now the Exhalation of my Glory  
Is quite consumed and vanished into Air.  Pulch. 
Proceed, Sir╌╌  Marc. 
Yet let those Gods that doomed me to displease you,  
Be Witnesses how much I honour you╌  
Thus, worshipping, I swear by your bright self,  
I leave this infamous Court with more content  
Than Fools and Flatterers seek it. But, oh Heaven!  
I cannot go if still your hate pursues me;  
Yes, I declare it is impossible,  
To go to Banishment without your Pardon.  Pulch. 
You have it, Marcian; is there ought beside,  
That you would speak, for I am free to hear?  Marc. 
Since I shall never see you more, what hinders  
But my last words should here protest the Truth?  
Know then, Imperial Princess, matchless Woman,  
Since first you cast your Eyes upon my meanness,  
Even till you raised me to my envied height,  
I have in secret loved you╌  Pulch. 
Is this Marcian?  Marc. 
You frown! but I am still prepared for all;  
I say I loved you, and I love you still,  
More than my Life, and equal to my Glory;  
Methinks the warring Spirit that inspires  
This Frame, the very Genius of old Rome!  
That makes me talk without the fear of Death,  
And drives my daring Soul to acts of Honour.  
Flames in your Eyes! our Thoughts too are akin,  
Ambitious, fierce, and burn alike for Glory:  
Now, by the Gods, I loved you in your Fury,  
In all the Thunder that quite rived my hopes,  
I loved you most, even when you did destroy me.  
Madam, I've spoke my heart, and could say more,  
But that I see it grieves you, your high Blood  
Frets at the Arrogance and saucy Pride  
Of this bold Vagabond: may the Gods forgive me:  
Farewell; a worthier General may succeed me;  
But none more faithful to the Emperor's Interest,  
Than him you are pleased to call the Traitor, Marcian.  Pulch. 
Come back, you have subtly played your part indeed;  
For first, th' Emperor whom you lately schooled,  
Restores you your Commission; next commands you,  
As you're a Subject not to leave the Court,  
Next, but oh Heaven! which way shall I express  
His cruel Pleasure, he that is so mild  
In all things else, yet obstinate in this,  
Spite of my Tears, my Birth, and my Disdain,  
Commands me, as I dread his high Displeasure,  
O Marcian! to receive you as my Husband.  Marc. 
Ha, Lucius! what, what does my Fate intend?  Luc. 
Pursue her, Sir, 'tis as I said, she yields,  
And rages that you follow her no faster!  Pulch. 
Is then at last my great Authority,  
And my entrusted Power, declined to this?  
Yet oh my Fate, what way can I avoid it!  
He charged me straight to wait him to the Temple;  
And there resolve! oh Marcian! on this Marriage.  
Now generous Soldier, as you're truly noble;  
O help me forth, lost in this Labyrinth;  
Help me to lose this more than Gordian Knot,  
And make me and yourself for ever happy.  Marc. 
Madam, I'll speak as briefly as I can,  
And as a Soldier ought, the only way  
To help this Knot is yet to tie it faster.  
Since then the Emperor has resolved you mine,  
For which I will for ever thank the Gods,  
And make this Holiday throughout my Life,  
I take him at his word, and claim his promise;  
The Empire of the World shall not redeem you.  
Nay, weep not, Madam, though my out side's rough,  
Yet, by those Eyes, your Soldier has a Heart  
Compassionate and tender as a Virgins,  
Even now it bleeds to see those falling Sorrows,  
Perhaps this Grief may move the Emperor  
To a Repentance! Come then to the Trial;  
For by my Arms, my Life, and dearer Honour,  
If you go back when given me by his Hand,  
In distant Wars my Fate I will deplore,  
And Marcian's Name shall ne'er be heard of more.  [Exeunt.  

SCENE, the Temple.  Theodosius, Athenais, Atticus joining their hands╌Marcian, Pulcheria, Lucius, Julia, Delia, etc. Leontine. Attic. 
