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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT; 
 
CRISPUS, 
 
 
 SON OF CONSTANTINE 
 
 A TRAGEDY, 
 
 FIVE ACTS. 
 
 to 
 
 
 By A. D. 
 
 NEW YORK. 
 .873- J 
 
4? 
 
 
 Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year 1873, by J. H. Gillespie, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washingtc 
 
 ton. 
 
 TMPS2-008975 
 
CRISPUS. 
 
PERSONS REPRESENTED 
 
 Males : 
 
 Constantine, Koman Emperor. 
 
 Crispus, son to the Emperor, with the title of Caesar. 
 
 Sesipronius, the Emperor's confidant. 
 
 Basilius, a Patrician, in the favonr of the Emperor. 
 
 Mannius, } 
 
 Pisannius, > Patricians, and friends of Crispus. 
 
 Lucullus, ) 
 
 Lactantius, an ecclesiastic, formerly tutor to Crispus. 
 Benevolentius, a soldier, favonred by Crispus. 
 Pappus, an old man about the Palace. 
 An Officer of the Guard. 
 
 CONSTANTIUS, ~) 
 
 Constans, > Half-brothers to Crispus. 
 
 Constantine the Younger, ) 
 
 Courtiers, Soldiers, Attendants, &c 
 
 Females : 
 
 Fausta, Empress, and stepmother to Crispus. 
 Helena, daughter of Licinius, niece to Constantine. 
 Old Helena, the Emperor's mother. 
 Servia, maid to Helena. 
 
 Ladies, Maids in Waiting, Servants, &c. 
 
in 
 
 CEISPT 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE 1.— The Palaoe of Constantine, at Nicomedii 
 Enter Sempronius and Fausta. 
 
 Semp. I've spoken with the herald, who declares 
 That wheresoe'er he goes he is received 
 With shouts of "Long live Crispus!" " Long live Coesn 
 Not e'en the Emperor's self, in youth or age, 
 Was over welcomed with more rapturous joy. 
 The Caesar, ere the sun sets, will be here. 
 
 Fausta. He never shall go back again to Gaul. 
 He is a cloud betwixt me and the sun, 
 Casting a shadow on myself and mine, 
 Himself absorbing all the golden light 
 That should have shed a lustre o'er my sons. 
 I've lived in vain to gain an emperor's love, 
 And bear imperial children in my womb 
 (Myself the offspring of imperial loins), 
 Whilst this young shootling from a baser stem 
 Engrosseth all the glory of his sire. 
 
 Semp. Most gracious lady, Caesar's leaving Gaul, 
 In mere obedience to his father's will, 
 Is but a short step towards your great design 
 Though 'tis, in truth, a step. For Constants 
 As you, indeed, complain— well loves this son, 
 And he, moreover, well deserves the love ; 
 And who would take so strong a citadel— 
 The grave affections of a regal sire, 
 Built on the solid virtues of a son— 
 
 ,." 
 
 \e 
 
6 CRISPUS. 
 
 Attacks a powerful fortress, to be ta'en 
 Less by assault than stratagem. 
 
 Fausta. And we 
 
 Must some sufficient stratagem devise. 
 
 Semp. Ay, we must sap, by slow but sure degrees, 
 The rock whereon your husband's dotage stands, 
 That, from the failure of the base, the whole 
 Accumulation of his love may fall 
 And overwhelm his son. Such means alone 
 Can compass the disgrace of the young Caesar. 
 When he went forth to take command in Gaul, 
 Since which your gracious highness has not seen him, 
 He was a boy, in mind and body crude, 
 And his impulsive temper lacked the rein 
 And curb of sober thought ; yet, even then, 
 As in the acorn sleeps the lordly oak, 
 There was a germ in his uncultured youth 
 Foretok'ning great and noble qualities. 
 But I have seen him in his high command, 
 His manhood flush, his robust thews mature, 
 His mind by action and experience trained, 
 His fitful temper by reflection poised, 
 And, by how much the wrought and polished gem 
 Exceeds in lustre the unburnished stone, 
 By so much doth the manhood of this prince 
 Outshine his youth. 
 
 Fausta. Heyday, Sempronius! 
 
 These praises augur ill for my design, 
 Speaking of love where I would fain see hate, 
 And of a cold ally. But, had he all 
 The virtues thou ascrib'st him fifty-fold, 
 Therein wonld seem more danger to my boys : 
 And therefore I'll be more resolved and stern 
 In my determination to undo 
 And break bis credit with the Emperor. 
 
duisrus. i 
 
 Semp. Were he mine own, your highness, I confer 
 I could not hold him in more just esteem, 
 And cannot without grief contrive him harm. 
 But in my breast a passion burns for you, 
 So iierce that near it all such trivial ties 
 Were frail as paltry filaments 'gainst fire. 
 And were he mine, and he your highness' foe, 
 I could regardless cast him to the wind ; 
 For, as the mill takes motion from the stream, 
 My acts are prompted by your potent will. 
 
 Fausta. Of this no more, for here the treacherous air 
 May not be trusted with such dangerous words, 
 How faintly breathed soe'er. Of this not now, 
 But of the means to pluck my husband's love 
 From out the clod where now it firmly grows, 
 And plant it where I wish. This must be done ; 
 And yet, Sempronius, 'tis no easy task. 
 The more one hinteth reasons for distrust, 
 I do believe his faith the stronger grows. 
 
 Semp. Do not assail the son with open blame, 
 For so upon the father's arc of love 
 You shall but lay solidifying weight, 
 And wedge it into strength. 'Tis from below 
 Must come the stroke that drives the keystone forth 
 And leaves the arch to fall. There is a spark 
 1 have observed oft in the Emperor's mind 
 Which, blown upon too roughly, will expire, 
 But, skilfully and gently breathed upon, 
 Will grow to inextinguishable flame. 
 That little spark is jealousy of Crispus ; 
 For since his gallant conduct on the sea, 
 Which led directly to Licinius' fall, 
 The world has loud and louder grown in praise 
 Of the young Ca3sar's valour. As the sun, 
 While he deigns shine, will not endure the stars. 
 
S CEISPUS. 
 
 Great Constantine will brook no rivalsbip. 
 
 And, since the reputation of his son 
 
 Hath grown so huge and caught such great applause, 
 
 Half-hidden envy and faint-gleaming spleen 
 
 Do, by impatient gestures, show themselves 
 
 In Constantine whene'er the praise is high. 
 
 If on this loose and untuned string we play, 
 
 We shall produce the discord you desire. 
 
 Fausta. These are the very means. Let Constantino 
 Once apprehend that he affects the throne, 
 And all the world could not advance him further. 
 That over-topping and imperious will 
 'Fore which Maximian and Licinius fell 
 Shall break young Crispus too. We'll touch this chord 
 Until it jars his patience. That achieved, 
 Leave we the rest to him — to tune or break it. 
 
 Semp. Be you not seen in this. You best will serve 
 Your cause of hate by seeming to applaud. 
 Join in the admiration of the Caesar, 
 Be you as loud as loudest in his praise, 
 And unto me and those I work through leave 
 The nursing of the Emperor's jealousy. 
 By covert hints, obscurely dropt, we will 
 Insinuate suspicion that this boy 
 (Of his affections' treasure the first gem), 
 Borne on the full tide of the people's praise, 
 Strikes for the bank of power, and turns his eyes 
 With premature ambition toward the throne. 
 When we, by crafty and insidious play, 
 Into the nectar of paternal love 
 Have, drop by drop, infused the gall of fear— 
 What then ? He'll dash the tankard to the ground. 
 
 Fausta. So shall my hopes progress. Let by no chance 
 To fan this spark of envy into hate. 
 I must away to Constantine: but when 
 
CRISPUS. 9' 
 
 1 have beheld this prodigy, again 
 
 We will confer; and nntil then, farewell. (Offers her 
 hand, ivhich Sempronius kisses.) [Exit Faust a. 
 
 Semp. Fairest but falsest woman, fare thee well. 
 Thou art at once my sunshine and my cloud. 
 Hadst thou not been, or had a trackless sea 
 Raged 'twixt thy beauty and my honesty, 
 My path had not through crooked mazes lain, 
 But on the broad and open walks of honour, 
 A pleasant journey leading to repose. 
 This might have been — i fear to think what may be. 
 Why of this woman am I still the slave, 
 Against my better conscience ? Well I know 
 That she hath vices which my heart abhors — 
 Hypocrisy and falseness that I hate 
 With the concentred loathings of my soul, 
 And yet which I, too, practice in her aid. 
 But 0, my captive soul, what outward charms 
 Gild o'er and beautify the rot within ! 
 The gaudy husk conceals the cankered kern. 
 O, that she had not been, or I were blind ! — 
 Nay, deaf as well, for being blind, yet hearing, 
 Were no defence against her conquering wiles. 
 'Tis more for music that we love the lute 
 Than for its beauty. 0, melodious fiend, 
 Thou'st put my honour into golden gyves, 
 Thou'st leashed my manhood with a gilded thong, 
 And my volition, like a learned cur, 
 Thou leadest where thou wilt. 
 Enter Constantine, his three Younger Sons, Fausta, Old 
 Helena, Basilius, &c. &c. 
 Con. Old Time, who flies too swiftly for our fears, 
 Loveth to lag and loiter to our hopes. 
 To my expectant eagerness, each hour 
 To-day hath been more tedious than a year. 
 
10 CRISPUS. 
 
 0, Fausta, Fausta! [Shouting in the distance. 
 
 Fausta. Hark yon! Do yon hear? 
 
 Those shouts, my lord, I take for warranty 
 That little f nrther need yonr hopes be strained ; 
 For in that distant inarticnlate noise 
 My fancy hears the well-beloved name 
 Of Crispns. 
 
 [3Iore shouting and distant flourish of trumpets. 
 
 Con. 'Tis — it mnst be so. Those tramps 
 Blow forth a gladsome greeting from the walls. 
 Now from the palace let the trumpeters 
 Send ont a joyons note. [Flourish of trumpets. 
 
 Nay, londer still, 
 Till the reverberant air shall shake the gronnd. 
 Make welcome shriek from ont yonr brazen tubes, 
 And tnrn yonr chests in a trinmphant blast. 
 Blow, blow, brave trumpeters. 
 
 [Loud fl.ourislb of trumpets . 
 Ay, bravely done. 
 Anticipation in one yearning thonght 
 Knits np existence, and all else is nanght. 
 Delay can joyful expectations crowd 
 (As with the snnbeams doth a burning.glass) 
 Into a centre so acnte and keen 
 That brightest prospects will occasion pain. 
 
 Fausta. Do not forget, my lord, yon have a wife 
 And other children. I partake yonr joy 
 In the arrival of yonr noble son, 
 And love him as my own ; bnt I wonld fain 
 Reserve a corner in yonr royal heart 
 To keep my own love warm. 
 
 Con. My gentle wife, 
 
 I wrong not thee because I love my son ; 
 And— bnt that absence leaveja vacant place 
 Here at the banquet of my bonndlcss love, 
 
CRISPUS. 11 
 
 Which I wonltl fain have filled — he is to me 
 No more than those dear boys thon barest me. 
 For my sake, Fausta, love my gallant son. 
 Thon mnst ; thon dost — or else thon lov'st not me. 
 
 Fausta. What yon love, I love ; what yon hate, so I. 
 I hold your house a casket of rich jewels — 
 A fragrant flower, of many leaves composed, 
 Each one its portion to the general fund 
 Of precious sweets imparting. 
 
 Con. By my life, 
 
 I made a concmest, when I took thy love, 
 Greater than all the triumphs of my arms. 
 If pleasure smiles, or if misfortune frowns, 
 Thy richness meets my need, for thon canst find, 
 For gladness, mirth — for melancholy, tears. 
 
 Fausta. My breast is but a mirror to your own, 
 Wherein your own is doubled. When in yours 
 The lamp of pleasure burns, it glows in mine ; 
 When sorrow shadeth yours, mine gloometh too. 
 
 [Shouting and trumpet*, nearer. 
 
 Semp. My liege, your son is at the palace gate. 
 I see the gallant prince. [More shouting. 
 
 Fausta goes to window. 
 
 Fausta. 'Tis true, my lord. 
 
 Here from the casement I do see the prince 
 Enter the palace. I had known him not, 
 So much the man excels the awkward youth 
 That I remember Crispns ; but 'tis he, 
 For all the crowd did bend their eyes on him, 
 And waved their hands and kissed their finger tips. 
 Now Constantine, let loose your pent-up love 
 And open heart and arms. Your son is here. 
 Enter Ckispus, who embraces his father. 
 
 Cris. Hail, thon old warrior! Let my arms enfold 
 And press thy reverend body to my breast. 
 
12 CRISPUS. 
 
 Ne'or did enfranchised prisoner, from dark cell, 
 Rnsh with more rapture into light and air 
 Than I from pining absence to thy love. 
 
 Con. Here let our hearts enmingle, warlike son ! 
 O, ne'er was healing balsam to a sore 
 More welcome than thy presence to my soul ! 
 Again, again, brave youth — one more embrace ! 
 But I must not be greedy in my joy, 
 And eat up all thy love, for round thee stand 
 Thy younger brothers and their royal dam, 
 My aged mother, relatives, and friends 
 As near in love although unlinked in blood, 
 Whose anxious hearts are hungering to caress. 
 
 Cms. Good friends and kin, I greet you, one and all, 
 And with my leisure shall my courtesy 
 Be more explicit and distinct to each. 
 But you, my grandam — venerable root, 
 Whence sprung the trunk of the imperial tree 
 Whereof my glory is to be a bough — 
 Here on the instant take your rightful due. [Kissing. 
 And you, my brothers, o'er whose happy days 
 Time runs too swiftly (though to your bright hopes 
 And young ambition he may creep too slowly), 
 Let me embrace you all, and kiss your cheeks 
 While their soft skins bear no forbidding beards, 
 For 'twill not long be so — they'll come anon. 
 
 [Kisses each of his brothers. 
 Then, my fair stepdame, let me greet you too. 
 1 blush to call you mother, for your face 
 "Records less age then mine. Far easier 'twere 
 To me to call you sister. Time refrains 
 To blow his blighting breath upon your bloom, 
 But breathes aside to wither aught save you. 
 I am less tender. I perforce must kiss you, 
 For this fair brow is loadstone to these lips. [Kissing. 
 
CRISPUS. 13 
 
 My heart is glad to see yon look so well, 
 And gladness o'ersteps dnty ; bnt I pray 
 You will forgive this childish gallantry. 
 
 Fausta. Where no offence, 'tis needless to forgive. 
 Thon'rt welcome, royal yonth — thrice welcome home. 
 Thongh not thy mother, from my heart I greet thee 
 With more than mother's welcome. 
 
 Ceis. This my thanks, 
 
 And connt me always your devoted friend. 
 
 [Kisses her hamd. 
 
 Con. I do rejoice that your affections thus 
 O'erleap the gap of birth, and cleave together 
 As 'twere with bent of nature. Come, my son, 
 I would in private speak with thee of Gaul 
 Some idle moments till the feast is laid. 
 Go, dearest Fausta — hie thee to our guests, 
 And from the joy that in thine own breast burns 
 Distribute gladness unto all our friends. 
 Nor shalt thou lose by what thou dost bestow ; 
 For 'tis the wondrous property of joy 
 That we may give it, yet not lose 't ourselves, 
 As may one lamp a thousand others light, 
 Yet never bate its brightness by one ray. 
 
 Fausta (aside) . 0, fascinating youth ! I am undone 
 Where I was most determined to undo. 
 The snake that nursed her venom for his veins 
 Is spellbound by the music of his tongue. 
 
 [Exeunt all hub Oonstantine and Crispus. 
 
 Con. My noble son, my bosom rings with joy, 
 But through its merry music winds a strain, 
 Like the soft breathing of iEolus o'er 
 His melancholy harp, that gently tells 
 How joy — like boist'rous laughter pushed to tears — 
 May blend with sadness or extend to pain. 
 Though I am pleased to see thy young form grown 
 
14 CRISPUS. 
 
 Into the ripe and perfect man thon art, 
 
 And, like an oakling spreading to the sun, 
 
 Thy proud young spirit opening ont to fame, 
 
 The contemplation of thy happy age 
 
 Doth from my mental eyeball lift the scale 
 
 And crnst of thirty years. Then flows a tide 
 
 Of early memories over later clays, 
 
 Whose limpid waters glass me as I was 
 
 When I was yonng as thou ; but straight it ebbs, 
 
 And shows the worn and battered thing I am, 
 
 Wherein, my son, my melancholy lies. 
 
 But I must cast it off. What must be borne, 
 
 If borne with patience, will the easier seem, 
 
 For patience acts as cushion to a load. 
 
 There is no turning on the road of life, 
 
 And I would plod contented to the end, 
 
 How dark soe'er it be. 
 
 Cms. My kingly sire, 
 
 Thy end shall be — and Providence defer 
 That final honour to a distant hour — 
 Like to a heavenly setting of the sun, 
 When all the glories of the summer sky 
 Crowd to the west to dignify his fall. 
 
 Con. Thy speech, my son, is solace to my soul, 
 Proving how rich I am in thy good love. 
 There is to me sad sweetness in the thought 
 That when my old and weary bones lay down, 
 In silent death, the honours that I bear, 
 I shall behind me leave a gallant son 
 To take them up and wear them worthily. 
 Yet, when thou dost possess them, thou shalt find 
 Not all the honours heaped upon my age 
 Are worth the dreamy visions of thy youth. 
 Yet, what they are, they one day will be thine, 
 And tender tears are all the meed thou'lt owe 
 
CRISPUS. 15 
 
 To him that won them for thee. Let me see — 
 
 Nay, pardon, let me look into thine eyes. 
 
 0, could my vision peer into thy soul, 
 
 My jealous love shall probe thee all so far. 
 
 Did I suspect a rival in my crown — 
 
 That thy heart-longing could o'erlook my love 
 
 To gape for that, I had as lief have been 
 
 The poorest groom that does thee menial service. 
 
 Did I but fear thy brain could house a thought 
 
 That 'twixt my dignities and thy desires 
 
 The curtain of my life might hang too long, 
 
 'Twould be a grief — a crushing grief indeed. 
 
 Oris. O, father, father ! were my heart not filled 
 With filial duty and obedient love, 
 Whereto irreverent anger, like a flame 
 To water, oometh only to expire, 
 These unkind thoughts had kindled me to rage. 
 These doubts you thrust into my breast like thorns, 
 Which sting the keener for a fondling hand 
 Doth gore me with them, and dejection comes 
 Where indignation may not. Save you, sir ! 
 As I do hope for heaven, yet fear to die, 
 The prospeet of your death doth more appal 
 My apprehension than your honours, told 
 A thousand-fold, could e'er affect my hopes. 
 If I have youth that may endure fatigue, 
 If courage that may serve you in your wars, 
 If sense or skill to guide your helm in peace, 
 If truth that may be faithful to your trust, 
 If life or limb to prop your dignity, 
 I to your service frankly tender all, 
 And humbly do beseech your use of them, 
 That care may sit more lightly on your life. 
 Make of my youth a cushion to your age, 
 Whereon your wisdom may in ease recline, 
 
16 CRISPUS. 
 
 In the full splendour of your majesty. 
 
 Con. 1 do believe thee — on my life, I do — 
 And heavily will draw upon thy love. 
 
 Cms. The treasure shall not fail you in your need. 
 
 Con. Forgive my humour, for I thought aloud 
 Rather than spoke to thee. No, Crispus, no ; 
 I would not wound thy young and generous heart 
 For all the wealth within my sceptre's sway ; 
 But I have passed that pitch upon life's round 
 Wherefrom the wheel doth fall, and baseless fears 
 Are to that period all as apt and prone 
 As airy hopes and castles to the young. 
 Come to my closet; then we'll to the feast. [E$ewbt. 
 
 SCENE 2.— Another Part of the Palace. 
 Enter Pappus and Benevolentius, at opposite sides. 
 
 Ben. Good even, Pappus. Well, what dost thou think 
 of the Caesar now ? Thou didst know him as a boy, and 
 having to-day journeyed some distance in his company, 
 and had, withal, discourse with him, thou knowest him 
 now as a man. What dost thou think of him? 
 
 Pap. Think of him ! I have no words to tell thee what 
 I think of him. This is the happiest day of my life. I 
 never fell out with my grey hairs till I saw the Caesar in 
 his manhood. Heretofore I have regarded them as the 
 insignia of wisdom, and infinitely more honourable than 
 the gaudy flaunting locks that make the f opling proud ; but 
 the young Crispus — Heaven bless him ! — with the beauty 
 and vigour that become his years, has the wisdom of a 
 sage; and his judgment so sparkles on his good looks that 
 they seem to be its natural foil. Since I have seen him I 
 have come to despise this thin white fleece of mine, which 
 seems rather to symbolise poverty and pallor in my wits 
 than to be any token of my wisdom. 
 
 Ben* He is, indeed, a most wise young prince ; and the 
 
CRISPUS. 17 
 
 more thou seest of him the more thou shalt be convinced 
 of his judgment. 
 
 Pap. Ay, he is somewhat wise; there's no gainsaying 
 that ; and yet I was less struck with his judgment than 
 his beauty. 
 
 Ben. I took thee to say just now that thou wast most 
 struck with his wisdom. 
 
 Pap. Heyday, young man! Hast thou no more grace 
 than to contradict thy elders. 
 
 Ben. Why, didst thou not say that his wit flashed from 
 his beauty like a jewel from itesetting? 
 
 Pap. No, coxcomb, I — that is, only to an extent, only to 
 an extent. I said he was wise for his years, and I say so 
 still ; but no man is wise at his years, and, upon reflec- 
 tion, I have known younger men wiser than he. But for 
 good looks, I grant thee he is the masterpiece of crea- 
 tion. 
 
 Ben. Is he not, Pappus? Didst thou ever see such 
 eyes ? May not one see honesty in them ? 
 
 Pap. Certainly, he has a fine eye ; yet it is something 
 vacant, and its vacancy looks like honesty. 
 
 Ben. But his hair, Pappus ! Might not his locks adorn 
 the temples of Apollo ? 
 
 Pap. Well, undoubtedly, his locks are ample, and withal 
 somewhat flowing ; and yet his hair is too coarse to be 
 pleasing. 
 
 Ben. Coarse, Pappus ? Why, 'tis fine as floss. 
 
 Pap. Pray respect thy seniors, young man. I say his 
 hair is coarse — coarse as welUropes. It is the chief 
 blemish of his beauty. 
 
 Ben. Well, Pappus, I will not anger thee by contradic- 
 tion. I will give in to thy humour about the hair ; but 
 what canst thou say against the dignity and grace of his 
 features ? 
 
 Pap. Nothing> indeed, against his features. 
 
18 C1USPUS. 
 
 Ben. Is he not handsome beyond all else thou hast ever 
 beheld ? 
 
 Pap. No ; by no means. He is passably well-looking ; 
 but his beauty is only borrowed, for he had it from his 
 father, who is better looking than he. 
 
 Ben. Yet he is handsome. Then, the straightness of his 
 limbs, the proportioned breadth of his shoulders, the ful- 
 ness of his chest, the cnrve of his loins, the strength of 
 his haunches, the poise of his head, the spring and firm- 
 ness of his gait — By my life, he is the perfection of 
 manhood. 
 
 Pap. Hold to thy own opinions, young man ; by all 
 means, judge for thyself. But let me tell thee that the 
 poverty of thy taste is proof of the folly of thy years. 
 
 Ben. Why, thou old crabstock, thou art more shifty 
 than the wind. 
 
 Pap. Thou liest, insolent coxcomb. I stick to what I 
 said at first : he is wry -necked. 
 
 Ben. Thou liest, dotard. 
 
 Pap. He is squint-eyed. 
 
 Ben. Thou liest. 
 
 Pap. He is round-shouldered, low-chested, calf -mouthed, 
 weak-loined, flat-footed, and I'll wager, when his legs are 
 seen, he is either bandy-legged or buck-shinned. 
 
 Ben. Thou liest, thon liest, thou liest. 
 
 Pap. He is the ugliest man, save thee, I ever had the 
 ill fortnne to set eyes upon, and the greatest dunce in the 
 Roman empire. 
 
 Ben. He is the handsomest being below the gods, and 
 the most honourable Eoman living. 
 
 Pap. Go mend thy manners and thy judgment, princox. 
 I leave thee with contempt. [Exit. 
 
 Ben. Nay, thou leavest me rather without contempt, for 
 thou bearest mine with thee. If I wish to be friendly 
 with Pappus, it will never do to agree with him. [Exit. 
 
CPJSPUS. 19 
 
 SCENE 3.— A Banquet in the Palace. 
 
 CONSTANTINE, CBISPUS, FAUSTA, SeMPRONIUS, 8fC. $"C. With 
 
 Conrtiers, Ladies, and. Attendants, discovered. 
 
 Con. Since all are satisfied, and tempting viands 
 Prick not onr jaded appetites to more 
 \ (Our fulness loathing what our hunger craved), 
 As from the feast you rise, a general pledge 
 We drink, of health and long life unto all. 
 Now to your revels, for we waive all form, 
 That ceremony* s slow and stately wain 
 Encumber not, with tedious pace, the ground 
 Whereon fleet-footed'pleasure pants to run. 
 
 Semp. I would beseech a minute's pause, my liege. 
 Three gentlemen, deputed by the town 
 That duty to discharge, entreat your leave 
 To read and to present a short address, 
 Congratulating — 
 
 Con. This is badly timed. 
 
 Semp. It is, my lord, and so I argued them ; 
 But they persist, confiding in the love 
 That spurs the error to condone the fault. 
 To their good hope I add my humble prayer. 
 
 Con. We'll hear it read, but with all decent speed, 
 For what pertains to us we well could waive. 
 
 Semp. (aside to Fausta.) This is a hash of vain and 
 fulsome praise, 
 Which might upon the grossest stomach pall ; 
 But in't is reference that will his grudge 
 Against the Cassar — now an itching spot, 
 Unseen till rubbed — yet chafe into a sore, 
 And which, once fretted raw, must never heal. 
 Three Deputies advance, and bend before Constantine. 
 
 1st Dep. (reading). Illustrious Constantine, of monarchs 
 prime, 
 The first and mightiest soldier of the world, 
 
20 CRISPUS. 
 
 In peace as wise as obstinate in war, 
 
 Before whose fame the burning wreaths that glow 
 
 Sound ancient heroes' temples fade and wane, 
 
 Like paltry night-lamps in the sheen of day, — 
 
 With trembling homage we approach your throne, 
 
 Our lives and duties at your feet to lay. 
 
 Great conqueror, behold our prostrate forms, 
 
 Unto your princely feet a humble stool, 
 
 To lift your wisdom nearer to the clouds 
 
 Whence first it emanated, and whereto 
 
 It one day must — sad fate for earth ! — return. 
 
 Cris. (aside). Can this vile flattery and these abject 
 slaves 
 Have sprung from noble Rome ? Faugh ! 'tis most foul. 
 Then art thou dead indeed, majestic Rome, 
 For carrion only could such vermin breed. 
 So maggots thrive when dignity decays. 
 
 Con. (aside) . He frowns, as in disgust, and turns away. 
 His dainty stomach finds the food too gross. 
 So, so — their praises please him not. Well, well. 
 
 1st Dep. We come catch some stray drops of the joy 
 That from your heart abundantly runs o'er, 
 And humbly crave to welcome the return 
 From distant dangers of your warrior son, 
 That brave, that virtuous, and that beauteous prince, 
 Who from your own sublimity proceeds 
 As dazzling lustre issues from the sun. 
 
 Con. (aside). He is the lustre, then, and I the sun. 
 So I, the sun, of my own light bereaved, 
 Remain but ashes from the Caesar's fire. 
 
 Cris. (smiling contemptuously) . Disgusting trash ! 
 Con. (aside). So, so — thou smilest now. 
 Thyself the theme, their adulation seems 
 Less grossly nauseous, does it ? Good. Go to. 
 
 1st Dep. We greet thee, mighty son of mighty sire! 
 
CEISPUS. 2\ 
 
 We glorify thy brilliant feats of arms. 
 And specially that naval triumph name. 
 Gained o'er Licinius in the Hellespont, 
 Which gave the purple of thy worthy sire 
 A richer hue and more capacious — 
 
 Con. Hold ! 
 
 T do beseech you, moderate your praise. 
 Let commendation halt whilst further still, 
 Without o'erniarching merit, it may go; 
 For praise should wait on worthiness, and walk. 
 Like an attendant, somewhat in the rear. 
 When praise outweighs the virtues we commend, 
 We raise a column on too frail a base, 
 That crumbles 'neath the weight 'tis sought to bear. 
 Like decoration pushed to glittering gawd, 
 That which we would enrich we only mar. 
 Come, come, you weary me — I'll hear no more. 
 The night wears fast — your scroll is much too long. 
 Go — get you gone ! Let pleasure now succeed 
 This dreary adulation. Go, go, go. [Exeunt Deputies, 
 
 Cris. I do not marvel that your patience wears. 
 When I succeed to your unbounded power ~ 
 If e'er I do, and distant be the day— 
 When such lip-serving sycophants as these 
 Would blow their fulsome incense face, 
 I'll have the slaves lashed hound-like from the court. 
 
 Con. (aside). Does not this mean I am a vain old 
 man ? 
 " When I succeed," eh ? I have other sons. 
 I love thee, lad; but thou art over bold. 
 I must a while retire, good gentle friends. 
 I am not well ; a dull and heavy pain 
 Hath shot athwart and throbs within my brow ;— 
 I need some short repose. Be not concerned ; 
 T'll be myself anon, and eome again. 
 
22 CRISPUS. 
 
 Cms. O, sovereign father, this is sad indeed ! 
 You are the very girdle of the fete, 
 The union-link that runs through all our hearts, 
 The silken string that binds our bunch of flowers ; 
 And you, alas, unwell ! Your illness, sire, 
 Will snap the cord, and scatter the bouquet. 
 
 Con. May health, like dews from kindly heaven, 
 descend 
 Upon thy head, and keep thee young for aye. 
 I am already almost whole again. 
 On with the dance, and think no more of me. 
 I will be with you straight ; I'm better now. 
 My filthy fears are traitors to my peace (aside). 
 Henceforth I'll listen to my heart alone, 
 Which tells me he is true. [Exit. 
 
 Semp. (aside to Fausta) . The poison works, 
 And, though the antidote appears to sooth, 
 Its venom yet shall sink into the soul. [Exit. 
 
 Fausta (aside) . Alas, alas ! how guiltiness recoila 
 On those that use it ! Who by evil works 
 Doth up an incline push a ponderous stone. 
 Which, when his force is spent, rolls back on him. 
 The fiend I've raiiaed to scare the Caesar's quiet 
 Frights my own peace. I fear my own ally. 
 A Dance, after which the Company gradually disperse. 
 
 Oris. What is your age, good mother? 
 
 Fausta. Now too old 
 
 To own it frankly had I not been wed. 
 O, fie on thee, to ask a lady's age! 
 When once a woman passes twenty-five, 
 Her age becomes a secret, to be guessed, 
 Not bluntly asked ; and courtesy should err 
 Upon the side of youth in guessing it. 
 
 Oris. Nay, pardon me. Indeed, I meant no harm. 
 I'd rather die than wittingly be rude ; 
 
CRISPUS. 23 
 
 But yoa in air and person look so well, 
 
 So rich in beauty, and withal so young, 
 
 That I do marvel how your charms outwear 
 
 The nurture of your family. E'en I 
 
 (On whom the hand of time hath busier been) 
 
 Should name you mother ; yet, regarding age, 
 
 It seemeth mockery to call you bo. 
 
 Faust a. And, Crispus, well it may, for o'er my head 
 So many summers have not shed their suns 
 But I might be thy sister. Nay, I've known 
 (The woman, too, the elder of the twain) 
 'Twixt man and wife more difference of yeai\s 
 Than is 'twixt thine and mine — -and even then 
 No great disparity. When Constantine 
 Did woo and wed me, I was scarce fifteen ; 
 And ere another year had passed away. 
 Thy brother, young Constantius, saw the world. 
 Thou art his elder by at least ten years ; 
 So that six winters— scarcely more than five — 
 Are all the burthen that my shoulders bear 
 Of age more than thine own. 
 
 Cris. Why, that is nothing. 
 
 When I was younger, you did older seem. 
 The boy's eye sees things greater than the man's. 
 A coming year in childhood longer seems 
 Than do ten spent ones to the upgrown man ; 
 So hope doth lengthen and regret curtail 
 The course of time. 
 This life is but the clamber of a hill. 
 We labour upward, longing for the top, 
 Which gained, we for a little space look round, 
 Then timidly the other side descend ; 
 And all our pains are to go gently down, 
 And, by avoiding footslip, save a fall. 
 
 Fausta. So sadly sage, and yet but twenty-three ? 
 
2 1 CEISPTTS. 
 
 Thou speakest more like three score years than one. 
 
 Thy inind seems cast in melancholy's mould; 
 
 Tli on. think'st too deeply. Wherefore brood so much r 
 
 The thoughtless are the blithest in this world. 
 
 Oris. Ay, true ; I'm merriest when I think the least. 
 
 But pleasure seldom bideth long in me ; 
 
 For when I am most filled with careless joy. 
 
 .Reflection, like a leakage in the mind. 
 
 Drains all away to dreary emptiness. 
 
 Faust a. 1 dare be sworn fchou art in love, then. 
 Cms. No, 
 
 S;ive with myself and cold philosophy. 
 
 Faust a. Art thou so cold that nature chills in thee ? 
 Es woman's beauty nothing to thine eye ? 
 Is thy heart stone ? 
 
 Cms. As frail as any man's, 
 
 As nervous to the touch of loveliness, 
 And of an eyelash oft hath felt the wale?. 
 
 But of that loftier and more holy flame. 
 Which is the growth of time and constancy— 
 When intercourse and ti'ied companionship 
 Have warmed light lovers into stable friends— 
 I have no knowledge save by hearsay yet. 
 Fausta. Didst never love ? 
 
 Cms. Yea, when I was a boy, 
 
 I loved a little maid, and she loved me — 
 Or so, at least, we said, and thought so then — 
 And we did plight our baby troth, and vowed 
 That each one in the other's heart should dwell. 
 It was a childish freak, and lightly done 
 As scholars writing "love" upon their slates. 
 Sad things have chanced since then ; and busy Time, 
 Using my silent absence as a sponge, 
 Hath doubtless wiped the record from her brain. 
 I mind it well ; and yet the circumstance 
 
CEISPtJS. 25 
 
 Lives rather iu my memory than my heart. 
 I see her image dow. Bat tell me, tell me — 
 Is not Helena here about the court ? 
 
 Fausta. She is. 
 
 Oris. Then why does she so long withhold 
 
 The blessing of her welcome ? Is she ill ? 
 
 Fausta. She is not well ; indeed, 'tis many days — 
 Some five or six now — since she left her chamber. 
 Yet she did promise, when the feast was o'er, 
 To grace your welcome by her presence here. 
 Look where, with wan and thoughtful face, she comes. 
 
 Cms. Pale, truth, she is, but bright as the chaste moon , 
 Looking, by contrast with her tending maids. 
 Like Phoebe as she glides before the stars. 
 She sees me now, and as she smiles she warms ; 
 Hev gentle blood runs blushing to her cheeks. 
 As if her heart hung out a crimson flag 
 To welcome me. This was my early love. 
 Sure she's an angel ! for the gap between 
 Her peerless beauty and all womankind 
 Is all as wide and spacious as the void 
 'Twixt heaven and earth. 
 
 Fausta (aside). May blight and pestilence 
 
 Strike down her health arid rot her loathsome charmd. 
 
 Enter Helena. 
 
 Hel. My memory knows thee not, but thei'e's my 
 hand, 
 And in it grasp the welcome of my heart. 
 Tell not thy name, for, swifter to mine eye 
 Than could thy tongne proclaim it to mine ear, 
 Thy face tells who thou art. The noble die 
 That stamped distinction on thy mighty sire 
 Hath set the seal of dignity on thee ; 
 But on thy youth it looks more round and full. 
 For upon him the heavy hand of age 
 
2fi CRISPUS. 
 
 Hath pressed a deeper print. Thou' rt welcome, cousin. 
 
 Oris. "lis with ray welcome e'en as with the feast, 
 The daintiest dish comes last. Bewitching girl, 
 Though thy good greeting fills me with delight. 
 Thou hast not sated — nay, nor satisfied. 
 One craving gorged, another empty gapes ; 
 And, like a greedy and a thievish boor, 
 Who from a golden vessel slakes his thirst, 
 And covets then the cup, so I, fair cousin, 
 Now that I've quaffed the welcome of thy heart . 
 Would steal the heart itself. To save the crime. 
 Bright wonder, give it me. 
 
 Hel. What, give my heart, 
 
 And leave my bosom empty ? 
 
 Oris. Nay, take mine 
 
 To fill the void. I will exchange with thee. 
 
 Hel. But is it worth the having ? 
 
 Cris. It is sound 
 
 And whole as adamant. 
 
 Hel. Perchance as hard, 
 
 Cris. As precious 'tis, but tender as the grape ; 
 And as a grape matureth in the sun, 
 So in thy smiles my heart hath grown so full 
 With ripeness, that 'tis falling from the tree. 
 Prithee spread forth the apron of thy love, 
 And catch it ere it drops into the mire. 
 
 Hel. Thou'rt merry, cousin — ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Fausta. Ha, ha.' 
 
 Beware, Helena, if you prize your peace, 
 How you believe this flatterer. Just now 
 He said he knew not what it was to love, 
 Albeit he owned that beauty had a spell 
 That oft o'ermastered him. Ha, ha ! Beware ! 
 He is a roving lover, like the bee. 
 
 Cris, Nay, nay, you twist my meaning, gentle mother. 
 
CRISPUS. 27 
 
 Fausta (aside). Sdeath ! is it mother now ? So soon 
 grown old ? 
 
 Oris. I did confess myself as sensitive 
 To loveliness as all male mortals are, 
 And still declared that yet I had not loved. 
 That sonl is dead that beauty fails to charm. 
 A noble picture pleases us, a rose, 
 A well-cut statue, or a melody ; 
 Yet are there many paintings, various flowers, 
 Abundant sculptures, and as numerous airs, 
 Which have the power to charm as much or more. 
 Such feeling smacks of wonder more than love. 
 True love must look for beauty in the sonl ; 
 For sympathy, the vestal lire of love, 
 That pure flame which, when beauty breaks and fades — 
 When time hath sucked the lustre from the eye, 
 Picked from the mouth its cherries, stolen its pearls, 
 Withered youth's roses, whitened every hair, 
 And where the roses grew deep furrows ploughed — 
 Will barn to cheer the ruin as the prime. 
 But if I knew not how to love this morn, 
 I've ta'en, at least, a potent lesson now. 
 Those letters that compose Helena's name 
 Shall be to me the alphabet of love, 
 And, like a patient student failing aid, 
 I'll plod till I am master of the art, 
 Save my fair cousin will abridge my pains 
 By kindly tutoring. 
 
 Hel. I know thee now. 
 
 J marvel that I knew thee not at once. 
 
 Cms. And yet you smiled upon me as you came, 
 And without telling — 
 
 Hel. Guessed who thou shouldst be, 
 
 From where thou art, thy bearing, being strange, 
 And thy resemblance to the Emperor, 
 
28 ORISPUS. 
 
 Not from my recollection of thyself. 
 But with thy voice each feature on me stole, 
 As music oft recalls forgotten words ; 
 And now my memory is distinct and clear 
 As if we had grown up together. Ah ! 
 1 well remember, when we parted, words 
 More serious than these present levities. 
 
 Cms. Dost thou remember, then, those fervent words 
 When we were children ? 
 
 Hel. Better than thy face. 
 
 But how hast thou remembered them ? 
 
 Cris. As well 
 
 E'en as thyself, and will repeat them now. 
 
 Hel. But ere thou dost expect me to believe, 
 Vouchsafe some bond for constancy. 
 Enter Sempronius. 
 
 Semp. My lord, 
 
 The Emperor is again astir, and calls 
 Impatiently for you. 
 
 Cris. Nor calls in vaiu. 
 
 I will attend him instantly. Come, cousin ; 
 Give me thy hand for partner iu the dance. 
 Let time and use confirm thy wavering faith, 
 For like the amaranth my love has blown, 
 Tts bloom to be immortal. Come, sweet girl ! 
 
 [Exeunt Crispus and Helena. 
 
 Fausta. Thou pale faced minion, what sees he in thee? 
 Secure in my own beauty, until now 
 I've looked upon thee as a pretty babe, 
 To fondle, not to fear. Yet now, I find 
 Thou canst attract where I am fain to cling. 
 J ft be thy look of milky innocence, 
 I'll be the cat to lap it out of thee. 
 
 Sempronius comes forwa rd. 
 
 Semp. May I be bold to ask why you ho frowned 
 
CRISPUS, 29 
 
 When they went forth together ? 
 
 Fausta. Did I frown ? 
 
 Semp. Iu truth you did, as though destruction would, 
 Did power but second will, have blasted her. 
 
 Fausta. I like her not. 
 
 Semp. And why ? 
 
 Fausta. Dull stupid churl, 
 
 Canst thou not see, that if he marry Helen 
 He will thereby Licinius' faction gain, 
 And, if a son should from the union spring, 
 The Emperor's favour, which we shift from him, 
 Might settle on that son. If so it fell, 
 Where were the wished advantage to my own ? 
 
 Semp. These reasons have, in truth, a certain force. 
 
 Fausta. This sad result to obviate, you must 
 With me contrive, ere they can cream their love, 
 To sour it into hate. 
 
 Semp. 1 am content, 
 
 That end to thwart, to lend you every aid, 
 
 Fausta. My husband's mother is approaching. Quick ! 
 Away at once, for she suspects — 
 
 Semp. Farewell. [Exit 
 
 Old Helena crosses stage. 
 
 Fausta. 0, what a wretched guilty thing I feel ! 
 That I, the father's wife, should love the son ! 
 'Tis monstrous — foul. Why should I love the father ? 
 Have I not rather cause for mortal hate ? 
 Did he not kill my father and my brother ? 
 Was I not led, when yet a timid girl, 
 A youthful offering to his lustful prime, 
 To patch a faithless peace betwixt the two— 
 My husband and my father — hollow trace, 
 That ended in the old man's butchery ? 
 And hath my husband counted not in years 
 Enough to be my father ? Say, my heart., 
 
■30 CEISPUS. 
 
 What love can I, on such compulsion, owe'? 
 
 Why, none at all; nor any will 1 pay — 
 
 Nor e'er have paid, save what hypocrisy 
 
 Hath for my profit and my safety feigned. 
 
 Will not the crookless sword of tempered steel, 
 
 The pressure ta'en away when bent and strained, 
 
 Resume its former straightness ? So will I, 
 
 Though in the spring I cut the tyrant hand 
 
 That's held me crook'd so long. I was betrothed 
 
 Unto this man Sempronius ere my marriage; 
 
 But in the garden of my heart the seed 
 
 Of his exotic passion would not root. 
 