The more than Gordian knot is tied,  
Which Death's strong Arm shall ne'er divide;  
For when to bliss ye wafted are,  
Your Spirits shall be wedded there.  
Waters are lost, and Fires will die;  
But Love alone can Fate defy.  Enter Aranthes with the Body of Varanes. Arant. 
Where is the Empress? Where shall I find Eudosia?  
By Fate I am sent to tell that cruel Beauty,  
She has robbed the World of Fame; her Eyes have given  
A blast to the big Blossom of the War;  
Behold him there nipped in his flowery Morn,  
Compelled to break his promise of a Day;  
A Day that Conquest would have made her Boast;  
Behold her Laurel withered to the Root,  
Cankered and killed by Athenais scorn.  Athen. 
Dead! dead, Varanes!  Theo. 
O ye Eternal Powers  
That guide the World! why do you shock our Reason,  
With acts like these that lay our Thoughts in dust?  
Forgive me Heaven this start, or elevate  
Imagination more, and make it nothing.  
Alas! alas, Varanes! But speak, Aranthes,  
The manner of his Fate: Groans choke my words;  
But speak, and we will answer thee with Tears.  Arant. 
His Fever would, no doubt, by this have done  
What some few minutes past his Sword performed,  
He heard from me your progress to the Temple,  
How you designed at midnight to deceive him,  
By a Clandestine Marriage: But, my Lord,  
Had you beheld his Racks at my Relation;  
Or had your Empress seen him in those Torments,  
When from his dying Eyes, swollen to the Brim,  
The big round drops rolled down his manly Face;  
When from his hallowed Breast a murmuring Crowd  
Of groans rushed forth, and echoed, All is well:  
Then had you seen him! O ye cruel Gods!  
Rush on the Sword I held against his Breast,  
And die it to the Hilts, with these last words╌  
Bear me to Athenais╌  Athen. 
Give me way, my Lord,  
I have most strictly kept my promise with you,  
I am your Bride, and you can ask no more,  
Or if you did, I am passed the power to give:  
But here! oh here! on his cold bloody Breast,  
Thus let me breathe my last.  Theo. 
O Empress, what, what can this transport mean?  
Are these our Nuptials! these my promised Joys?  Athen: 
Forgive me, Sir, this last respect I apy  
These sad remains╌And oh thou mighty Spiit,  
If yet thou art not mingled with the Stars,  
Look down and hear the wretched Athenais,  
When thou shalt know, before I gave consent  
To this indecent Marriage, I had taken  
Into my Veins a cold and deadly Draught,  
Which soon would render me, alas, unfit  
For the warm Joys of an Imperial Lover,  
And make me ever thine! yet keep my word  
With Theodosius. Wilt thou not forgive me?  Theo. 
Poisoned to free thee from the Emperor!  
Oh, Athenais! thou hast done a deed  
That tears my Heart! what have I done against thee,  
That thou shouldst brand me thus with Infamy  
And everlasting shame! Thou might'st have made,  
Thy choice without this cruel act of Death,  
I left thee to thy will? and in requital  
Thou hast murdered all my Fame╌  Athen. 
O pardon me!  
I lay my dying Body at your Feet,  
And beg, my Lord, with my last sighs entreat you  
To impute the fault, if 'tis a fault, to love;  
And the ingratitude of Athenais,  
To her too cruel Stars: Remember too,  
I begged you would not let me see the Prince,  
Presaging what has happened; yet my word,  
As to our Nuptials was inviolable.  Theo. 
Ha! she is going! see her languishing Eyes  
Draw in their Beams; the sleep of death is on her.  Athen. 
Farewell, my Lord! alas! alas, Varanes,  
To embrace thee now is not immodesty;  
Or if it were, I think my bleeding Heart,  
Would make me criminal in Death to clasp thee,  
Break all the tender niceties of Honour,  
To fold thee thus, and warm thee into Life,  
For oh what Man, like him, could Woman move!  
O Prince beloved! O Spirit most divine!  
Thus by my Death, I give thee all my Love,  
And seal my Soul and Body ever thine╌  [Dies. Theo. 