 0, Crispns, Crispus ! thon'rt the only man 
 
 With whom my fierce love ever tried a throw, 
 
 And every chance against me. Decency, 
 
 Morality, religion, nature's self. 
 
 Have put between us an eternal bar. 
 
 Yet, could I win thy love, I'd sweep them all, 
 
 Like reeds, from 'twixt my passion and my joy. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
ORISPUS. 31 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE 1.— Nicomedia. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Const antine discovered. 
 Con. Why am I not most happy, when I sit 
 High as my envy reached, and far beyond 
 My wildest primal hopes ? Why not content, 
 When, like an eagle, I have soared so high, 
 And perch npon the apex of the world ? 
 My sovereign arm can wield my sceptre o'er 
 The civil earth, and in the dnst strike down 
 What T dislike, or raise whate'er I love. 
 Who climbs a mountain to be near the sun, 
 Hoping for warmth, must bear the bitter blast. 
 So in my lofty grandeur do I find 
 Sad isolation — frosty solitude ; 
 And there are times when 1 would fain descend 
 To the companionships of humbler days. 
 Alas, it cannot be ! 
 
 The wings ou which I soared have not the power 
 To bear me safely down, would 1 descend. 
 We mount by steps to greatness, but, being up, 
 Have no descent but by a headlong fall. 
 
 Enter Sempronius. 
 How goes the day, Sempronius ? 
 
 Semp. Past high noon 
 
 Almost an hour. 
 
 Con. Didst thou stay to see 
 
 The troops manoeuvre P 
 
 Semp. Ay, my sovereign liege, 
 
 And kept the ground till they were marched away. 
 I was much plensed. 
 
 Con. I thought to see them too, 
 
 But or. the ground 1 caught a creeping chill 
 
32 CRISPUS. 
 
 That forced me to withdraw. I am not well . 
 
 Semp. I grieve, my lord— 
 
 Con. What meant those boisterous shouts • 
 
 1 heard an hour ago ? Was Crispus there ? 
 
 Semp. He was, my liege ; it was his coming thither 
 That called the tumult forth. You should be proud 
 To see your son so high in favour grown — 
 So popular with the troops. 
 
 Con. Humph. 
 
 Semp. Scarce he came 
 
 Till all the legions, looking with one eye. 
 Did recognise him ; then, as with one tongue, 
 Went forth the loud huzza. Then came the buzz 
 And gurgling murmur of more varied cries — 
 As ''Crispus," "Caesar," "Gaul," "Byzantium"; — 
 But ten "Byzantium" bawled for every one 
 That cried aught else. Then such confusion followed, 
 As if each soldier — each particular man — 
 Writhed i' the leash of discipline, and fain 
 Would from his rapture slip the galling noose, 
 Ply from the ranks, and hug him to each heart. 
 
 Con. 'Twas no such greeting that they gave to me. 
 Me they saluted with the cold precision 
 And formal readiness that grows from use. 
 Not with enthusiasm. Their huzzas 
 Were but as lazy hummings to a cue, 
 Heavy and drowsy as the drawling chaunt 
 Of "Amen" in a church. 
 
 Semp. I did observe. 
 
 Con. What was his victory on Licinius' fleet 
 Against Byzantium ? The very stage — 
 The showhouse of his fame — the Hellespont 
 Is but a paltry artery o' the sea 
 I could almost bestride, and he a player 
 That spouts what better than himself had penned : — 
 
CRISPUS. 33 
 
 For he did only what myself had planned, 
 And I have mean snbalterns in my pay 
 Had done't as well as he. I am amazed 
 A deed so small should such a tumult i*ouse. 
 And that the windy mouth of servile praise 
 Should, from a cup of such poor soapy froth, 
 Have blown a bubble that fills all the world. 
 But, by my crown, I'll prick it and disperse' t. 
 
 Semp. The time and the conditions make a deed 
 Or great and noted, or contemptible ; 
 For, in the calm and stillness of the night, 
 Weak noise cracks loud, and small sounds swell the ah 
 Travel afar, and reach to distant ear-;, 
 Which in the buzz and bustle of the day 
 Would not be noted. You must oft have seen 
 That when the wind is still, the water smooth, 
 A little pebble cast into a mere 
 Sends o'er its glassy breast a rippling ring 
 That strikes on every shore, when, had the breeze 
 Over the bosom of the water blown, 
 It merely would have splashed, and there an end. 
 So show the petty conquests of your son . 
 The turmoil of your life is o'er, my liege ; 
 Your glory glitters in the calm of eve ; 
 Your name shines in the firmament of fame 
 The brightest of its stars. Long seen and known, 
 Your aye-enduring lustre is a thing 
 Familiar to the eye, not wondered at ; 
 Whilst he, a meteor shooting o'er the sky, 
 Is for the moment more observed than you. 
 
 Con. No, no, Sempronius, no, it is not so ; 
 1 know 'tis different. The flimsy veil 
 Which thy good love and my poor spleen cast o'er 
 His martial merit hideth not his fame. 
 Though I did plan, yet did he execute 
 
36 CRISPUS. 
 
 At< from my Land it fell. I had a dream. 
 Bas. A dream ? 
 All. A dream? 
 
 Man. O, let us hear thy dream. 
 
 Enter a Servant, bowing. 
 Oris. Bring wine and goblets. Quick. [Exit Servant. 
 Bas. Come, come — the dream. 
 
 Cris. I'll tell you that anon. This supple slave 
 Most painfully reminds me of my dream. 
 We'll have a soldier for our cupbearer. 
 
 Re-enter Servant, with wine, fyc. 
 Benevolentius shall attend us here. 
 Tell him I want him. So — thou canst withdraw. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 Bas. I drink to Crispus. (Drinks.) 
 All (drinking). Crispus. 
 
 Cris. Thanks, my friends. 
 
 Enter Benevolentius. 
 Thou art a soldier, friend, whose arm in Gaul 
 Hath done me service. Is't below thy pride 
 To fill the cups and hand about the wine ? 
 Ben. O, no, my lord. I'll do it with the best will in the 
 world ; but I care not to have my office confined to the 
 tilling of the cups, for you will find me just as handy at 
 the emptying of them. 
 
 Cris. 0, thou shalt drink thy fill. Thou shalt be to us 
 a semi-ecraal for the time, and I trust to thy soldierly dis- 
 cretion not to overstep the bounds of modest privilege. I 
 care not to have this limber knave about my person. 
 
 Ben. I know my place, my lord. But touching this 
 limp-backed lackey, an he come into the room again, if 
 your lordship will but give me leave to kick him out of 
 it, it would be a great comfort to my toes. 
 
 Cris. If he return I may think of thy good offices. 
 Bas. Come, noble Crispus, you forget your dream. 
 
CRISPUS. 37 
 
 Oris. First let me drink. My throat and tongue 
 are dry, 
 Parched and distempered with a burning thirst. 
 
 (Benevolentius serves wine.) 
 And now my dream. Attend me well. Methought 
 Beneath an elm tree's grateful shade I lay, 
 To shelter from a scorching noonday sun, 
 Upon a bank whose green and velvet turf 
 Sloped gently to a clear and gurgling rill ; 
 When by there came a pretty rustic maid, 
 In cloak and hood, with basket on her arm. 
 She smiled askantly as she passed me by ; 
 Anon, with hesitation in her step, 
 She halted, and upon my face she turned 
 The full and searching lustre of her eyes. 
 Then from her basket in her plump white hand 
 Two eggs she took, and said, " Sir, will you buy ?" 
 " If that yonr wares be fresh as your bright eyes, 
 I'll buy them," I replied. " Then, sir, behold !" 
 She sweetly said, and held one toward the sun. 
 At once, methought, the sun became a cloud, 
 And instant night and darkness filled the air. 
 I knew the maid then for Herophile, 
 As, flinging back her hood, she slowly said, 
 " The fruits and blossoms of a thousand suns 
 Have crisped and withered in a thousand snows 
 Since this was laid, though fresh for ever more." 
 Upon the shell was writ, as 'twere in fire, 
 " Roman Republic." Then within did glow 
 A light which, growing, seemed to stretch the shell 
 Into an airy and invisible gauze, 
 And on a disc of pnre ethereal blue 
 The figures of two antique Romans showed. 
 The one (plain citizen, in homely gown), 
 As if to urge some suit with manly power, 
 
36 CRISPUS. 
 
 As from my hand it fell. 1 had a dream. 
 Bas. A dream ? 
 All. A dream? 
 
 Man. 0, let us hear thy dream. 
 
 Enter a Servcmt, bowing. 
 Cris. Bring wine and goblets. Quick. [_Exit Servant. 
 Bas. Come, come — the dream. 
 
 Oris. I'll tell yon that anon. This supple slave 
 Most painfully reminds me of my dream. 
 We'll have a soldier for our cupbearer. 
 
 Re-enter Servant, with wine, Sfc. 
 Benevolentius shall attend us here. 
 Tell him I want him. So— thou canst withdraw. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 Bas. I drink to Crispus. (Drinks.) 
 All (drinking). Crispus. 
 
 Cris. Thanks, my friends. 
 
 Enter Benevolentius. 
 Thou art a soldier, friend, whose arm in Gaul 
 Hath done me service. Is't below thy pride 
 To fill the cups and hand about the wine ? 
 Ben. O, no, my lord. I'll do it with the best will in the 
 world ; but I care not to have my office confined to the 
 filling of the cups, for you will find me just as handy at 
 the emptying of them. 
 
 Cris. 0, thou shalt drink thy fill. Thou shalt be to us 
 a semi-ecmal for the time, and I trust to thy soldierly dis- 
 cretion not to overstep the bounds of modest privilege. I 
 care not to have this limber knave about my person. 
 
 Ben. I know my place, my lord. But touching this 
 limp-backed lackey, an he come into the room again, if 
 your lordship will but give me leave to kick him out of 
 it, it would be a great comfort to my toes. 
 
 Cris. If he return I may think of thy good offices. 
 Bas. Come, noble Crispus, you forget your dream. 
 
CRISPUS. 37 
 
 Oris. First let me drink. My throat and tongue 
 are dry, 
 Parched and distempered with a bnrning thirst. 
 
 (Benevolentius serves wine.) 
 And now my dream. Attend me well. Methonght 
 Beneath an elm tree's grateful shade I lay, 
 To shelter from a scorching noonday sun, 
 Upon a bank whose green and velvet turf 
 Sloped gently to a clear and gurgling rill ; 
 When by there came a pretty rustic maid, 
 In cloak and hood, with basket on her arm. 
 She smiled askantly as she passed me by ; 
 Anon, with hesitation in her step, 
 She halted, and upon my face she turned 
 The full and searching lustre of her eyes. 
 Then from her basket in her plump white hand 
 Two eggs she took, and said, " Sir, will you buy ?" 
 " If that your wares be fresh as your bright eyes, 
 I'll buy them," I replied. " Then, sir, behold !" 
 She sweetly said, and held one toward the sun. 
 At once, methonght, the sun became a cloud, 
 And instant night and darkness filled the air. 
 I knew the maid then for Herophile, 
 As, flinging back her hood, she slowly said, 
 " The fruits and blossoms of a thousand suna 
 Have crisped and withered in a thousand snows 
 Since this was laid, though fresh for ever more." 
 Upon the shell was writ, as 'twere in fire, 
 " Roman Republic." Then within did glow 
 A light which, growing, seemed to stretch the shell 
 Into an airy and invisible gauze, 
 And on a disc of pnre ethereal blue 
 The figures of two antique Romans showed. 
 The one (plain citizen, in homely gown), 
 As if to urge some suit with manly power, 
 
38 CRISPUS. 
 
 Did grasp the other's hand persnadingly. 
 
 The stature of the second was more tall, 
 
 And had the poise, the gesture, and the mien 
 
 Of high nobility and conscious power ; 
 
 And in his toga's graceful folds there flowed, 
 
 And through the looseness of his locks there streamed, 
 
 And on the fine mould of his face there shone, 
 
 And over all there breathed — Liberty. 
 
 These slowly melted, and the Sibyl then 
 
 Stretched forth the second egg, on which was traced, 
 
 In bloody script, " The Empire." " This," she said, 
 
 " Though newly stolen from the nest of Fate, 
 
 Is foul within and rotten to its core." 
 
 Then, as before, upon a disc I saw 
 
 Three figures: one of good and manly mien, 
 
 Whose shapely form did need no ornament,' 
 
 Yet clad in gaudy many-coloured robes, 
 
 So painted, and so pencilled, and so stained, 
 
 And so bespangled and besprent with gems, 
 
 That in the sheen and pomp I lost the man. 
 
 And at his feet there crouched two cringing slaves. 
 
 Who, like two spaniels, licked the jewelled shoes. 
 
 I looked again into the face, and saw, 
 
 With heart half rived, the features of my sire. 
 
 Your friendly shake then waked me from my dream. 
 
 Semp. (aside). This dream shall cost thee thy com- 
 mand in Gaul. 
 
 Man. This is most strange. But what may it portend ? 
 You will consult the augur ? 
 
 Cris. Nay, not I. 
 
 'Tis but a picture of my waking thoughts 
 Unquiet sleep has painted on my brain. 
 My mind, uneasy in the present, oft 
 In rambling fancy wanders o'er the past. 
 And therefrom always tnrneth with regret 
 
CRISHJS. 39 
 
 To look upon the future with dismay. 
 
 Man. I too, my lord, am with such musings plagued, 
 But dare not speak — 
 
 Cris. Where is your Roman uow ? 
 
 Man. Ay, where, indeed ? 
 
 Cris. I' faith, it makes me sad. 
 
 Semp. Benevolentius, you neglect your charge. 
 The prince is moody ; give his highness wine. 
 Come, come, my lord, drown sadness in a cup. 
 You, Mannius, try the virtues of the vine. 
 Your health, my lord. (Drinks.) 
 
 Oris, (drinking). I drink to all. 
 
 All (drinking). The prince. 
 
 Semp. (aside). They're in the humour now. But 
 drink enough, 
 And from their glib and greasy tongues will glide, 
 If not rank treason, what shall treason seem. 
 
 Cris. In these degraded and degenerate times 
 Greatness stalks trampling o'er the populace ; 
 But in the rare days when old Rome was free, 
 Good men were lifted by the general choice 
 Into the high seat of authority. 
 
 Man. Here in the glitter of the court, my lord, 
 Men bask in all the splendour of the sun, 
 While, neath the clouds whose golden sides they see, 
 Pine myriads upon myriads in the shade. 
 Thy father's eye, he sitting in the light, 
 Sees not into the gloom. I, in a room, 
 As 'twere, observe the antics of the flies 
 That flutter round him upon tuneful wings. 
 0, the sly sycophants, I know them well ! 
 Their ceremony, form, obsequiousness, 
 Their lithe servility, the hum of praise 
 They buzz into his ear, are make-believes 
 That they do bear no stings ; but let him fall — 
 
40 CRISPUS. 
 
 Let fail the pinions of his power, which now 
 Like fans protect him — and npon his face 
 They'll turn the venom of their painted tails, 
 And blister where they sing. I know the knaves. 
 
 Cms. It is most true ; and those that readiest cringe, 
 Who are most supple where perforce they bend, 
 Are, wheresoever they may stand erect, 
 Most rigid in their pride. 
 
 Man. The maxim seems, 
 
 " Fawn where we must, and trample where we may." 
 
 Ceis. 'Tis not the worst, good Mannins, that they fawn, 
 Bnt that by fawning they attain the power 
 To trample. Such men ronnd my father swarm, 
 Commended by their smirking limberness, 
 Who, having into favour smiled themselves, 
 Gain posts of honour and high consequence. 
 The humble -bending suitor of to-day 
 May on the morrow stiff in judgment sit. 
 Too many such do now give out the law, 
 Straining its letter to their selfish ends ; 
 For justice, which should glow like light, and shine 
 All over nature, they compound and sell, 
 Like merchandise, to him that best can pay. 
 Such are like leeches on the commonwealth, 
 Who — not applied with the physician's skill, 
 To suck from fulness superfluity — 
 Assail the puny vessels of the poor, 
 Where life runs meagrely, and with the blood 
 They drain the health away. 
 
 Man. I tell thee, Crispus, that these lordly drones 
 Spring from the ignorance of the populace, 
 As fungus grows on dung. Were all men taught, 
 No man could rise beyond his fellows' bound 
 Save on the wings of merit. 
 Cms. Were all men 
 
CRISPUS. 41 
 
 But wisely taught, and honest were as wise, 
 It might be so. Where hononr is the judge, 
 Worth meets its meed. Where jealonsy awards, 
 Subservience finds more favour than desert. 
 
 Bas. (aside). Sempronius, this is treason. 
 
 Semp. Hold thy tongue, 
 
 Hark, and in memory store up what thou hear'st, 
 As something found, which time may turn to use. 
 
 Cris. The course of Rome hath been that of a stream, 
 Whose waters first in sparkling clearness welled 
 From out the free heights of antiquity, 
 Which, whilst it in restricted channels ran, 
 Right merrily did brawl and brightly flow, 
 Bounds giving motion, motion purity. 
 But soon her saving limits did expand, 
 Her clearness clouding as her action slowed, 
 And now, as having gained a spacious plain, 
 She overspreads the world, and stagnant grows, 
 Her surface curding pestilential scum. 
 
 Semp. The things, my lord, that make yon thus 
 despond, 
 Methinks, should furnish reasons to rejoice. 
 Has not your august sire, with his good sword, 
 Hewn down all thwarts and hindrance to his rule — 
 Mown, reaper-like, all covert from his throne 
 Wherein might coil the serpent treachery — 
 That he, and you, and your illustrious line, 
 May, from the well cleared plateau of his power, 
 In easy safety overlook the world ? 
 
 Cris, And was the world made for the weal of one, 
 To the enslavement of the race ? Not so, 
 Not so, Sempronius. My inward eye 
 Can, by the great light of the Christian creed, 
 Read on the page of nature that the hind, 
 The poorest slave we mutilate and scourge, 
 
12 cms pus. 
 
 Is in the image of his Maker formed 
 As much as Constantine. I covet more 
 To be revered for virtue than be feared 
 And flattered for my power. I do not say 
 That I am unambitious, but my pride 
 Would sit upon the shoulders of esteem, 
 Not stand upon the neck of abject fear. 
 
 Semp. He that would rule the rabble through ittlove. 
 And taketh not a tight grip on its fears, 
 Essays to ride unbridled a wild horse, 
 His seat no safer, and his course less sure. 
 
 Oris. By heaven, I'd rather fight afoot 'mnngst men 
 Than ride, as on a pavement, over slaves. 
 
 Several (drinking). Long live our future Emperor ! 
 The prince ! 
 
 Bas. (aside to Sempronius) . This is the rankest treason. 
 
 Semp. Hush ! Hear more. 
 The feathers by a moulting eagle shed 
 May fledge a dart to fetch him off the wing. 
 
 Ben. (aside). This whispering means knavery, or I sin. 
 
 Semp. My noble lord, when you shall take the helm 
 To guide the vessel of the state through time, 
 You'll find the water calm. Not so your sire ; 
 When he assumed it, stormy were the waves, 
 But like old Neptune he bade them be still, 
 And they obeyed his genius. He arose 
 Like Phoebus, in a lowering clouded sky, 
 And for a while 'twas doubtful and unsure 
 Which would prevail, the sunshine or the storm. 
 But he dispersed the vapours with his power. 
 And passed the dubious crisis of the noon 
 In such a full flood of resplendent fire 
 As did confirm the glory of his day. 
 
 Cris. The glitter of the empire is unreal. 
 Its gaudy pomp and soulless pageantry 
 
CRISPUS. 43 
 
 Are but as colours on a putrid pool. 
 The broad-blown empire is too wide for rule. 
 The hand is smaller than the thing 'twould hold, 
 And what it fain would gripe it scarce can span. 
 The Emperor's majesty is fourfold mirrored 
 In the proud prefects, and their own again 
 A hundred-fold in their subordinates. 
 Hence numberless defections ; for the state 
 Is less a solid empire than a crowd 
 Of paltry kingdoms. From my father's hand, 
 Their number being too plenteous for his grasp, 
 They fall away like pebbles 'twixt the fingers, 
 And in the taking up thrust others forth. 
 
 Semp. (aside). Can he have heard of the revolt in 
 
 Gaul? 
 Bas. I'll hear no more. Sempronius. 
 Semp. Stay, man, stay. 
 
 Ben. (aside). More whispering. These knaves mean 
 mischief to the young prince, the good nature of whose 
 heart runs out at his tongue like wine from a cracked 
 bottle. Though my head be broken for it, I'll change the 
 tune. (To Crispus.) What are the aims of Government, 
 my lord. 
 
 Cris. To what end askest thou ? 
 
 Ben. That I may give you the benefit of sage advice, 
 and show you wherein you may amend the laws. 
 Bas. Ha, ha, ha ! Presumptuous slave ! 
 
 Cris. I think not so, Basilius, for the world 
 'Neath shaggy hair hath seen wise heads ere now ; 
 And for the humour of the hour we will 
 Take counsel with him. Well, my most sage friend, 
 Some of the aims of government are these : 
 To curb the strong, and to defend the weak ; 
 To keep those honest who would fain be rogues 
 And give protection unto honest men ; 
 
44 CRISPUS. 
 
 To punish vice, and virtue to reward ; 
 
 Or, in a word, to make mankind content. 
 
 Ben. To make the rogue honest, and you talk of punish- 
 ments. Therein you err most grievously, my lord. Why 
 rule through fear when you could do it better through 
 honour ? Were I an emperor, as I should have been — a 
 plague on the fate that marred me — I'd have no punish- 
 ments, but would mle by rewards, appealing, through 
 their interests, to the honour of men. Only mak© honesty 
 more profitable than roguery, and you will have no 
 thieves. 
 
 Man. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Bas. The man's an idiot. 
 
 Oris. Why, 
 
 What is this honour where there's no dislike 
 
 To doing right or prompting to do wrong ? 
 
 'Tis in temptation, man, that honour shines, 
 
 As doth a torch or lantern in the night ; 
 
 And where there is no motive to be mean, 
 
 The flaunt and brag of honour is as poor 
 
 And pitiful as candlelight at noon. 
 
 Ben. Blow candles out. I'd have no lamps, torches, or 
 tapers, but perpetual daylight. Appeal to a man's honoar 
 in this wise : If a man be tempted to steal an as, and he 
 be able to prove that he resisted the prompting, let the 
 state award him the value of an as and a half ; and if all 
 men knew beforehand that their honesty would be thus 
 rewarded, there would not be a thief in Christendom. 
 
 Cris. Ha, ha, ha ! There would be more of novelty, I 
 fear, than of utility in thy legislation. Thou wouldst try 
 to cure greed with gorging. 
 
 Bas. A perfect ass. Why waste your breath, my lord, 
 on snch a blockhead ? 
 
 Cais. If 'twere the fashion to regard vice as virtue, 
 and the contrary, then indeed thy method might avail ■ 
 
CRISPUS. 45 
 
 Ben. The fashion is everything, my loi'd, for an act may 
 be either a vice or a virtue, as it is the fashion to regard it. 
 The virtues of one generation may be the vices of the 
 next. What with the Spartans was a virtne would be a 
 scandal among the Romans ; for those Greeks held it to 
 be virtue in a man to lend his wife to a neighbour, and the 
 neighbour to be honoured in the loan ; yet we Romans 
 would account such doings to be licentious and profligate. 
 But with us, even, it would be more convenient for some 
 if the order of the vices and virtues were changed. For 
 my own part, as matters are, I have but a faint hope of 
 salvation ; yet, if the worship of woman and the love of 
 wine were but two of the cardinal virtues, I might hope 
 to be the most illustrious saint in the calendar. 
 
 Oris. But 'tis the bent of man to sin, friend; and were 
 the fashion, as thou call'st it, changed, we should then 
 practice the old-fashioned virtues in our desire to be 
 fashionable in vice. What then, friend ? 
 
 Ben. Then, my lord, you have only to change back the 
 fashion, and you have the true Christian virtues desired. 
 
 Cms. — Ha, ha, ha ! I thank thee for thy counsel, but 
 cannot see therefrom how we may amend the laws. This 
 virtue is a light to guide, not a garment to be worn, that 
 changes shape with the whims and oddities of men and 
 times. 
 
 Bas. This fellow is either a presumptuous boor or the 
 veriest fool it has been my lot to look upon. 
 
 Ben. If you look as often in your glass as from your 
 toilet I believe, so often you see a greater fool than I. 
 Bas. (striking him). Audacious slave, let this thy 
 
 manners mend. 
 Ben. A soldier, and a blow ! By heaven and hell, 
 
 I will not take it from thee. (Strikes hack.) 
 
 Bas. (drawing). Thy life, presumptuous dog, shall 
 pay that blow. 
 
46 CRISPUS. 
 
 Crispus rushes between them, and seizes Basiltus by the 
 wrist. 
 Oris. Pray, good Basilius, moderate your ire. 
 A soldier may not meekly brook a blow. 
 Yon did provoke him first. 
 
 Bas. (struggling). I'll have his life. 
 
 Cris. Benevolentins, on thy life, withdraw. 
 I do command thee hence. 
 
 Ben. I go, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Bas. My lord, nnhand me, or my rage may tnrn 
 E'en on yourself. 
 
 Cris. How, braggart ! Thns I cast, 
 
 As spray from rock, thy rage from my disdain. 
 Crispus throws Basilius down, and, flinging his sword 
 from him, walks up the stage. 
 Bas. 0, well, my lord, it doth become a prince, 
 Whose state is his impunity, to put 
 Upon a noble this indignity. 
 
 Cris. I am a prince, Basiling, but I am 
 A soldier and a man. If thon art wronged, 
 And conldst in fair and manly combat find 
 Thy satisfaction, when and where thon wilt, 
 I shall be ready. 
 
 Bas. Yon shall hear, my lord, 
 
 Of this again. 
 
 Semp. (aside to Basilius). If thon wonldst have 
 revenge, 
 Leave brawling fights to fools, and work below. 
 Withdraw with me, and I'll nnfold a plan 
 Whereby the pillar of his state and fame, 
 Already shaken in his father's love, 
 Thon mayst make reel and fall. 
 
 Bas. Show me but means, 
 
 By violence or craft — I care not how — 
 To drain the hot blood from his haughty vems s 
 
CRISPUS. 47 
 
 And make his liver white he thinks mine, 
 And puling pity shall not balk revenge. 
 
 Oris. A truce, Basilius. Let us look upon 
 This brawl as rather accident than spleen. 
 The pride of all was wounded, yet to none 
 Has serious evil happened. Take my hand, 
 Which in the name of peace I tender thee. 
 
 Bas. Not I, my lord. A rock by lightning cleft 
 From peak to base, outsplitting two from one, 
 May take its joint solidity again 
 Sooner than we be friends. 
 
 Oris. Nay, then, away! 
 
 If thou lov'st better enmity than peace, 
 Thy rancour shall grow fat on my contempt. 
 
 Semp. (aside). Come, come, Basilius — come away 
 
 with me. [Exeunt Sempronius and Basilius. 
 
 Man. You there have made an enemy, my lord, 
 'Twere well to watch. I know Basilius well. 
 An insult, real or fancied, never fades 
 From his malignant memory ; and the tide 
 May not more certainly be cast to flow 
 Than his attempts at vengeance to be made. 
 
 Cris. I do not fear him, Mannius. Name him not. 
 Re-enter Benevolentius. 
 Ben. I am told, my lord, but will not vouch as true, 
 that Manlius has revolted. 
 
 Cris. What say'st thou, sirrah ? Manlius revolted ? 
 Ben. So it is rumoured about the court, my lord ; but 
 'tis told under breath, as though the knowledge had been 
 gained by eavesdropping rather than published. 
 
 Cris. Now, on my life, I hope the rumour 's true, 
 For I am weary of inaction here, 
 And 'tis an honourable task to bring 
 A traitor to his doom. Disperse you now. 
 I must resolve the truth of this report, 
 
48 CRISPUS. 
 
 Aud, if I find it true, prepare for Gaul. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE 3.— Another Part of the Palace. 
 Enter Constantine and Sempronius. 
 Con! I hear that Crispus hath to-night held rout, 
 That thou wast there, and that the whole discourse 
 Went treasonward. 
 
 Semp. (aside). So, then, my messenger 
 Has well fulfilled his errand. 
 
 Con. Let me hear 
 
 From thine own lips, whose trustiness I know. 
 The pith and purport of this villainy. 
 
 Semp. There was, my liege, some speech about a 
 dream 
 That Crispus had, which, being told, called forth 
 Much speculation and opinion — talk 
 I would I had not lived to listen to. 
 But then, my lord, 'twas in the heat of wine. 
 
 Con. 'Twas in his guilty heart, man, and the wine 
 Came, like a torch, its perfidy to show. 
 
 Semp. Though I may fear — In mercy, sire, forbear 
 To question me. The love I bear your son — 
 'Twould break my heart to speak aught ill of him ; 
 And since, alas, I cannot here speak well, 
 Let love excuse me. 
 
 Con. Nay, perforce I'll know. 
 
 Semp. No force shall move me to the Caesar's harm. 
 My love were not o'ertaxed to die for him. 
 
 Con. If thou lov'st me, Sempronius, by thy love 
 I do conjure thee, speak. 
 
 Semp. I love you both ; 
 
 And when my duty sways my love to you, 
 Then pity comes and sways it back to him. 
 1 would I could be just and not severe. 
 Although — your pardon — I refuse to speak, 
 
CK1SPUS. 48 
 
 If 'twere your highness' pleasure to give ear 
 To young Basilius, he heard all, my liege. 
 He is an honest gentleman, and though 
 Your son affronted him, still, in the telling, 
 His honour o'er his anger will be ward, 
 And will the truth sift from his enmity. 
 Shall he be called, my lord ? 
 
 Con. Go, bring him hither. 
 
 [Exit Sempronius. 
 He hangs about me like a filthy cloud, 
 And in a black mist smothers up my peace. 
 He present, what am I ? A withered eld, 
 Wherefrom the glance of ceremony glides 
 In formal deference as soon as seen ; 
 And he's the mark and object of the hour, 
 To which all eyes incline. He'd have me swerve 
 And turn aside my dim and faded age 
 To give a place for his enkindling years. 
 He would — as the Egyptian boors of yore 
 Did with their fathers' mummies — lay me by, 
 And on my arid carcase borrow loan, 
 But know, aspiring younker, that the hand 
 Which gave the plumage that hath made thee proud 
 Can yet unfledge and pluck thee. Let me see. 
 
 [Retires up stage. 
 Re-enter Sempronius, vnth Basilius. 
 Semp. Now feed his jealousy, but do't with skill. 
 Do not, with bungling malice, gorge him full, 
 Or he may puke, and cast thy slander up ; 
 But give't with cunning, as reluctantly, 
 That his keen relish crave and gape for more 
 (As gapes the sop-fed infant for the spoon) 
 Ere thou show'st haste to give. This is the way 
 To make thy grudge of spite against the son 
 (Being well digested — mixing with the blood) 
 
50 CKISPUS. 
 
 Flow in the father's veins. 
 
 Bas. Fear not my care. 
 
 [Sempronius moves toivards wing. 
 
 Con. Go not away, Sempronius. I donbt not 
 Onr friend's integrity ; bnt stay thon here, 
 That if his wounded pride or anger tempt 
 His judgment into error, and construe 
 Or strain too strongly aught against my son, 
 Thy love may interpose to temper it. 
 
 Semp. I stay, my liege. You could not on me lay 
 A duty more delightful to my love. 
 
 Bas. What may, my liege, your pleasure be with me ? 
 
 Con. Thy memory cannot backward go, Basilius, 
 Upon the trail of time to any hour 
 When thou didst know me not ? 
 
 Bas. O, no, my lord. 
 
 Your face seems blended with my reason's dawn, 
 And of your grace I no beginning know, 
 More than I know when first I saw the light. 
 
 Con. Thy father grew with me, and with me fuught , 
 Advanced in honour with me as in age, 
 And ever, though declining from my state, 
 Bose level with my heart ; and aye his thrift 
 Hath in my favour borne abundant fruit. 
 
 Bas. This, too, my lord, I also know full well. 
 
 Con. Then, therefore shouldst thou love and honour 
 me. 
 
 Bas. And heaven I take to witness that I do, 
 Most loyally and reverentially. 
 
 Con. Is not defence an attribute of love ? 
 
 Bas. It is, my liege. 
 
 Con. And should, like armour, come 
 
 Betwixt love's object and the edge of ill ? 
 
 Bas. It should, indeed. 
 
 Con. And 'tis hypocrisy 
 
CRISPUS. 51 
 
 Which, knowing danger, still professeth love, 
 Yet warneth not ? 
 
 Bas. My lord, 'ts treachery. 
 
 It is more safe to meet an open foe 
 Than trust as friend an enemy concealed. 
 
 Con. Now on thy logic will I tax thy love. 
 I have of late had reason to suspect 
 That treason lurks about my court, and plots 
 Against my life and power. I have to-day 
 An edict drawn, which shall be published straight, 
 Wherein, inviting evidence from all, 
 I promise with my proper eye to look 
 Into the truth, and with my proper ear 
 To listen to all plaints ; and furthermore, 
 To give indemnity to loyal men 
 Whose love may drive suspicion to offence, 
 Though it should touch the nearest of our kin. 
 
 Bas. I trust, my liege, that you deceive yourself. 
 
 Con. Be not so coy, Basilius, for I know 
 That thou to-night hast revelled with my son, 
 And that from him and others thou didst hear 
 Discourse unseemly for a son to speak 
 Or friend to listen to. Come, is't not so ? 
 
 Bas. In truth, my lord, I cannot well deny 
 That I heard much which jarred upon my love, 
 And something on my loyalty, to you. 
 
 Con. Ah, ah ! Indeed ! 
 
 Bas. And for resenting it, 
 
 The Caesar so did sting me with disdain 
 (Not sparing e'en the insult of his hands) 
 That, if his proud blood had not been your own, 
 I could have found the heart to let it forth, 
 E'en with my sword. Therefore, my gracious liege, 
 I will not trust my tongue to speak of him. 
 
 Con. I do, by all the love thou dost profess 
 
52 ORISPUS. 
 
 For me, adjure thee, lay me bare the truth. 
 Thou say'st he is thy foe. I am thy friend ; 
 And this, thy foe, is foe no less to me ;— 
 Thou know'st it well — I read it in thy face. 
 If, in thy manly scorn, thou canst not stoop 
 To cry complaint of thine own grievances, 
 Yet, if thou fail'st to warn me from the ill 
 Whereof I stand in danger from his hate ; 
 Such sulky reticence becomes a crime, 
 And makes thee guilty as the foe thou shield' st, 
 'Gainst me, thy menaced friend. 
 
 Bas. Thus pressed, my lord, 
 
 I may not longer hesitate to speak. 
 ■ In brief, I gathered this from what I heard : 
 That in the order and content that reigns — 
 The fair fruit of your wisdom — o'er the realm, 
 The Caesar sees the grub that marks decay, 
 And looks with wistful and regretful eye 
 Aback upon the healthy olden days 
 When men's free voices called good men to rule 
 And foster freedom. Thus, sire, spoke your son ; 
 Yet Mannius was more forward, e'en than he. 
 
 Con. Ah, Mannius ! I have known him for a knave 
 These many years. We'll deal with him anon. 
 
 Bas. Your son the Caesar had to-night a dream — 
 At least, my lord, he said it was a dream — 
 
 Con. Ay, ay, a dream — with open eyes — a dream ! 
 
 Bas. And in this dream two men of ancient Rome 
 Appeared to him, whom he with warmth described, 
 Commenting on that Liberty, now dead, 
 Whose shade, he said, they were, which words, my lord, 
 I grieve to say, were cheered most boisterously. 
 
 Con. Ay, he did angle for't — ay, angled well; 
 Well, well, Basilius, was this all his dream ? 
 
 Bas. 0, no, my liege. When these did melt away, 
 
CRISPUS, 53 
 
 There came a second vision, of yourself, 
 Decked as absurdly as in life yon are. 
 So said he. 
 
 Semp. No ; he said not so, Basilins. 
 
 Con. God bless thee for denying this, Sempronius. 
 He could not say't. 
 
 Bas. Alas, my lord, he did. 
 
 I wonld not, sire, nnpressed, have said a word, 
 But, having spoken — heard my truth impugned — 
 I challenge, on his probity and honour, 
 Sempronius to deny it. 
 
 Con. What say'st thou ? 
 
 Semp. Was ever kindly heart so sorely tried ? 
 I brand as false, most falsely, a true friend 
 If I deny ; if truly I confirm, 
 I injure one — though perhaps less true — more dear. 
 
 Con. 0, father ne'er was cursed with such a child ! 
 0, hypocrite ! 0, hypocrite ! 
 
 Semp. (aside to Basilius). Strike home. 
 
 Bas. You were so painted and bedecked with hues 
 And gems, that he described you as a doll, 
 And said your gracious person, like your power, 
 Needs all the paint and gilding of your pomp 
 To hide its rottenness. 
 
 Con. Thou tell'st a lie ! 
 
 Does he not lie, Sempronius ? 
 
 Semp. Would he did ! 
 
 Bas. I fear, indeed, my liege, I anger you. 
 .Pray let me say no more. 
 
 Con. Nay, nay — go on. 
 
 'Tis what thou dost not say that frights my most, 
 For well I know thou glozest what thou say'st. 
 
 Bas. Two wretched bondsmen at your feet did kneel, 
 Whose tongues with servile baseness (this he said 
 As if impelled to vomit) licked your shoes. 
 
54 CRISPUSf 
 
 This vision, in commenting, he declared 
 
 To be the symbol of the Eoman world 
 
 Under yonr gracions and benignant rnle. 
 
 " And yet" — to pity changing from disgnst, 
 
 Half smiling, too, as with a kindly scorn — 
 
 " And, yet," he said, " my father is grown old." 
 
 And then he whispered — what, I did not hear, i 
 
 But something 'twas that made all langh that heard, 
 
 Ay, and langh loudly ; he laughed londly too. 
 
 Then, waxing grave (the mirth contemptuous o'er), 
 
 He said, " Now, when I am"— and here again 
 
 He whispered something, ending,—" things will change, 
 
 And buried Freedom burst her gilded grave." 
 
 On this there rose a shriek of wild applause ; 
 
 Some hailed him as their future Emperor, 
 
 And several cried, " God speed the happy day !" 
 
 Con. O, never shall they live to see him throned. 
 Nor he to wear this diadem of mine. 
 He hath offended thee ? 
 
 Bas. So grievously, 
 
 That, but f fear thereby to anger you — 
 
 Con. Come thou aside, Basilius Anger me ? 
 O, no. Sempronius will forestall thee, and — 
 Sempronius, retire ; I would confer 
 In private with Basilius. 
 
 Semp. I obey. 
 
 God guide your counsels to a just resolve. [Exit. 
 
 Con. I understand thee; thou wouldst fight my son. 
 Well, if my son hath wronged thee, 'tis thy due 
 He give thee satisfaction. Canst prevail ? 
 Thou art, I know, most skilful with the sword ; 
 But so is Crispus. 
 
 Bas. Good my liege, I fear 
 
 Nor sword nor skill, if you be not offended. 
 
 Con. Not I offended. Shouldst thou even kill him— 
 
ciiisrts. 55 
 
 Thou understandest, shonldst thou even kill him — 
 In the correction of a righteous cause, 
 Which sure thou hast — Why, even in thy love 
 He hath opposed and thwarted thee. 
 
 Bas. My lord, 
 
 Touch not that open sore. 
 
 Con. But is't not true, 
 
 That thou didst woo, with some fair hope to win, 
 Helena to thy love ? 
 
 Bas, Too true, my lord, 
 
 And that he therein crossed me is too true. 
 
 Con. Why, then, chastise him, man. Upon my life, 
 I almost hate him for these wrongs of thine. 
 On any harm he purposeth to me 
 I can afford to smile, for hopeless 'tis — 
 If such a thing were possible to be — 
 As if, of some tall venerable tree, 
 A branch or bough should in rebellion turn 
 Upon the root that feeds and nurtures it ; 
 But for his injuries and slights to thee 
 I could discharge my wrath upon his head. 
 Fear not to anger me. But — dost thou hear ? — 
 Make sure of thine own safety. Shonldst thou fall, 
 His were the triumph, thine the chastisement. 
 Make sure, Basilius. It must be in fight j — 
 What busy tongues call murder must not be, 
 For thereupon the searching eye of law 
 And social order dares not drop the lid. 
 It must be done in fight, and it should seem 
 As fair and honest. But make sure thyself — 
 Make sure of thine own safety, as thou mayst. 
 Enter Crispus. 
 
 CrilS, My lord and father, I have heard the newSj 
 That Manlius has dared revolt in Gaul 3 
 And with impatience I await your word 
 
56 CRISPUS. 
 
 To bear upon my sword your just rebuke 
 Agaiust the traitor's heart. 
 
 Con. Thou art too hot. 
 
 This zealous heat, methinks, needs time to cool ; 
 And I have views and uses for thee here. 
 
 Cris. But first, my liege, I would set right this wrong. 
 My indiscretion, that did trust the knave, 
 Doth almost make me guilty of the ill ; 
 And, good my lord, my honour holds me bound 
 In person to rebuke him. 
 
 Con. 'Tis to me 
 
 The injury is done, and 'tis for me 
 To hurl the lance of justice on the slave. 
 Content thee where thou art, for 'tis my will 
 To send, upon this errand of revenge, 
 Constantius into Gaul. 
 Cris. You do me wrong. 
 
 Con. 'Tis thy presumption, boy, that speaks of wrong. 
 I'd have thee know thy place. Content thee here, 
 For I for thee have other use and views, 
 And I have said, Constantius goes to Gaul. [Exit.. 
 
 Bas. (aside). This is my first instalment of revenge. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Cris. How have I earned this slight ? I know not how, 
 For I have ever with the firmest faith 
 Repaid the trust he lent. Methinks there seems 
 A lukewarmness and reticence of late, 
 About my father's commerce with myself, 
 That savours of distrust ; and yet so slow, 
 So gradual hath been the growth — and I 
 (Unapprehensive and unwarned of ill) 
 Have noted it so negligently, too — 
 That in the suddenness of my disgrace 
 I read my peril backward, and discern 
 Too late the dangers of false confidence. 
 
CRlSPfJS. 57 
 
 So one may stand npon a treacherous beach. 
 
 Forecasting no mischance, and see the tide 
 
 Steal in and round on the inconstant sands, 
 
 Yet wake not unto danger till the sea's 
 
 Insidious rising cuts him off from shore. 
 
 Such is my fortune. What is to be done ? 
 
 Am I the dupe of evil envious tongues, 
 
 Or is it but the humour of my sire ? 
 
 There's more in it than this. The more I think, 
 
 More of design I see, and less of chance. 
 
 By heaven, $'m watched ! I'm played upon by spies! 
 