O Marcian! O Pulcheria! did not the Power,  
Whom we adore plant all his Thunderbolts  
Against Self-murderers, I would perish too:  
But as I am, I swear to leave the Empire:  
To thee, my Sister, I bequeath the World;  
And yet a gift more great the Gallant Marcian!  
On then my Friend, now show thy Roman Spirit:  
As to her Sex, fair Athenais was,  
Be thou to thine a Pattern of true Honour,  
Thus we'll atone for all the present Crimes,  
That yet it may be said in aftertimes,  
No Age with such Examples could compare,  
So Great, so Good, so Virtuous, and so Fair!  [Ex. Omnes.   
FINIS.   

Epilogue.  
THrice happy they that never writ before;  
How pleased and bold they quit the safer shore:  
Like some new Captain of the City Bands,  
That with big looks in Finsbury Commands,  
Swelled, with huge Ale he cries, beat, beat a Drum,  
Pox o' the French-King, uds bud let him come:  
Give me ten thousand Redcoats, and alloo,  
We'll firk his Cr●qui and his Conde too.  
Thus the young Scribblers, Mankind's sense disdain;  
For ignorance is sure to make 'em vain,  
But far from Vanity, or dangerous pride;  
Our cautious Poet courts you to his side:  
For why should you be scorned, to whom are due,  
All the good days that ever Authors knew.  
If ever gay 'tis you that make 'em fine;  
The Pit and Boxes make the Poet dine,  
And he scarce drinks but of the Critics Wine.  
Old Writers should not for vain glory strive  
But like old Mistresses think how to thrive,  
Be fond of every thing their Keepers say,  
At least till they can live without a Play.  
Like one that knows the Trade, and has been bit;  
She dotes and fawns upon her wealthy Cit;  
And swears she loves him merely for his Wit.  
Another more untaught than a Walloon,  
Antic and ugly, like an old Baboon;  
She swears is an accomplished Beau-garson,  
Turns with all winds, and sails with all desires;  
All hearts in City, Town, and Court, she sires,  
Young callow Lords, lean Knights, and driv'ling Squires.  
She in resistless flattery finds her ends,  
Gives thanks for Fools, and makes ye all her Friends,  
So should wise Poets soothe an awkward Age,  
For they are Prostitutes upon the Stage:  
To stand on points were foolish and ill-bred,  
As for a Lady to be nice in Bed:  
Your wills alone must their performance measure,  
And you may turn 'em every way for pleasure.  
FINIS.   

A Catalogue of some Plays Printed for R. Bently and M. Magnes, in Russel-Street, near Covent-Garden.  

TArtuff, or the French Puritan.  
Forced Marriage, or the Jealous Bride.  
English Monsieur.  
All Mistaken, or the mad Couple.  
Generous Enemies.  
Andromacha: A Tragedy.  
Calisto: or the Masque at Court. Country-Wit, A Comedy.  
Destruction of Jerusalem, 2 parts  
Miseries of Civil-War.  
Henry 6. with the Murder of the Duke of Gloucester.  
Nero, a Tragedy.  
Gloriana, a Tragedy.  
Sophonisba, or Hanibals overthrow.  
Alexander the Great, or the Rival Queens.  
Mithridates' King of Pontus.  
Caesar Borgia, Son of Pope Alexander 6.  
Oedipus, King of Thebes.  
Theodosius, or the Force of Love. The Plain Dealer.  
The Town Fop, or Sir Timothy Taudry.  
Abdellazar, or the Moors Revenge.  
Madam Fickle: or the Witty False one.  
The Fond Husband, or the Plotting Sisters.  
The Virtuous Wife, or good luck at last.  
The Fool turned Critic, a Comedy.  
Squire Oldsap, or the Night Adventurers.  
The Mistaken Husband, a Comedy.  
Mr. Limberham, or the Kind-Keeper.  
Notes and Observations on the Empress of Morocco.  
The Orphan, or Unhappy Marriage.  
The Soldier of Fortune, in the Press.