 Now I remember earnest eyes and ears, 
 
 Much whispering, some peeping, creaking shoes, 
 
 Which oft betray the listener ; and of late 
 
 I scarce can ever find myself alone. 
 
 If that my father — whose confiding faith 
 
 Should buoy my spotless honour, as the main 
 
 Doth float my stately galley — doubts my truth, 
 
 And lets me from his favour fall like lead 
 
 Into the ooze and muddle of mistrust, 
 
 Setting about me rascals to betray, 
 
 I know my worth and dignity too well 
 
 To bend me to such treatment, though to bend 
 
 Might yet forefend my breakage. If it be, 
 
 Again, some passing humour, some strange whim, 
 
 Whereto infirmity and age are prone, 
 
 And which some later oddity may mend, 
 
 My patience must endure it. Till I prove, 
 
 I'll try to bear, for, if he use me ill, 
 
 He is my sovereign and my father 1 still. [Exit. 
 
CHISPUS. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE 1.— The Grounds about the Palace. 
 Helena and Servia. 
 
 Hel. Some other time. I will not hear it now. 
 
 Ser. O lady, lady, let me tell you now ; 
 For it imports your happiness to know, 
 And on my mind it lies a heavy load. 
 
 Hel. Thou superstitious girl, wilt have no nay ? 
 Well, well, be brief, or Crispus will be here. 
 
 Ser. When, lady, early yesternight I stole, 
 Oppressed with heat and headache, from the court 
 To seek the cool refreshment of the air, 
 Soon as mine eyes, galled by the palace glare, 
 Befit the gloom (the moon being under cloud), 
 A sight most strange did greet them. 'Twas as though 
 The jewelled firmament had dropped its gems, 
 And all the stars, with moving life endued, 
 Flit here and there among the shrubs and flowers. 
 
 Hel. Why, 'tis the fire-fly, Servia, thou hast seen. 
 
 Ser. Perchance it may have been, sweet lady, though 
 In such strange multitude and beauteous fire 
 As ne'er I saw before. Anon they fled, 
 Till dwindling distance veiled them from the eye, 
 Save one, which almost at my feet remained. 
 I slowly sunk unto the ground, and lay 
 With eye almost upon it. In my gaze, 
 Whose keenness dwarfed myself, it seemed to groW, 
 And, on a bud that with the weak wind waved; 
 Like maid at mirror, sat a fairy form, 
 Her tresses braiding by a bead of dew. 
 I, from the movement of her lips, perceived 
 That she did speak or sing, and bent mine ear 
 With such acuteness that all nature seemed 
 
CRISPUS. 59 
 
 To shrink into the compass of mine eye ; 
 And then in plaintive melody I heard 
 This song, that lies so heavy at my heart. 
 Song. 
 Now in the moonlight may happy maids sleep, 
 
 Love in their bosoms, like pearl in bright shells; 
 While the forlorn ones lie watching, and weep, 
 Tears in their eyelids, like dewbeads in bells. 
 
 Yet may the Princess Helena rest well, 
 Peace in her breast, still unused to deceit, 
 
 On tvhose fair lips and cheeks rare beauties dwell, 
 Where they like roses lie, lovely and sweet. 
 
 Soon o'er her y owing Ufe a cloud shall impend, 
 Gloomy November shall shadow her May 
 
 Care, like a vulture, her quiet shall rend, 
 Into her beauty creep grub-like decay. 
 
 For, in an ambush that lies by her way, 
 
 Sly as the adder, a rival doth glide, 
 Who in her envy the loved one shall slay, 
 
 Leaving the lorn one to waste by his side. 
 
 Hel. In sooth, I wish thou hadst not told me this. 
 
 Ser. The singing ended, I did clutch the flower, 
 When, as if waking from a horrid trance, 
 All vanished, and, affrighted, damp, and chill, 
 I fled into the house and sought my bed. 
 
 Hel. Why, thou hast dreamt. I'm glad 'tis but a 
 dream, 
 For hope lay in me like a trampled flower. 
 
 Ser. Alas, 'twas not a dream. Behold the bud ! 
 
 Hel. Give me the bud, thou silly child. No word 
 Of this to Crispus, for his own grave cares 
 Need not the weight of these thy childish fears. 
 Enter Crispus. 
 
 Ser. Farewell, sweet Princess. Heaven defend you 
 both. [Exit. 
 
 Oris. I greet thee, dear one, now my only joy ! 
 Why did thy maid, on leaving, look so sad ? 
 
60 ORISPUS. 
 
 Keep those about thee that have fairer skins. 
 Have all things light around thee, love. And yet, 
 Her swarthy face, though sorrowful, looks kind. 
 
 Hel. 0, yes. She loves me, and her tawny skin 
 And homely features, in the light of love 
 (For 'tis the light that makes all nature fair), 
 Look beautiful to me. 
 
 Ceis. The light is all. 
 
 There is not in the world a face so plain, 
 A form so shapeless or uncouthly knit, 
 Which, being lit by kindly soul within, 
 Does not look beautiful — more lovely, far, 
 Than all the carved perfections of the face, 
 Than all the sculptured graces of the form, 
 Unwai'med and unillumined by goodwill. 
 The coai'se and homely lantern whose light cheers 
 And guides the homebound wanderer o'er the wild 
 Is far more grateful to the traveller's need 
 Than the most costly lamp that gold and gems 
 And skill could fashion, wanting oil and flame. 
 See what the light of heaven alone can do, 
 How gild the misty unsubstantial clouds ! 
 The west is all aflame with auric fire. 
 Didst ever see sun set so gorgeously ? 
 Lo, yonder sheet of pale pellucid blue, 
 Which seems a calm lake, girt by golden shores, 
 Wherein the aching eye, as 'twere, may bathe, 
 And find refreshment from the heavenly glare. 
 Why, e'en the dusky east, where stealthy shades 
 Of coming night creep up into the sky, 
 Hath here and there a touch of tender rose. 
 
 Hel. Alas, 'tis evanescent as our joy! 
 If here we linger but a little while, 
 We may observe it fade e'en while we watch. 
 
 Ceis. It lies not in the potency of art, 
 
CKISPUS. 61 
 
 Were all the priceless treasures of the world, 
 In gold and silver, gems, and precious pearls, 
 By Mugs and fairies yielded for the trial, 
 So to assort and blend them as to show 
 A spectacle so gorgeous as yon clouds. 
 Yet all is naught but vapours and the sun, 
 And those same vapours would, without the sun, 
 Look dark and threatening. So, the light is all. 
 
 Hel. O, Crispus, Crispus, much too like, alas ! 
 Are thine own fortunes to those faithless clouds. 
 For in the radiance of thy father's love 
 Thy future all as dazzling looked as they ; 
 But now, alas, that his good favour wanes 
 And ebbs away, thy golden hopes wax grim, 
 And frown as darkly as those vapours will 
 When they have lost the lustre of the sun. 
 
 Cms. Fret not for me, Helena, for my grief, 
 Heavy though 'tis, hath counterpoising joy. 
 If I'm withheld from honourable war, 
 I am devised to thee. Whilst of my fame 
 The laurel droops, my bud of love shall blow ; 
 And as the oyster, of the sandy grit 
 That in his homely shell intrudes to gall, 
 Doth make a precious pearl, so, sweet, will I, 
 Of this my trouble, make my heart more rich 
 In treasure of thy dear devoted love. 
 
 Hel. Could my devotion such dear wealth bestow 
 As thy love has endowed my breast withal, 
 Then should thy heart be all encased in pearl. 
 But soft, we are observed, for this way wing 
 The courtly butterfles. Begard them not. 
 Several Ladies and Courtiers cross the stage giggling, ivho nod 
 negligently to Crispus and Helena. 
 
 Cris. Pass on, ye light and flimsy moths of men. 
 Too well I see ye know of my disgrace. 
 
G2 CRISPUS. 
 
 Like feathers i' the air, your conrtly leers 
 Show which way sits the wind. 
 
 More Courtiers pass by, as before. 
 
 Ay, amble on. 
 Hel. 0, Crispns, heed them not. 
 Cris. See, scarce to-day 
 
 They to my broken fortunes deign to nod 
 Who to my honours would have kissed the ground. 
 Hel. They will but anger thee. O, let's away. 
 
 Others pass in the same way. 
 Cris. Away, ye gilded vermin — get ye gone. 
 These insects, Helen, that now show their stings, 
 To-morrow, if my father smiled on me, 
 Would bring me all the honey from their hives. 
 Such men are friends but as our shadows are, 
 Appearing only when the sun doth shine. 
 Had Jove like mice or beetles fashioned them, 
 Their bodies were too noble for their souls. 
 Enter Sempronius and Basilius. 
 Semp. (aside). Hast thou, as I advised thee, tipped 
 thy sword 
 With subtle poison ? 
 
 Bas. Ay, and the whole blade 
 
 Reeks with the keener venom of my hate. 
 
 Semp. 'Tis well. (Saluting Crispus respectfully): 
 
 My lord, I know your heavy shame, 
 And could not, if my own, more deeply grieve. 
 A film has gathered on your father's eye 
 That clouds your honest worth ; yet not for long. 
 Time and his love will purge it, never fear. 
 In sooth, I hope it will. 
 
 Cris. I thank thee, friend. 
 
 Semp. I will not stay, my lord. No witness by, 
 Basilius, doubtless, like a noble soul, 
 Will court the peace that he so lately spurned. 
 
CRISPUS. 63 
 
 Cris. Then comes his friendship welcome as a staff 
 To crippled limbs. [Exit Sempronius. 
 
 (Basilius stares at CRisrus, and smiles maliciously.) 
 
 What may this mean, Basilius ? 
 Why with this rudeness dost thou look on me ? 
 
 Bas. A cat, 'tis said, may look upon a king. 
 Then why may not patrician eyes look down 
 Upon a fallen Caesar ? 
 
 Cris. Helen, go. 
 
 Hel. 0, heaven defend us ! I will seek for help. [Exit. 
 
 Cris. Beware, Basilius! I am almost wild. 
 I would not have thy death upon my soul. 
 Hast aught to say ? 
 
 Bas. I have. 
 
 Cris. Then say't at once, 
 
 And quickly, and away. What wouldst thou say ? 
 
 Bas. That I rejoice that some miraculous power 
 Should, seeing that thou mayst not go to Gaul, 
 So aptly thus have brought home gall to thee. 
 
 Cris. Hence, leering fiend ! Why dost thou linger here ? 
 
 Bas. To claim the satisfaction of thy life, 
 Which to my wounded honour long is due. (Draws.) 
 
 Cris. (drawing). Then take it if thou canst, malignant 
 cur. 
 Crispus dashes furiously upon Basilius and disarms him; 
 then, throwing down his own sword, seizes him by the 
 shoulders, but in doing so slips and falls, with Basilius 
 upon him. The latter sets himself firmly on Crispus, one 
 lumd to his throat, and draws a dagger. 
 
 Bas. Now, if I quit thee till thy life is mine, 
 May hell burn off this arm. 
 Crispus, with a desperate effort, throws off Basilius and 
 rises, taking up the latter's sword. 
 
 Cris. Rise, miscreant, and take again thy sword. 
 Though thou wouldst murder, I was born for war. 
 
64 CMS PUS. 
 
 Basilius ri&es and takes up the oilier sword. 
 
 Bas. (aside). Confusion! he has got the poisoned sword. 
 My lord, I claim that weapon. This is yours. 
 
 Cms. Thou hast a weapon. Qnick ! upon thy guara, 
 Assassin, ere I strike thee down unarmed. 
 
 The fight, and Basilius falls. 
 0, wretched hour ! What fruit doth fury bear ! 
 Re-enter Helena, with Sempronius, Fausta, Servants, Sfc. 
 
 Semp. My lord, my lord, you have not killed my friend ? 
 Alas, too sadly true ! 
 
 Hel, 0, luckless youth! 
 
 I could not love thee, yet I pity thee. 
 
 Fausta. 0, Crispus, Crispns, why didst thou do this ? 
 This ghastly vision shakes my soul with grief, 
 And of mine eyes makes hands to wring my heart. 
 
 Cms. Your sorrow, lady, is hut as a shadow 
 Unto the bulk and substance of my grief. 
 
 Semp. Bear off the body. Fly, my lord, at once. 
 Basilius was in favour high at court, 
 And I do fear the anger thy sire. \_Body borne off. 
 
 Cms. Why should I fly, Sempronius ? Cowards fly. 
 I am a soldier and a soldier's son, 
 And, for my father's honour and my own, 
 I'll answer like a soldier for this deed. 
 
 Semp. At least, my lord, withdraw into the court. 
 If you disdain to shirk your father's ire, 
 It is not meet that you should linger here. 
 See, all around you curious eyes abound, 
 And busy blabbing tongues, and thoughtless brains. 
 It will but add vexation to your grief 
 To be the mark and witness of such things. 
 In order's name, let me beseech you, sir, • 
 At once, with the fair Princess, to withdraw. 
 
 Cms. Thy counsel 's given with a friendly will j 
 It is, moreovor, wise j and I obey 
 
CRISPUS. 65 
 
 With friendly readiness. Come, then, my joy ! 
 Be thon my comforter. Though troubles grow, 
 Though honours fade, and friendships fall away, 
 I've wealth in thee. As other lights die out, 
 Thou brighter grow'st, my solitary star. 
 
 [Exeunt Crispus and Helena. 
 
 Fausta. Ere long a cloud shall settle on that star. 
 We may, Sempronius, from this deadly brawl, 
 Contrive a means to tear this pair atwain, 
 And as a lever use Helena's love 
 To overturn her lover's confidence. 
 I will at once alarm Helena's fears, 
 Exaggerate the wrath of Constantine, 
 Profess belief his fury will arraign 
 The Caesar for the murder of Basilius. 
 She knows how ill in odour stands the son 
 Already in the nostrils of the sire, 
 And hence will quail in terror for his life 
 If in the Emperor's present humour tried. 
 But I will tell her that delay would sooth 
 My husband's anger, and so Crispus save. 
 I will be lavish of my condolence, 
 And, whilst my own inaction I excuse, 
 Lest I by meddling should my lord offend, 
 I'll show her how a little guiltless guile 
 May gain delay, and ask her dare she risk't. 
 
 Semp. She'll tell you she would hazard life and soul 
 On such a venture. 
 
 Fausta. This, then, is my plan : 
 
 I'll tell the Princess that a spurious writ; 
 For the arrest and exile of the Csesar, 
 Shall in her hands be placed, which she must give 
 To one that bringeth her a secret word. 
 That Crispus shall be then conveyed to Kome, 
 And there detained until my husband's ire 
 
66 CBlSPtTS. 
 
 Shall have a time to cool, and where herself 
 Shall presently rejoin him and explain. 
 There, I will tell her — as, indeed, she knows — 
 The Emperor and his conrt will shortly be 
 To celebrate his twenty years of reign, 
 'Mid the rejoiciDgs of which festival 
 The father's ire shall soften towards the sou, 
 And all again be peace. But, mark you me : 
 I will, meantime, a genuine writ procure, 
 And not a counterfeit, which, under seal, 
 Shall be for use confided to her care. 
 You must contrive that some one of the guard 
 May come upon her with that secret word 
 In presence of the Caesar. Dost thou see ? 
 
 Semp. I see your highness' drift, but likewise see 
 Some risk that her bewilderment may cause 
 An explanation, and defeat your scheme. 
 
 Fausta. But little risk. It must, at least, be run, 
 For naught that's human can be surely gaged. 
 She'll give the paper ; and 'tis likely, too, 
 That she, in her amazement, will retire 
 To 'scape ill-timed discovery. If so, 
 I will be ready to receive her there, 
 And, till she's safely on the road to Rome, 
 She shall not quit my sight. When Crispus finds 
 Himself a prisoner, and the Princess flown, 
 Can he then doubt of her perfidiousness ? 
 
 Semp. But what of Crispus ? 
 
 Fausta. That of him that may. 
 
 Semp. But when they meet all this will be explained, 
 And your deceit exposed. 
 
 Fausta. They shall not meet. 
 
 I will consign her into trusty care. 
 The simple wench will, if she lives, grow crazed, 
 Unless she proveth tougher than she seems; 
 
CEISPUS. 67 
 
 But, if her senses keep perversely sane, 
 
 And I should, haply, find that danger grows, 
 
 Her death shall be my safety. Fare you well. 
 
 I must at once in motion put my scheme. [Exit. 
 
 Semp. That she loves Crispus I am all but sure, 
 And that I therefore hate him, sure indeed ; 
 But to believe that Crispus could love her, 
 To the infringement of his father's honour, 
 I know his high and noble soul too well. 
 Then, knowing this, I such honour prize ; 
 Yet, that he dazzles where I fain would shine 
 Sufficeth for my hate. I'll bide my time ; 
 I'll watch my lady's plotting for a while ; 
 Once certain that her plottings that way tend, 
 I'll cross them with some plottings of my own. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE 2.— Neighbourhood of the Palace. 
 Enter Pappus. 
 Pap. Why should men wish to live to be old, when every 
 new day brings with it new vexations ? Crispus has killed 
 Basilius, and thereby put his own life in jeopardy. What 
 was Basilius, that the Caesar should stand in danger for 
 killing him ? An impudent saucy coxcomb that had no 
 reverence for age. I am older than his grandfather, had 
 he lived, would be now, and I have never had a courteous 
 word from his uncivil tongue. But Crispus — may heaven 
 requite him for it! — honoureth grey hairs. 'Tis not long 
 ago that, walking abroad, I encountered the two, and let 
 fall my staff in saluting them, the recovery whereof my 
 lumbago rendered very difficult. Observing my trouble, 
 Basilius — ungracious coxcomb — stood laughing at me ; but 
 the Caesar, bending his royal back to raise it, restored it 
 to me with the sweetest of smiles and the kindest of 
 words. Danger forsooth ! The Caesar should be praised 
 by old men for killing every such jackanapes ; and Con- 
 
68 CRISPUS. 
 
 stantine is getting old. The old fool — there's nobody by — 
 yes, the old fool, for he is an old fool — not content with 
 taking away his son's command, mnst be angry with him 
 becanse he kills the puppy Basilius. I have no patience — 
 an old goose. He is blind — the Emperor is blind — blind 
 as justice. Nay, would he were so blind ; but he is only 
 blind in one eye and jaundiced in the other. He turns 
 the dark eye to his son's virtues, and colours his faults 
 with the diseased one. 
 
 Enter Benevolentius. 
 
 Ben. Well met, Pappus. I have news that will do thy 
 heart good. 
 
 Pap. What is it, princox ? Is the Emperor dead ? 
 
 Ben. The gods forbid, Pappus, for that would grieve 
 thee ; but Basilius is, and the Caesar like to be. And I 
 know thou wilt agree with me, that the world will be well 
 rid of him. 
 
 Pap. Thou art a fool. 
 
 Ben. Not so, Pappus. I was once a fool, but, thanks to 
 thy teaching, 1 have since grown wise. 
 
 Pap. To my teaching ? Then I am ashamed of my 
 scholar. 
 
 Ben. Ay, to thy teaching, Pappus. I did think Crispus 
 wise, well -looking, and possessed of every quality that 
 makes men amiable and princes worshipful ; but I have 
 noted him narrowly of late, and find him a very dunce, a 
 blockhead, a — 
 
 Pap. Thou art a dunce and a blockhead to call him so. 
 
 Ben. I have looked at him through thy spectacles, and 
 where I erewhile saw. beauties I now only see blemishes. 
 I have seen his legs, too; and thou wast right, Pappus, — 
 he is both bandy and buck-shinned. 
 
 Pap. Shame on thy ribald tongue ! Thou art no more 
 worthy to live in the same age with him than his father 
 to be his progenitor. 
 
CKISPUS. 69 
 
 Ben. Nay, Pappus, cry not shame on ine, but on thyself, 
 for thou hast been my schoolmaster. 
 
 Pap. Can the gods hearken to him and not smite him ? 
 
 Bex. Ay can they, for the gods know that what I say ill 
 of the Caesar thon hast taught me ; and thon knowest best- 
 how wisely. 
 
 Pap. Thou didst never hear me speak ill of the Caesar, 
 whom I love better than my old life — never one ill word. 
 Heaven be my judge, my old heart hath no feeling for 
 him but reverence. And to say I taught thee — Shame 
 on thee, ruffian. And he in trouble, too — (wipes eyes) — and 
 he in tribulation . 
 
 Ben. Come, come, Pappus, I do but jest. I am sorry to 
 have pressed it so far ; but do not weep, old man, albeit 
 thy tears do honour thee. 
 
 Pap. Weep, coxcomb ? I weep not — 'tis a mote in my 
 eye. Weep, indeed ! And for the Caasar, too ! What am 
 I to the Csesar ? Were he pitched into the Bosphorus, he 
 should have no tears from me. Weep, forsooth ! I weep 
 not, sirrah. 'Tis a mote — 'tis a mote in my eye. [Exit. 
 
 Ben. Thou art a strange old man, Pappus ; but thy 
 heart is tender, if thy head be tough. 
 
 SCENE 3.— A Boom in the Palace. 
 Crispus and Helena. 
 
 Cris. Why art thou thus so restless ? 
 
 Hel. 0, my lord, 
 
 You know that danger hangeth o'er your life, 
 And should know how I love you. Knowing this, 
 And conscious, too, that I your peril know, 
 This question 's idle. 
 
 Cris. Yet thou weepest not — 
 
 Hel. O, that I could ! 
 
 Cris. As was thy wont before 
 
 When danger menaced me. Thine eyes are dry. 
 
ft) CRISPUS. 
 
 I have some while observed thee, and thou seeni'st 
 As if thy nerves and sinews all were strung 
 In pained expectancy. Thou art not still 
 Whilst I could reckon four. Thy fingers move, 
 Or, if they rest, there 's motion in thy toes ; 
 Thy lips, though silent, yet are never still, 
 But twitch and mumble, and whene'er they part, 
 I see thy tongue at work upon thy teeth ; 
 Thou risest oft, as thou wouldst something do, 
 But, doing naught, as oft sitt'st down again ; 
 Thy restless eye now wanders towards the door, 
 Now on the ground is cast, and now to heaven. 
 ■ Methinks at times that thou wouldst speak to me ; 
 Then, stopping shortly, o'er thy face there steals 
 A look of anguish, ending in a sigh. 
 If there is aught that weighs upon thy heart, 
 Then who so fit to share that weight as I ? 
 
 Hel. (aside). O, cursed promise! — thus to bind my 
 tongue, 
 When it were cheap with death to ransom it ! 
 
 Oris. Thou wring' st thy hands, but dost not answer me. 
 Ah, why thus silent ? Thou dost look on me, 
 And on thy face dost wear a tender smile ; 
 But through thy tenderness I see thy pain, 
 As through a veil of lace a negro skin. 
 And though thou ling'rest with me, yet I know 
 That thou my presence wouldst more gladly shun. 
 
 Hel. O, Crispus, thou wilt tear my heart to rags. 
 To know thee safe, and die before thee here, 
 Were bliss celestial ; — painted, life were pain. 
 
 Oris. There is some secret gnawing at thy peace. 
 
 Enter Officer of the Guard. 
 Off. I greet your highnesses with duteous love. 
 (Aside): '"Advenio." 
 Hel. Advenio ! That is the hateful word. 
 
CRISPUS. 71 
 
 0, fearful man, why com'st thou here ? Begone. 
 Off. I go, your highness. Will yon — 
 Hel. Do not go. 
 
 It must be done, and danger 's in delay. 
 Take thou this paper. Ask me not a word, 
 Or strength will fail me ere I get me hence. 
 0, God! Farewell — my life— my love — farewell. \_Exit. 
 Oris. What is the meaning of this pantomime ? 
 Off. I would this fell to other hands than mine. 
 
 [Goes to door and beckons. 
 Enter Four Soldiers. 
 You know, my lord, a soldier's duty leads 
 Full often where his heart is loth to go. 
 Such is my case at present. I have here 
 The warrant of his majesty your father 
 To apprehend you for a murder, done 
 On young Basilius. 
 
 Cms. Murder, villain ! No. 
 
 I must be calm, for I need all my wits 
 To comprehend and fathom what I fear. 
 My fears confirmed, let death or madness come, 
 For life and reason then were hateful plagues. 
 Good captain, tell me, and I'll bless thy tongue — 
 No dawn shall smile, no twilight fade in gloom, 
 That shall not hear my prayers for thee on high — 
 0, tell me that the warrant thou dost bear 
 Thou hadst not from the Princess. Thou dost nod ; 
 Thou meanest yes — that my good hope is true — 
 She did not give it. Did she ? 0, say no ; 
 Say no, and swear it — on thy oath say no — 
 Or be thy life's best pleasures throes and groans^ 
 And never-ending tortures tear thy soul. 
 Say no — I do beseech thee — 0, say no. 
 Off. Alas, my lord, the Princess gave it me. 
 Cms. False, false! 0, God! 0, helhpitched agony! 
 
72 CRISPUS. 
 
 Off. And here, my lord, by her own hand inscribed, 
 " See the instructions strictly be obeyed." 
 
 Cris. 0, had my cup of fortune been distilled 
 From all that 's sweet in life, this drop of gall 
 Had made all nauseous. But her seeming truth 
 Has been the sweet but solitary drop 
 That made my draught of being bearable ; 
 That soured and curded in my luckless horn, 
 Life is not worth the drinking. Farewell joy ! 
 'Mid all my trials, resting on her faith, 
 As on a rock 'mid raging waves, I stood 
 Secure and hopeful. Crumbling now to sand, 
 The treacherous footing fails my trusting feet, 
 And leaves me friendless, hopeless, in the sea. 
 Yet will I struggle with the surging tide ; 
 My wrongs like bladders baoy me. I will go 
 And beard my tyrant father on his throne. 
 
 Off. Alas, my lord, I dare not let you pass. 
 You are a prisoner. 
 
 Cris. {drawing). Prisoner, dog! Make way, 
 Or, by my hopeless soul, thy limbs shall feel 
 The strength of shameful wrongs. 
 
 Off. Good noble sir, 
 
 Wreak not your wrath on me, the instrument. 
 I only do what I dare not refuse. 
 
 Cris. Ay, truly; take my sword. I pawn my word 
 (And e'en my foes will not impugn the pledge) 
 To hold myself your prisoner till released 
 By just authority. But give me leave, 
 Upon the surety of a warrior's word, 
 To go — No ; since he leaves me not the power 
 To go to him — why, let him come to me. 
 Thou wilt without a Gallic soldier see, 
 By name Benevolentius ; call him here. 
 
 Off. I know the man, and met him as I came. [Exit. 
 
CRISPUS. 73 
 
 Cris, Now be my nerve as rigid as my sword. 
 Re-enter Officer, with Benevolentius. 
 
 Thou art an honest trooper and blunt man, 
 
 And shufflest not with truth. Would st thou, now, fear 
 
 To bear a message as 'tis told to thee 
 
 Unto the august ear of Constantine ? 
 
 Ben. If you gave me a purse of gold to carry to a 
 friend, my honesty would deliver it as I received it ; and 
 to deliver your message in any words but your own I 
 should deem false as to substitute base metal for the 
 pure gold. If I undertake, I will faithfully discharge ; 
 but ere I engage to carry, I would first know the weight 
 of the burthen, and an ugly message to Constantine were 
 no light matter. 
 
 Cris. Tell him that I — the Caesar he disgraced, 
 
 The son he hates, the subject that he wrongs — 
 
 My many griefs my titles to command — 
 
 Demand an audience of his mightiness ; 
 
 And as my fetters, by his order forged, 
 
 Let me not hence, 'tis needful he come here. 
 
 Ben. I must confess, my lord, that I like not the com- 
 mission. The offence of the message might be laid to him 
 that carries it, as the foulness of water may be charged 
 on a dirty pipe ; and an angry monarch is a beast with a 
 keen bite. But if your highness will only write your 
 message, I'll take it, though I lose my head for my pains. 
 Cris. (writing). Thy caution shall defend thy honesty. 
 
 Thy ignorance of the contents of this letter 
 
 Shall shield thee from all evil consequence. 
 
 [Exit Benevolentius with letter. 
 
 What spirits went my brother in to Gaul ? 
 
 Off. Faith, not the best, my lord, for all the troops 
 
 Bid cry aloud for you. 
 
 Cris. I'm sorry for it. 
 
 If this rebuff damp not his martial fire, 
 
74 CRISPUS. 
 
 His worthiness may yet the soldiers win. 
 
 Off. Not while yon live, my honoured lord, I fear, 
 Their hearts are so ingrafted on yonrself . 
 Now, were yon not the upright prince yon are (wMsp&rs) , 
 From this abundance of the soldiers' love 
 Yon might a power aronse to right yonr wrongs, 
 And tarn the tables on yonr enemies. 
 
 Oris. No more of this, good captain — nay, no more. 
 On this I wink, as on mistaken love ; 
 Another hint were treason to my sire, 
 Who only seems my foe. Thongh he forgets 
 His princely dignity, I know my own. 
 
 Off. My lord, believe me, I'll offend no more. 
 Oris. Dost thon not shortly follow them to Gaul ? 
 Off. I do, my lord, and presently prepare. 
 Oris. I'll lay some grateful penance on thy sin. 
 Thou know'st my brother is a goodly youth, 
 Of gentle manners, firm of heart, and free, 
 Of whom experience will a soldier make ? 
 
 Off. I do, my lord, and love him next to you. 
 Oris. Spread, then, thy friendly thoughts of him 
 abroad 
 Among the troops, and, serving him, serve me. 
 Commend him as you deem of his deserts, 
 But promise nothing he may not perform. 
 Undue laudation breaks the back of worth. 
 Betwixt ambition and established fame 
 There lies a troubled sea. So pat him forth, 
 That, in the fair wind of a modest hope, 
 The light freight of his merits may achieve 
 A prosperous voyage. So, you serve him well. 
 Aid rather with the oars of your goodwill, 
 Than sink him with the treasure of your praise. 
 Enter Constantine. 
 Con. Soldiers, retire; but wait within my call. 
 
CRISPUS. 75 
 
 Lo, thou most high, and mighty prince, I'm here ; 
 The chief of Eome on thy behest attends ; 
 The farther is obedient to the child. 
 What would your haughty Caesarship with me ? 
 
 Cms. Not mercy, which, not having sinned, I spurn, 
 But justice, which your office should bestow, 
 Albeit I see your temper will deny it. 
 And I have wrongs that might have summoned Jove 
 From his high seat to right them. 
 
 Con. Guard thy tongue. 
 
 If thou hast not had justice done to thee, 
 It is my mercy that withholdeth it. 
 
 Cris. 'Tis false — a shameful and a slanderous lie. 
 Con. This to thy father, wild unduteous boy ? 
 Cris. Shall I observe the reverence of a son, 
 While you ignore the duties of a sire ? 
 
 Con. Be heedful what thou say'st, mad, fiery fool ; 
 For, did not temper in my aging veins 
 Run low and smoothly, high embanked with patience, 
 This insolence of thine, like mountain flood, 
 Had swelled it into rage. But have a care, 
 Most mighty and indomitable Caesar ; — 
 Deep as my channel of endurance lies, 
 It may be fed till it o'erbears its bounds ; 
 Then, woe to thee. 
 
 Cris. What would you further do ? 
 
 All that your power and hate could lay on me 
 Already have I borne. Except my life — 
 Which, sooth, you gave me, and are free to take, 
 As weicomely as if 'twere a disease — 
 I have no mark to offer to your spleen 
 Which yet you have not struck. Therefore your threat, 
 As 'gainst the current of my just complaint, 
 Is weaker than your breath against the tide. 
 
 Con. What are the grievous wrongs thou mouthest of ? 
 
76 CRISPUS. 
 
 Oris. What are my wrong,? ? Ye gods ! What are 
 
 my wrongs 
 
 What are the wages of my years of toil ? 
 
 Con. Distinction, honours, scarcely less than mine ; 
 And power that now grows threatening to my own. 
 
 Cms. A bnrning cheek should put your tongue to shame, 
 For every tribute that my arms could win 
 Has at your feet been laid. My borrowed power 
 Has ever been a bntment of your own. 
 I served you in the west, and in the east, 
 And served you faithfully where'er I served. 
 And what hath been the guerdon of my pains ? 
 You grudged the honours that you justly gave, 
 Plucked off my well -won laurels to plant thorns, 
 Repaid my wounds with loss of my command, 
 My truth with doubt, my love with cold disdain, 
 My conquests with humiliating shame. 
 
 Con. Thou liest, whelp ! I grudged thee naught I gave. 
 While thou couldst bear thee meekly, all was well ; 
 But when thou wouldst, 'gainst him that did bestow, 
 Uplift the weapon given thee to defend — 
 Nay, like a cur, wouldst bite the hand that feeds — 
 And when thou, prating of my reign with scorn, 
 Wouldst try to sap allegiance to my throne — 
 I were the veriest fool to trust thee. 
 
 Cms. Pshaw. 
 
 Suspicions are the children of your fear, 
 Your fear the child of slander. Fears and doubts 
 Do on each other breed incestuously, 
 As quick as vermin. So they breed in you. 
 So thickly pestered has your mind become, 
 That, in its unclean habitation, thought 
 Is tortured into frenzy ; and your spleen, 
 Rather than chide your own impurity, 
 Would blame your wholesome neighbour for your plague. 
 
CRISPUS. 77 
 
 Con. Thou hatchest mischief 'gainst me night and day, 
 Awake, conspiring to seduce my friends, 
 And dreaming treason when thine eyes are closed. 
 0, hypocrite, thou handiest treason well. 
 When was the world so tranquil as 'tis now ? 
 Yet, under cover of pretended dreams, 
 Thou speakest things that make men's hearts disloyal, 
 Insinuate misprision of my rule, 
 And plant ambitious hopes in restless minds, 
 Which, if permitted to take root and grow, 
 Would set each subject at his neighbour's throat. 
 
 Cms. Be jnst, old man, for to be jnst is wise, 
 And righteous wisdom well beseemeth age. 
 These are the calumnies that feed your fears. 
 
 Con. These are no calumnies, bnt tested truths. 
 Such things thou dost to creep into my shoes. 
 
 Cms. 'Tis false, and they that tell you so are liars. 
 You have infested me with pimps and spies 
 That pander to your malice, and like chains 
 Have hung their serpent eyes and ears npon me ; 
 And all they see, or hear, or may surmise, 
 Distort, discolour, garble, or invent, 
 Skilled in the relish of a maw diseased, 
 They dish to snit the palate of your spleen, 
 And you eat greedily. 
 
 Con. 'Tis false. 
 
 Oris. 'Tis true. 
 
 Con. Abortion ! 'tis a lie. 
 
 Cris. I say 'tis true. 
 
 'Tis thrift to pamper where 'tis loss to cure. 
 They know the sickling loves to nurse his ills, 
 And pander to and nourish your disease 
 In place of physicking. They mock us both. 
 You are the dupe, the sacrifice am I j 
 And thus it follows, as result from cause, 
 
78 CEISPUS. 
 
 Where I would trust, I am constrained to fear, 
 And where I yearn to reverence, to despise. 
 
 Con. Be civil, ingrate — monster that thon art. 
 
 Cms. I will be civil when you can be fair. 
 Yon wrong me, tannt me, goad me to rebel, 
 And when you've scorched my patience into flame, 
 You chide my anger with such fiery rage 
 That your rebuke outsins the fault it blames. 
 I pity you, old man, I pity you. 
 
 Con. Devil! I knew thee not. I'll bear no more. 
 Constantine strikes at Crispus with his sword, hut the latter 
 
 evades the blow, seizing the wrist of his sword arm,. 
 
 Cms. See how the vigour of the veteran fails 
 'Gainst youth and injuries unarmed. 
 
 Con. Let go. 
 
 Cms. As man, your age is helpless. Play the lord; 
 Employ your lungs ; owe safety to your slaves. 
 'Tis but to call. 
 
 Con. Great gods! Wouldst murder ? 
 
 Cms. No, 
 
 Not I ; nor shall your frenzy murder me 
 Till I have taught your kingship clemency. 
 
 [Wrests the sword from his father. 
 But, could a soldier stoop to parricide, 
 I have you at my mercy, and your throne, 
 Your purple, sceptre, dignities, and sway, 
 Upon the point of this same sword, which now 
 You raised against my life. 'Tis but to thrust, 
 And all the minions that exalt your pride 
 (Though they, while yet you have the strength to call, 
 Would on your bidding tear my entrails out) 
 Will, if they find you dead, shriek out my praise, 
 And say I have done well. Then think of this 
 Until your dying day — that from this hour, 
 The brief remainder of your life you owe 
 
CR1SPUS. 79 
 
 To my forbearance. 
 
 Con. Give me back my sword, 
 
 And arm thyself with whatsoe'er thou wilt, 
 And, by the gods, I will not live an hour, 
 If, with the prowess of this arm alone, 
 I fail to punish thee, thou saucy slave. 
 
 Cris. I hold my honour dearer than my life. 
 If might afflicts, yet virtue can endure ; 
 If wrong provokes, yet nature can subdue. 
 You are my father — would you were not so — 
 And in that name have title to this sword. 
 There is your weapon ; I am all unarmed, 
 Save in the armour of my innocence j 
 Here 's my defenceless bosom — cleave' t atwain ; 
 Look, look within — survey my springs of life — 
 And there see honour, honesty, and truth, 
 And let the thought of how you valued them 
 In hues of blood suffuse your cheeks with shame. 
 Nay, do not hesitate. You wish me dead ; 
 Strike, and in striking do an act more kind 
 Than aught you've done to me these many days. 
 
 Con. I will not strike ; yet, that I strike thee not, 
 And send thy churlish insolence to hell, 
 Is weakness — weakness. Thou mayst pity me. 
 
 [Throws down the sword. 
 
 Cris. Is death too great a mercy at your hands ? 
 What, too great honour for your angry pride 
 To let my soul escape upon your sword ? 
 Ay, you reserve me for a shameful end, 
 Upon a shameless charge. Well, do your worst. 
 
 Con. Didst thou not kill Basilius ? 
 
 Cris. I did; 
 
 And in your cause a hundred better men. 
 
 Con. Thou gloriest in the butchery. 
 
 Cris. Not so, 
 
$0 CRISPUS. 
 
 For all I could, I did, liis life to spare. 
 He would have murdered me. 
 
 Con. Thou liest, knave ; 
 
 But thou didst murder him to screen thyself. 
 He was my friend, and knew thee for a traitor. 
 Cris. A traitor? 
 
 Con. Ay ; Basilius told me so. 
 
 Cris. Basilius lied. 
 
 Con. Thou plott'st against my life. 
 
 Cris. Against your life ? The breath that gives you 
 power 
 To speak this odious calumny is due 
 To mercy, and from me. Against your life! 
 Con. Against my life and power. 
 Cris. Ungrateful man. 
 
 Shame on your graceless age, that thus repays 
 A faithful servitor for honest pains. 
 I have into your diadem put gems, 
 Eked out. your sceptre and enlarged its range, 
 And your enfolding purple, by the half, 
 Have made more ample. 
 Con. Guards! Enough of this. 
 
 Enter Officer and Guards. 
 Seize on that blatant and rebellious boy, 
 And put the boasting braggart into chains. 
 Guards seize Crispus. 
 Cris. O, sovereign father — emperor — honoured lord — 
 Command me unto prison, into chains, 
 And I will go, obedient to your word. 
 But look — vile hands are on my person laid ; 
 And think, I am your flesh and blood, your son. 
 
 Con. Take off your brutish clutches from my son. 
 Let go, or, by my sceptre and my soul, 
 I'll have you hanged. [Guards release Crispus* 
 
 Off. Your pardon, good my liege ; 
 
CEISPUS. 8l 
 
 What we have done we did not for ourselves, 
 But on your mandate. 
 
 CoN> Must we be betrayed 
 
 In our authority by nimble slaves 
 That take our weak caprices for commands, 
 And have our hasty petulance obeyed 
 Ere thought has time to right it ? 
 
 QrF Let me hope, 
 
 Most royal master, that the same good thought 
 Which now revokes the order may condone 
 The sin of our obedience. 
 
 CoN Get thee gone, 
 
 With thy obedience and forward zeal, 
 Or I will bid thee cut thy saucy throat, 
 And see thou dost obey. Thy warrant, knave. 
 
 [Snatches warrant. 
 
 Take your detested faces from my sight. 
 
 [Exeunt Officer and Soldiers. 
 Oris. The God of Hosts be thanked, my gracious lord ! 
 That flash of anger to your bosom came 
 Like lightning in the night, revealing there 
 Paternal fondness still, which doubt obscured. 
 0, father, take me to your love once more. 
 I do repent my rashness, and recall 
 Whate'er my tongue hath uttered of offence, 
 And to my knees am bowed with self -reproof . 
 tear aside mistrust's estranging veil- 
 Withdraw the sluice that dams your breast with doubt, 
 And let me gush into your heart again. 
 
 Con. (aside.) 0, how this old heart tugs against my 
 will, 
 Like an impatient charger on the rein. 
 'Twould leap on him, and the relaxing nerve 
 Of my displeasure scarce can hold it in. 
 This posture well becomes thy penitence, 
 
82 CRISPUS. 
 
 And penitence thy sin. But thou niayst rise. 
 To stay too long on snpplicating knees 
 Becometh not the son of Constantine. 
 
 Oris. Vouchsafe to say that I arise forgiven. 
 
 Con. Too soon, too soon, my son. Thy fault is green, 
 And thy contrition needs the test of time. 
 It is a trick of many evil-doers 
 To cheat our lenity with sorrows feigned, 
 And with impunity to lapse again. 
 Such penitence is but a lifeless form — 
 A sterile labour — like a babe dead-born. 
 
 Cms. It is forgiveness that I crave, my liege, 
 Not means to sin anew. Vouchsafe me that, 
 And in exchange for pardon take my life. 
 
 Con. Would thou wert still a child, for tender age 
 Has for transgressions, in its helplessness, 
 Excuse and pardon ; while the nerve of man 
 Makes every foible seem a grave offence. 
 Yet thou shalt be forgiven. Thus I tear (tears warrant) 
 This record of my anger, and blot out 
 Thy past offences by an act of grace. (Offers hand.) 
 
 Cms. In thanks, dear lord, I kiss your royal hand. 
 0, let me press you to my heart once more. 
 
 Con. Not yet, not yet. My mind still smarts and 
 burns, 
 And feels the wales yet of thy scourging tongue. 
 Time only can assuage and balsam it. 
 
 Cris. I will with patience, then, your pleasure wait, 
 And second healing time with fervent prayers. 
 Meantime, I have a modest suit to urge. 
 Whilst I, my liege, have languished in your frown, 
 Your hand has fallen heavy on my friends — 
 On Mannius, young Licinius, and the rest — 
 Who, unoffending all, have been confined. 
 I pray you, sire, your present grace extend 
 
CRISPUS. 83 
 
 To their enlargement. 
 
 Con. In good time I may. 
 
 I'll think of it, I'll think of it. 
 
 Cms. Nay, now — 
 
 I do entreat. With me, do what you will ; 
 But, I beseech you, liberate my friends. 
 I will unmurmuring wait your tardiest will 
 Ere I will sue you for my lost command. 
 
 Con. (aside). Thence come my black and beastly 
 fears again. 
 
 Cris. Whatever hopes I cherish from your grace 
 Shall be fulfilled unurged ; but free my friends. 
 
 Con. Well, well, content thee ; I will set them free — 
 Such, leastwise, as may safely be enlarged ; 
 And for thyself — thy good resolves approved, 
 No new offences hindering — ere long 
 My favour may restore thee everything. 
 My future smiles shall brighten former frowns, 
 And make thee friends of foes, as summer's snn 
 Transformeth ugly grubs to butterflies. 
 Take thou my hand, and come along with me. [Exewit. 
 
84 CRISPUS. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE 1. — Rome. The Palace Gardens. Moonlight. 
 Festival, celebrating the twentieth year of the Emperor's 
 reign. A Minuet, after which the Company gradually 
 and slowly disperse. 
 
 Sempronius and Fausta. 
 
 Semp. The Caesar gains apace his old esteem, 
 And will ere long, I fear, if nanght be done, 
 Supplant Constantins in his honours new. 
 The slightest whisper 'gainst the Caesar now 
 Is on the instant checked by Constantine. 
 Yet jealousy is but asleep in him, 
 And sleeps so lightly that the faintest praise 
 Of Crispus starts it; or 'tis sleep assumed, 
 Where every sense is vigilant, though still, 
 The ear being sentry to the half-closed eye. 
 
 Fausta. Now that Constantins is installed in Gaul, 
 I have no fears for him. This watchfulness 
 Shows still distrust ; and while distrust endures, 
 The Caesar's honours will but barren be. 
 There is no danger. 
 
 Semp. Something should be done 
 
 To keep the Emperor's fear of him alive, 
 Or, like a lamp neglected, it will die 
 From want of feeding. If we could revive 
 The thought that he conspires in secret still, 
 When Crispus next in anywise offends 
 (Which in his pride he any moment may), 
 Belief would, like a millstone to his neck, 
 Beyond redeeming sink him. I'll away 
 And see what can be done. Though of myself 
 I dare do nothing openly, I may 
 
CRISPUS. 85 
 
 Some whispers set afloat, which, when they reach 
 The Emperor's ears, not knowing whence they come, 
 Will set his fears a working. Fare yon well. 
 
 Fausta. Against the Cassar we have rowed too far 
 In company npon the stream of crime. 
 He sees I pnll no longer, fain to tnrn, 
 And takes the scull, determined to go on. 
 'Tis plain he more than half suspects my aim, 
 And either must be flattered or subdued, 
 Or he'll become more dangerous than my lord. 
 Helena, too— I saw her, worn and wan, 
 Wasted by misery, and from my brain 
 I cannot blot the image of her woe — 
 She has some means encompassed to be here, 
 And if she meets the Cassar I'm undone ; 
 For, though her tongue I bound with solemn vow, 
 My treachery absolves her from its bond. 
 Such cheated promises are truths ensnared 
 In nets that are too rotten to confine. 
 On every side I am beset with peril. 
 My past deceit becomes my present scourge ; 
 My sin corrects itself. My lawless love 
 Is pitiful as fierce. I suffer more, 
 In sympathy, than he that I assailed, 
 As if I smote his armour with my hand. 
 O, what a stake I hazard for this man ! 
 How doubtful, too, the issue yet remains ! 
 While yet unsafe, no bootless blood must flow 5 
 But, were I once of his affection sure, 
 I from his meshes would release him still. 
 What would not disentangle I would rend, 
 And set a running blood of all my kin 
 To float him yet in triumph to the throne. 
 This very night I will determine all. 
 I have already — in a voice assumed^ 
 
86 CRISPUS. 
 
 Closely enveiled — had happy converse with him, 
 
 And was not recognised. Again I'll try, 
 
 And, if disgnised I win him, I'll nnveil, 
 
 To know the most unhappy, or the best. (Puts on veil.) 
 
 Enter Cms pus, musing. 
 Now for the trial. 'Tis a heavy stake, 
 Bnt, to my famished love, as great the prize. 
 I'll throw the hazard, though I lose the cast. 
 Fausta. My lord. 
 
 Cris. Sweet mystery ! That voice again ? 
 
 And still, like muffled music, thickly veiled ? 
 
 Fausta. Not more enwrap t in lace than thou in 
 thought. 
 Why dost thou move and muse so mournfully, 
 When all men else are revelling in Rome ? 
 Cris. My heart ia sad. 
 
 Fausta. Let me essay to cheer. 
 
 Cris. 'Tis heavy-laden. 
 
 Fausta. Let me share its load. 
 
 Cris. 'Tis sorely wounded. 
 Fausta. Let me try to heal. 
 
 Cris. 'Tis dead within me. 
 Fausta. Let me life renew. 
 
 Cris. Thou canst not that, and shouldst not if thou 
 couldst. 
 Yet would I not seem thankless, and I will, 
 For these thy good intentions, write thee here, 
 Upon love's sepulchre, among the few 
 That I have known as friends — thyself unknown. 
 
 Fausta. 0, write me first ; for thou hadst never friend 
 That loved thee better, or would hazard more 
 To serve thee, or in serving found more joy. 
 
 Cris. There is a flute-like tremor in thy voice 
 That make3 its note more melting than when firm. 
 I will believe thee what thou sayst thou art. 
 
CBISPUS. 87 
 
 I feel thon art a friend, and guess thee fair, 
 Despite the veil that hides thee. Thon dost know 
 My numerous griefs, and pitiest me. 
 
 Fausta. I do ; 
 
 And pity is akin, 'tis said, to love. 
 
 Cms. Keep, then, thy pity. Love hath been my foe, 
 And I distrust his kindred as himself. 
 
 Fausta. True love, my lord, is enemy to none ; 
 And tearful pity is beloved of all. 
 'Tis some pretender that hath been thy foe. 
 For well I know thou art beloved. 
 
 Cris. By whom ? 
 
 Fausta. Not by Helena. 
 Cris. Sully not those lips, 
 
 Whose music, spite concealment, proves them pure, 
 By that once dear but now dishonoured name. 
 I have loved, lady — not, alas, been loved. 
 
 Fausta. Ah, yes ; there 's one who long hath loved 
 in vain ; 
 Whose warm impassioned nature yearns for thine 
 With fervour that her cold heart could not feel ; 
 Whose arms, forbidden to entwine thee, still 
 In fancy hourly hug thee to her breast ; 
 Whose lips, denied the wished-for bliss of thine, 
 Delight, in speaking it, to kiss thy name ; 
 Whose longing eyes, when thou art present, seem 
 To have no purpose but on thee to gaze ; 
 Who, in thy absence, waking lives on thought, 
 And sleeping dreams the livelong night of thee. 
 Cris. 'Twas thus Helena once did natter me. 
 Where is she now, and where her sugared vows ? 
 Her oaths, like sweetmeats, melted on her tongue. 
 As false may she of whom thou tell'st me be. 
 
 Fausta. Nay, she her vows has to another made, 
 And longs to break them in her love for thee. 
 
88 CftlSPUS. 
 
 Cris. Then fie upon thy lips to plead for her. 
 Untrue to him, she would be false to me. 
 Helena's self is no more false than she. 
 
 Fausta. An oath extorted under heavy pains 
 Must not be deemed a pledge of faithful love. 
 The cursed promise, which her heart disowned, 
 Was wrung on peril of a life beloved, 
 And like a tether ties her to a stake. 
 
 Cris. Could I believe this, I could pity her. 
 
 Fausta. Thy pity breaks her fettei', and she conies — 
 No faithless perjured lover, red with shame, 
 But as a fugitive from loathsome bonds — 
 To offer her still virgin heart to thee. 
 
 Cris. The pleader and the client are the same. 
 I must dispel this murky lace and see, 
 As through a cloud, the lustre it conceals. 
 
 [Attempts to remove veil. 
 
 Fausta {preventing him, and twining her arms round 
 his neck) . 0, spare me yet a while ! I have a fear, 
 My face and name revealed to thee, thou mayst 
 Kecall thy pity — heir, I trust, to love. 
 
 Cris. Why shouldst thou fear? These white and 
 tender arms 
 Are but the envoys of a face more fair. 
 Now through thy veil two pretty orbs I see, 
 Which, catching lustre from the pale cold moon, 
 In warm bright flashes cast it back on me. 
 Thy breath is sweet — 
 
 Fausta. Not sweeter than thine own. 
 
 Cris. Too sweet for aught but beauty to exhale. 
 What scent conjectures sight shall snrely prove. 
 Though walls conceal their colours from our eyes, 
 We know by odours when sweet flowers are near ; 
 Let me break through this stubborn fence, and view 
 The petals that can give such fragrance forth. 
 
CRISPUS. 89 
 
 Fausta. Thou takest no more sweetness than thou 
 givest. 
 If with iny breath thou couldst inhale my life, 
 In such a way were I content to die. 
 Oris. Nay, I must see. (Unveils her.) Great Father! 
 Do I sleep ? 
 In mercy rouse me from this frightful dream ! 
 My father's wife ! — my mother ! Let me go. 
 
 Fausta (clinging) . 0, cast me not away. My heart 
 has grown, 
 In this embrace of rapture, to your side. 
 Oris, (struggling). Unloose me, wanton. 
 Fausta. Nay, let me kiss and hug you to relent. 
 Oris. Away, vile Avoman, ere I fling you from me. 
 Fausta. Gods ! have I cast my modesty aside, 
 And loved and wooed you, only to be scorned ? 
 You will not love me ? 
 
 Cris. Love you, wretch ? I loathe 
 
 Myself and you, for that already done. 
 
 Fausta. Nay, then, revenge ! (Runs up stage.) Help, 
 help, help, help, help, help ! 
 Enter Sempronius at the bach of the stage. 
 Thank heaven, Sempronius, for this timely aid. 
 Defend me from this monster. Come — away. 
 
 [Exeunt Fausta and Sempronius. 
 Cris. Abandoned woman, stay — what would you do ? 
 
 [Exit after them. 
 
 SCENE 2.— Room in the Palace. 
 Noise xvithout, as of people approaching . Fausta heard 
 
 calling "Help." 
 Enter Constantine and Suite at side; and enter from bach, 
 in haste, Fausta and Sempronius, with Crispus, Pisan- 
 nius, Lucullus, and others folloiving . 
 
 Con. What is the meaning of this uproar ? Speak. 
 
90 CRISPUS. 
 
 Fausta. O, may the mercy of the gods be praised, 
 That once again, my husband, at your side 
 I find myself in safety, chaste and pure. 
 
 Con. What is the meaning — 
 
 Cms. Father, give me ear — 
 
 Fausta. 0, viper ! has thy callous soul no shame 
 To choke the profanation of that name ? 
 
 Cris. Had I, fair devil, half your cause of shame — ■ 
 
 Con. No more of this, but let me know the worst, 
 Which, should it hit and overtop my fears, 
 Is bad indeed. 
 
 Cris. While walking in the grounds — 
 
 Fausta. My liege, as I was walking in the grounds — 
 
 Cris. I claim to speak, my liege. 
 
 Con. I'll hear the charge, 
 
 And then thou mayst defend — 
 
 Cris. How! 
 
 Con. Silence, sir ! 
 
 Proceed thou, Fausta. Be thou brief, but clear, 
 And tell me that which I'm afraid to know. 
 
 Fausta. Fatigued and spent with heat and exercise, 
 To seek some moments' tranquil solitude, 
 I wandered from the palace to the grounds, 
 And scarce had gained seclusion in the shade 
 Of the luxuriant foliage, when your son 
 Did thrust himself into my company. 
 Unwilling to be deemed uncourteous, 
 I did endure his presence, and concealed 
 The anger I at his intrusion felt. 
 But soon his villainous intent I learned, 
 For round my neck his beastly arm he flung, 
 And, pressing 'gainst my cheek his filthy lips, 
 He from my bosom plucked away my robe, 
 Thrusting his wanton fingers where, save yours 
 And our dear babes', no hand had been before, 
 
CKISPUS. 91 
 
 And whispering lecherous love. I fought and screamed, 
 
 When, luckily, Sempronius, sauntering near, 
 
 And hearing my distress, rushed up to aid, 
 
 On seeing whom your son did loose his hold, 
 
 And, feigning indignation, turned on me 
 
 As if the shame was mine. 
 
 Cms. Vile harlot, 'tis. 
 
 Con. Hold, misbegotten wretch, thy lawless tongue, 
 And speak not thus of outraged chastity. 
 
 Cris. Of chastity ? I charge the gods with shame — 
 With partial judgment flagrant as your own — 
 If such a strumpet can remain undamned. 
 
 Fausta. You hear, my lord, how he would turn on me 
 The guilty onus of his filthy lust. 
 Cms. Impudent wanton ! 
 
 Con. Miscreant, hold thy tongue. 
 
 Thy breath infects the air. How paltry poor 
 Is human judgment for a sin like thine ! 
 Had but my honest indignation power 
 To visit duly this unnatnral crime, 
 'Twould snatch the lightning from the gripe of Jove, 
 And strike thee, scorpion, to the lowest hell. 
 But man is weak, and justice, unappeased, 
 Must be contented with thy life alone. 
 
 Cris. Weigh not your wrath by what you may impose, 
 But by what I am able to endure. 
 'Tis not in scope of your unrighteous spleen 
 To cause a pang that I can not contemn. 
 
 Con, Thou art condemned, defiant monster— 
 Cris. Hold! 
 
 I, in the name of hooded Justice (whose 
 Most sacred wand you were ordained to wield, 
 But which your warped and biased mind degrades), 
 Before you speak the sentence, will be heard. 
 I do not, haughty tyrant, seek to turn 
 
92 CRISPUS. 
 
 Your lance, already lifted, from it aim, 
 
 For I am weary of myself and you ; 
 
 But to my own integrity and fame 
 
 'Tis due I speak, though well I know in vain. 
 
 Can yonr mock justice counterfeit the true 
 
 To the extent of hearing my defence, 
 
 Or does your proud authority disdain 
 
 To give a charged offender leave to speak, 
 
 And sentence me unheard ? 
 
 Con. So I revere 
 
 The sacred name of justice, that not e'en 
 Thy insolence shall weigh with thy offence. 
 I'll hear thee. 
 
 Cms. Wondrous charity ! 
 
 Con. Proceed. 
 
 Seek not to brave and swagger out thy crime, 
 But meekly own, or modestly disprove, 
 The sin charged on thee ; and while thou dost speak, 
 I will in mercy let mine eyelids fall, 
 That thy defence and pleading be not marred 
 By thy most brazen look ; for honest eyes 
 Do ache to gaze on thee. 
 
 Cris. Then give me ear, 
 
 And as for justice — from the fount on high, 
 Not from the crook' d and errant spout below — 
 I look to God, the truth I'll plainly tell. 
 Some of the revellers, weary of the court, 
 Sought change and better breathing in the park. 
 I, sad at heart and soul, did follow them, 
 But in their boisterous pleasures had no share. 
 Some talked and laughed, some sang, some danced a while ; 
 Then, what at first was novel waxing dull, 
 And that which had been irksome seeming new, 
 They sauntered back into the court ; and I, 
 Left as I thought alone, wooed solitude. 
 
CEISPUS. 93 
 
 But soon upon me stole a lady veiled, 
 
 Who had before encountered me as then. 
 
 I will not tell yon with what artful wiles 
 
 She took attention prisoner ; bnt I soon, 
 
 In the belief that I had found a friend, 
 
 Grew interested, pleased, at last enthralled. 
 
 Then, grazing first my scars from broken vows, 
 
 Which age was healing, she, as if for balm, 
 
 Informed me of some richer love, which long 
 
 In secret had been nursed for me by one 
 
 Who was herself a slave to vows compelled. 
 
 And though her lips said " she," while heart meant " I 
 
 (Too modest, simply thought I, to be plain, 
 
 Bnt more exposing what she ill concealed), 
 
 I, undeceived and curious, tried her veil ; 
 
 But she, resisting, did implore delay. 
 
 Then softly round my neck crept two fair arms. 
 
 Into my tingling ears sweet whispered words, 
 
 And I, my senses dazed with dainty breath, 
 
 At length unveiled her with some gentle force. 
 
 When lo, no heart-bruised blushing maid I saw, 
 
 Whose pent and timid love pept shyly through 
 
 The parted fingers of her bashfulness, 
 
 But, with a boldness out of lewdness born, 
 
 This hard-faced shameless wanton met my view. 
 
 Fausta. My lord, you cannot love me if you listen 
 To this most infamous — 
 
 Con. Say not a word. 
 
 I will with patience hear him to the end, 
 And show him how, when Justice throbs to strike, 
 Her heaven-born sister Mercy can forbear, • 
 Holding the arm, in righteous anger raised, 
 Till guilt, self-doomed, invites the sti-oke of law. 
 
 Cms. I, struck with horror, bade her from my right 
 But still she clung, and wooed, and sought to win ; 
 
94 CRISPUS. 
 
 Then, finding my repugnant loathing firm, 
 She, with a fiendish cunning, broke away, 
 And made this heinous charge. 
 
 Fausta. 0, villainy ! 
 
 Con. Content thee, Fansta. Hast thou said thy say ? 
 Cms. I have ; and now let fall the forejudged stroke, 
 For, having purged mine honesty with truth, 
 I would not, to prolong a life I loathe, 
 Could that appease you, bend my guiltless knee. 
 But ill must fare the culprit when the judge 
 Desires the guilt that he pretends to try. 
 
 Con. Were thy black crime milk white to what it is, 
 This hardihood would pluck the heart from grace. 
 Wouldst on my credence foist so weak a fraud, 
 That thou couldst hold discourse with her so long, 
 And yet not know her (though her face were veiled) 
 By some such trick of gait or turn of form 
 As marks us all — or, better, by the voice, 
 Which is a trusty witness to the blind ? 
 
 Cris. The veil, which almost to her feet did fall, 
 As well concealed her figure as her face. 
 
 Semp. (whispering). The veil is safe. 
 
 Fausta. I have not such a veil. 
 
 Cris. Not now. 
 
 Con. No matter for the veil. The voice ? 
 
 Cris. Her voice she most consummately disguised. 
 This she can do. 
 
 Con. Why, Fausta, this is true. 
 
 Thou hast surprised myself. 
 
 Fausta. In jest, my lord. 
 
 He knows this. 'Tis his craft to speak of it. 
 
 Con. What dost thou know of this affair, Sempronius ? 
 
 Semp. I know but this, my liege : that when I came 
 In sight of the dear Empress and your son, 
 She ran to me, and cried, in seeming fear, 
 
CRISPtJS. 05 
 
 " 0, save rue from this monster!" 
 
 Cms. This is true ; 
 
 But no less true 'tis that her fright was feigned. 
 
 Con. What dost thou think, Sempronius ? 
 
 Semp. Ask me not ; 
 
 For where my love and reverence are weighed 
 So evenly that half is in each scale, 
 I dare not trust my judgment to devine 
 In which to drop the feather of belief. 
 Pray do not judge from what has gone before. 
 
 Con. How else are we to judge, where two oppose 
 With counter charges, but by character ? 
 Much good of her I know, mnch ill of him ; 
 Of her no ill, of him but little good. 
 And I bethink me now of freedoms past, 
 Unheeded then, that pointed to this sin. 
 I solemnly adjudge thee unto death ; 
 But, as the eye that hath beheld the sun 
 Some trace of his bright figure will retain 
 Within the fallen lid, my serried heart 
 Bears yet a vestige of the foolish love 
 I bore thee once, and thus much grace I give : 
 That thou mayst make election of the means 
 Whereby thou art to die. To Istria 
 Thou shalt be sent forthwith, and twenty days 
 (Under Lactantius' good and holy care) 2 
 I do accord thee to make peace with God, 
 And ask of him that mercy which in me 
 'Twould be a sinful weakness to bestow. 
 If, at the term of these same days of grace, 
 I be not well assured of thy decease, 
 The common executioner shall deal 
 The doom which now my justice hath decreed. 
 
 {Exeunt all hut Crispus, Pisannius, and LucULLtlSi 
 
 Pisan. My noble lord, I never did enjoy, 
 
96 CRISPUS. 
 
 And perhaps did never merit, your esteem, 
 Which, in the height and heyday of your fame, 
 I never sought by courtesies to win, 
 A surly pride restraining me ; but now, 
 In this your hour of agony and need, 
 Without suspicion I may frankly own 
 The honour I have ever held you in. 
 If my poor love and services may meet 
 Your present need, I lay them at your feet, 
 And pray you not extrem'st exaction spare, 
 E'en to the taxing of my worthless life. 
 
 Lucul. And at your feet, my lord, my heart is laid. 
 I never made profession of my love, 
 For you have seemed to hold me in distrust ; 
 But if, of all in this vain world I prize — 
 As fortune, life, my freedom, and good name — 
 There 's aught that may contribute to your aid, 
 I pray you any, or them all, command. 
 
 Cris. Good souls, I thank you for this sympathy, 
 Which I avouch I never have deserved. 
 Your generous friendship is of heavenly sheen, 
 For in my noon of fame I saw you not, 
 Bat now, when night and anguish on me come, 
 You start from out the gloom like shining stars. 
 But I have done with life and liberty, 
 And must not, in the remnant of my own, 
 A useless tribute let you make of yours. 
 I know not whether grief for mine own blindness 
 (Ne'er having to my favour ta'en your worth) 
 Or admiration of your godlike souls, 
 Which tender all things where they nothing owe, 
 Affects me most ; but this I know too well, 
 That in your present dignity I see, 
 As in a glass, my own foregone disgrace. 
 How speaks it for humanity, my friends, 
 
CEISPUS. 97 
 
 That those I trusted with my open heart 
 First fail me in the usances of love ; 
 Whilst you, 'gainst whom my niggard breast was closed, 
 Press on me that which honour must refuse, 
 Could e'en acceptance work your noble will? 
 Pi san. Because we knew you better— 
 Oris. Sa F n0 more ' 
 
 For my reproach is, like a wound that 's raw, 
 
 So tender that you torture as you soothe. 
 
 Yet, simple souls, you are but stocks or staves, 
 
 For if you had the busy wits of men, 
 
 You could not think thus in this world to thrive. 
 
 As stocks and staves I take you to my love— 
 
 My bankrupt love— more dearly than as men. 
 
 What more is scorned than crutches by the hale ? 
 
 What more than crutches welcome to the lame ? 
 
 Such are your friendships to my crippled hopes, 
 
 And on your friendships limp I to my end. 
 
 \Exeunt omnes. 
 
 Re-enter Sempbonius and Fausta. 
 
 Fausta. He must be saved. 
 
 Semp. He oannot be - 
 
 ^ He shall, 
 
 Fausta. ' 
 
 Or to my conscience rest can never come. 
 
 Semp. Lay not to conscience what is due to lust. 
 O, Fausta, Fausta, you dissembled well ; 
 But, though you could bedust your husband's eyes, 
 You cannot hoodwink me. You love the Caesar, 
 And through the mask of modesty you wore 
 I saw you as his candour painted you. 
 
 Fausta. He shall be saved. 
 
 gEMP> He shall not, if you live. 
 
 You have cajoled me long enough. Beware ! 
 I will no longer be your slave, to gain 
 The wretched dole of twice divided love. 
 
98 OEiSPUS. 
 
 Your husband's rivalry has been my bane ; 
 And ere I'll gulp submissively the gall 
 Of supersession by his stripling son, 
 I will denounce your perfidy. 
 
 Faust a. Away ! 
 
 Go— let your fierce malevolence have rein. 
 I do love Crispus — let the whole world know ; 
 And rather than outlive him, I will end 
 A life that runs in harness with his own. 
 
 [Attempts to stab herself, but Sempronius prevents her. 
 
 Semp. Hold, wretched woman ! Are your senses crazed ? 
 
 Fausta. They are, alas! Alas, they are, they are! 
 
 Semp. Slay nature first ; for raiment, food, and breath, 
 Are less essential to my life than thou. 
 
 Fausta. 0, gods ! he must be saved. 
 
 Semp. Pledge me but this, 
 
 And all the help I can accord I will. {Whispers.) 
 
 Fausta. Take thou the promise from my lips with thine. 
 
 Semp. (kissing her). 0, that the treasures of these lips 
 were mine ! 
 Mine only — undivided and entire ! 
 
 Fausta. O, think we now of Crispus, not of me. 
 
 Semp. There 's but one way to save him. 
 
 FAUsrA. What is that ? 
 
 Semp. I hardly dare to mention it. 
 
 Fausta. What fear ? 
 
 The means — the means? 
 
 Semp. (whispering) . The death of Constantine. 
 
 Fausta. Why palter thus ? He is already doomed. 
 If Crispus die, I will not long survive, 
 And Constantine shall lead the way for me. 
 
 Semp. Then poison him at once. 
 
 Fausta. Not yet, for then 
 
 The Caesar wouM at once ascend the throne. 
 
 Semp. Would you not have it so ? 
 
CRISPUS. 9.9 
 
 Faust a. Ay, if assured 
 
 That he would seek not to avenge his father. 
 
 Semp. And what assurance would you have ? 
 
 Fausta. His word. 
 
 Semp. It is a pledge which one may trust when 
 pawned ; 
 But you esteem him far below his worth 
 If you believe he'll barter terms with you. 
 
 Fausta. The bravery that spits at Death in fray, 
 When he conies plunging upon lance or sword, 
 Oft sinks when creeps he shadelike on the dial ; 
 And honour that in hope shows bright as gold 
 Will rust, like meaner metals, in despair. 
 We'll test his boldness and his hononr both. 
 If he will purchase safety on our terms, 
 Yon in his favour shall rebellion raise, 
 Whilst I, to make success more certain, will 
 Repair to Rome, and poison Constantine. 
 If he refuse — what then, Fate only knows. * 
 We must to Pola when we safely can. 
 I will for absence good excuse devise ; 
 Do thou the like. We'll talk of this again. (Retires.) 
 This man is needful, as a bridge, to pass 
 The deep abyss that yawneth in my way. 
 Once safely crossed, the bridge must be destroyed. [_Emt. 
 Enter Old Helena stealthily, behind. 
 
 Old H. Again together. There is something wrong, 
 But what, I cannot hear. I'll watch them well. 
 She is more guilty than my darling boy. [Exit. 
 
 Semp. If I do help her, what shall be my meed ? 
 Assume (though 'tis preposterous to suppose) 
 That Crispus, cowed and blenching in despair, 
 Or — sooth, more likely — yearning for revenge, 
 Should for his vantage fall in with her schemes : 
 He takes the sceptre., steps into the chair, 
 
100 CRISPUS. 
 
 Enfolds himself in pui^ple, and commands. 
 
 What am I then to Fausta but a bar, 
 
 A balk, a block, to stnmble o'er, or clear? 
 
 Will she, whom marriage fealty conld not bind, 
 
 Be more exact in trnthfnlness to me ? 
 
 I will not trust her ; yet I'll seem to aid 
 
 While I do thwart her, and will serve myself. 
 
 I'll raise revolt, mayhap ; but not for him. 
 
 I have a scheme, which I have nursed for years, 
 
 To seat myself in safety on the throne, 
 
 And secret agents have in every land 
 
 Whereo'er extends the mighty arm of Rome; 
 
 And every hap that bodes these others ill 
 
 Is big with promise of good speed to me. 
 
 The Emperor, as by her hand, shall die, 
 
 And Crispus shall not live. The younger sons 
 
 Being yet too crude to govern, I will seize 
 
 The reins and sceptre for the general weal, 
 
 And, holding her the cause of all these ills, 
 
 I'll break her spirit, bend her pride to prayer, 
 
 And will extort the homage I have craved. [Mseit. 
 
CKISPUS. 101 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE 1. — Exterior of Fortress at Pola. Moonlight. 
 Benevolentius and others on guard. 
 
 Ben. This gatmt old fortress, from without surveyed, 
 Doth in the moonlight wear a sacred air, 
 But wrong and cruel murder rule within. 
 The Caesar's hours are wearing fast away. 
 The days of grace draw swiftly to their close, 
 And when thrice more the searching eye of clay 
 Hath looked within those walls, the truest heart 
 That ever beat for Borne will be at rest. 
 Filter Constantine, Helena, and Old Helena, disguised. 
 
 Con. We have out-joumeyed them, and are in time. 
 We will bestow ourselves where we may hear 
 What they shall say to Crispus. If I find 
 My strong suspicions are but partly true, 
 My son shall sit yet higher in my love. 
 
 Old H. 'Tis not suspicion ; it is certainty. 
 Have we not found the veil which she denied, 
 And proved it hers by witness of her maids ? 
 Have I not seen them talking, lip to ear ? 
 And Servia, Helena's girl, hath seen 
 Sweet-faced Sempronius kiss your modest queen. 
 
 Con. They have at least deceived me in this journey, 
 And her deceit to Helen bodes the worst. 
 We'll try the test. I'm glad we are in time. 
 
 Hel. We are in time, and yet, perchance, too latej 
 In time to intercept this guilty pair, 
 Too late, mayhap, his innocence to save. 
 0, waste not precious moments. 
 
 Con. Do not fear. 
 
 Tho days of mercy yet are unexpired. 
 
 Hel. But he mav break his fetters ere his hour. 
 
102 CRISPUS. 
 
 Con. Why fear the worst, when thou the best mayst 
 
 hope? 
 Hel. My hopes are topmost, but, alas, not firm. 
 On ruffled waters sunbeams cannot rest ; 
 Like them, my bright hopes tremble on my fears. 
 
 Con. Come, then ; we'll in, and torture thee no more. 
 They attempt to enter the Fortress. 
 Ben. (lowering his pike.) Halt ! You pass not without 
 authority. 
 
 Con. We come from the court, on matter of weighty 
 import. I must see the commander of the fort. 
 
 Ben. Constantino himself should not pass without some 
 intelligible sign. If you were the Emperor, there is not a 
 man on guard that would not wish his lance in your throat 
 ere you had time to tell him so. 
 
 Con. Is the Emperor so unpopular with his soldiers ? 
 Ben. Ay, since he has behaved so ill to his son. 
 Con. I come in the Caesar's favour; and here is my 
 authority. (Shoivs paper, and whispers.) 
 Ben. Enough. You may pass. 
 
 [Exeunt Constantine, Helena, and Old Helena. 
 
 Ben. It is Constantine. I knew him well, but I chose 
 
 to seem ignorant, that I might slip a bit of truth into his 
 
 ears ; and on my soul, if I thought he meant not well, I 
 
 would as willingly have slipped my pike into his ribs. 
 
 SCENE 2.— Interior of the Fortress. 
 Crispus and Lactamtius discovered, tlie former at window. 
 Cms. Once more the sun upon the sombre east 
 Begins to paint the picture of the morn. 
 His vigorous touch breaks up the sullen gloom 
 With ruby streaks that gleam like bars of fire. 
 Ah, Phoebus, Phoebus! shall I ne'er behold 
 Again the splendour of thy handiwork ? 
 Thou glorious limner, who, upon the wide 
 
CEISPUS. 103 
 
 And ever-shifting surface of the sky, 
 
 Dost paint such wondrous and such varying forms, 
 
 In hues so rich and tints so delicate, 
 
 Adieu, adieu ! Thou paint' st for me no more ; 
 
 For ere thy round of labour, now begun, 
 
 Thou like a wizard endest in the west, 
 
 Turning dun vapours into rocks of gold, 
 
 Shall I be ended too. 
 
 Lac. Why die to-day ? 
 
 Three days of life thy sentence leaves thee still. 
 Three days of breathing is not much of life, 
 But in that period great events may come. 
 Within that time, man's vigour thrice will wane, 
 And thrice again be quickened by repose ; 
 Within that time, the never-resting tide 
 Will six times ebb, and times as many flow ; 
 Within that time, the monarch of the day 
 Will thrice in triumph journey o'er the world; 
 Within that time, twice reckoned, did the Lord 
 All beauteous nature out of chaos mould ; 
 Within that time, the mercy of the Lord 
 May yet redeem thy innocence from shame. 
 Therefore delay thy sad intent a while. 
 
 Oeis. I am resolved. Dissuade me not, good father, 
 Thy ghostly counsel hath girt up my soul, 
 And taught me through the gates of death to gaze, 
 With so much hope and little fear as may, 
 With seemliness, an errant creature dare. 
 Why, therefore, should I longer linger here, 
 To lose, perchance, the strength thou hast bestowed ? 
 
 Lac. That undue haste may lose no happy chance 
 Which in the residue of grace might come. 
 
 Cms. Thon tell'st me to a happier life I go, 
 Yet wouldst detain me. When condemned to die, 
 My father did a certain term accord 
 
104 CRISPUS. 
 
 To make rny peace with God. 'Twas long enough ; 
 And, if forgiveness for my mortal wrongs, 
 Compassion for the frailty whence they sprung, 
 And contrite sorrow for what ills I've done, 
 Be any signs of peace, that peace is made. 
 Why tax his favour to the latest hour ? 
 
 Lac. Well, have thy way, albeit my bosom bleeds. 
 But (I must needs confess it, to my shame) 
 I cannot, though my mission is to teach 
 The rendering of good for evil deeds 
 (The man being stronger in me than the priest), 
 Look on thy persecutors with the same 
 Compassionating mercy that thou canst. 
 
 Cris. Grieve not for me, thou good and holy man. 
 If towards my father in my mind still stays 
 A thought reproachful, 'tis because thy worth 
 Hath from his favour yet so sparely gained 
 That penury seems virtue's only fee. 
 
 Lac. Blame not therein thy father. I have these : 
 Humility, sufficient, and content, 
 Three things that piety should value more 
 Than discord, superfluity, and pride. 
 
 Cris. Long live to think so 5 and what good soe'er 
 Thou lackest from the brimful lap of power, 
 Inherit in the grateful hearts of men. 
 Hast thou provided me the easy means 
 Of death that thou didst promise me ? 
 
 Lac. I have, 
 
 But tremble to deliver it. I feel 
 More like a heartless murderer than a priest. 
 
 Cris. Nay, let me have it. It is kindly done. 
 
 Lac (giving phial). Within this phial is a poisonous 
 fluid, 
 Not nauseous, but of sure though tardy power. 
 For yet an hour it will as harmless lie 
 
CRISPINS. 105 
 
 As so much water in thy mortal frame j 
 Anon will pleasing languor o'er thee steal ; 
 And presently, as gently as a hand 
 From out an easy glove, thy soul will glide 
 Out of its earthly prison-house to rest. 
 May God forgive my part in the sad deed ! 
 
 Cms. It Heems a marvel that this wretched phial, 
 These paltry drops, can wreck a soldier's life, 
 Which all the chances and the shafts of war 
 Have failed so oft to do. Why, what is death ? 
 What shall I lose in dying ? 
 
 Lac. Many things — 
 
 Vexations, troubles, slightings, wrongs, and pains — 
 Whereof the loss is bliss. 
 
 Oris. And many joys, 
 
 Peculiar and distinct to corporal being. 
 The eye shall lose the green of nature's gown, 
 With all its rich embroidery of flowers ; 
 The touch shall lose the grasp of friendly hands, 
 The cheek the vigorous freshness of the breeze j 
 The ear shall lose the rustling of the leaves, 
 The sad sigh-music of the laving tide, 
 The melody of birds, and such sweet sounds 
 As human art can out of nature tune ; 
 The sense of taste, oft watering with desire, 
 Shall lose the savour of the various fruits ; 
 The smell shall lose all nature's self exhales, 
 Or artifice distils, from herbs and flowers ; 
 And that mysterious monarch called the mind, 
 Whereto each sense is but a serving man, 
 Shall lose the charms of intercourse with kind. 
 
 Lac. All these the senses lose, but in their stead 
 Succeed, hereafter, spiritual joys, 
 From the coarse pleasures of the sense as far 
 Removed as God himself from sinful man. 
 
106 cbispus. 
 
 Cris. Death, slowly corning, to the miud recalls 
 A legion faults that life and pride ignore. 
 When sturdy health is bounding through the veins, 
 And our affairs in this gay world go well, 
 We're prone to think too much upon ourselves, 
 Too little on our neighbour, and we wound 
 His sensitiveness by a hundred whims. 
 These follies, which as faults we scarcely own, 
 We write upon our consciences in milk, 
 And soon forget that which we do not see ; 
 But when the soul is face to face with death, 
 As if we held the writing to a fire, 
 They all come out, distinct and black as ink. 
 
 Lac. To be unspotted is to be inhuman. 
 Let not these venial blots disturb your peace. 
 These, like the shadows in a picture, throw 
 Our better natures into stronger light. 
 They are the sins of weakness, not of will. 
 
 Cris. I can bethink me of a thousand things 
 Which I regret, albeit I cannot mend. 
 
 Lac. Be comforted, for heaven is just, and will, 
 When it shall tax the straightness of our way, 
 Make due allowance for the weights we bear ; 
 And wealth and power are burthens under which 
 The strong oft stagger and the feeble fall. 
 
 Cris. Give me thy hand, Lactantius, while I drink. 
 1 take myself to rest in God's good grace j 
 And if, in any heart I leave behind, 
 A thoughtless or ungenerous act of mine 
 Hath left a foul and loathsome memory, 
 May charity come, like the cleansing tide, 
 And to oblivion bear the blot away. 
 And as I hope this mercy for myself, 
 So do I now with free forgiveness wipe 
 And purge away all vengeance from my thoughts, 
 
CRISPUS. 107 
 
 (He drinks the poison and kneels down.) 
 Give me thy blessing, father. 
 Enter behind, unobserved, Constantine, Helena, and Old 
 Helena, who conceal themselves. 
 Lac. Gentle prince, 
 
 If to anoint thee with my own heart's blood 
 Would save thy life and cleanse thy slandered name, 
 I would my current of existence pour 
 Upon thy head, and, as an empty phial, 
 Would gladly cast my sad heart to the grave. 
 But I am nothing. Look we up to God. 
 O, thou, Almighty and All-merciful, 
 Look down with pity on this child of Eve. 
 Against his frailties, let his virtues weigh ; 
 Against his former pride, his meekness now ; 
 Against his sins of malice, his great wrougs ; 
 And if his merits in the poise should fail, 
 And that the beam nnhappily incline 
 To his disfavour, let thy mercy fall 
 Into the faltering balance, and give peace. 
 Bless thee — bless thee — poor unhappy prince. (Weeps.) 
 Cris. Weep not, Lactantius. Wherefore weepest thou ? 
 Why should my troubles, fond but foolish man, 
 Oppress thee with this weight of sympathy, 
 And force these drops of feeling from thine eyes ? 
 Yet dry them not, but let me look again 
 Into thy holy lids. Thou canst not think 
 How sweet a vision in thy grief I see. 
 I look into thine eyes, and there behold 
 A young mulatta, by a father grim 
 Begot in outrage on a bright-faced dam. 
 Thy tears baptise it — Pity is its name, 
 The child of Generosity and Woe. 
 
 Lac. O, wring my heart no more, or from mine eyea 
 I shall beweep my manhood all away. 
 
108 CRISPUS. 
 
 Is there no trust or legacy of love — 
 No duty overlooked, no wish forgotten, 
 No grace to ask, no sign of peace to give — , 
 Which thou to holy duty would st confide ? 
 
 Cris. There is, good soul. I thank thee for thy care. 
 Thou know'st, Lactantius, that I loved Helena. 
 
 Lac. I do, my child, and that she loved thee too. 
 
 Cris. So thought my soul, and joys to think it still. 
 I was arrested in her presence once, 
 Upon my father's order, for the death 
 Of young Basilins, whom in strife I slew, 
 Which act was cited murder in the writ. 
 She gave that warrant to the officer 
 Before my eyes, and hastily withdrew, 
 And all did seem as if by her arranged. 
 I therefore thonght, and was, moreover, told 
 (But now I marvel that I did believe), 
 That she, in secret loving tho slain youth, 
 Had caused my apprehension in revenge. 
 The wretched Fausta — the unworthy wife 
 Of him whose honour falsehood said I stained — ■ 
 She told me this, and much of ill beside, 
 About Helena ; but since that sad hour, 
 So fully has she proven her own shame, 
 And I so much have thought upon it here, 
 That in my heart the welcome hope has grown — 
 May nothing blight it ! — that 'twas Fausta who, 
 By some device of cunning, did contrive 
 To raise this trouble 'twixt us, as a tool 
 Using Helena. Motive now is plain. 
 What dost thou of the Princess know, good man ? 
 
 Lac. I know she wrestles with some heavy grief — 
 A weight of suffering rather than of shame. 
 T fear me much her reason is disturbed; 
 For o'er her bine eye, once so rich in lustre, 
 
CRISPUS. 109 
 
 Hath lately Irnng an tinae customed haze, 
 Through which one may discern her gentle mind 
 Distorted, like a beauteous object viewed 
 Through flawed and twisted glass. 
 
 Cms. So sad? 
 
 Lac. . E ' en so ' 
 
 She scarcely seems to live, but suffers life, 
 And with the gentlest meekness. Her sweet face, 
 Whence hope seems banished, looketh like a lamp, 
 A pretty lamp, extinguished. Sadness seems 
 So settled on her features, that it shows 
 Like mourning garments, fitting well with age. 
 Sometimes she speaks, though not of what she feels— 
 Her grief is hoarded— but of what she sees. 
 Discourse with her is simple, but most kind. 
 She has a treasure of good thoughts and words, 
 Which she had stored up in her happier days, 
 Like pearly dewdrops, gathered from sweet flowers, 
 And in misfortune's hard and horny gripe 
 She sponge -like sheds them now. 
 
 Cris# ' And I the cause ! 
 
 Since my arrest I have but seen her once— 
 'Twas just before that dreadful charge was made— 
 And she essayed to speak to me ; but I 
 Disdained to hear her, and did turn away, 
 Forbidding her approach with bitter scorn. 
 Lac That was ungentle and unjust. 
 Cms. ' Twas oruel - 
 
 More like a tiger than a reasoning man. 
 I chid my father in the rudest terms, 
 And charged him, who with patience heard my plea, 
 With guilty bias ; yet this gentle girl 
 I have prejudged nnlistened to. Unjust, 
 I blamed in him the guilt that was my own. 
 Lac 4 Too oft is innocence condemned unheard. 
 
110 CRISPUS. 
 
 Oris. Were God just only, then the best alive 
 Would feel the need of mercy. How stand I, 
 Who have been both nnjust and merciless ? 
 
 Lac. Make me the bearer of thy word of peace ; 
 For life of man can make no holier end 
 Than nttering that mercy which he needs. 
 
 Cms. Ay, let me now make what amends I may. 
 Tell my lost angel I believe her true ; 
 Tell her, but tell her in thy own good way, 
 That I departed — selfish to the end — 
 Beseeching her forgiveness. 
 
 Hel. (without). It is thine. 
 
 Lac. What's that? 
 Cms. Didst hear it? 
 
 Lac. 'Twas a woman's voice. 
 
 Cms. I thought it was Helena's, and it said 
 " 'Tis thine." 
 
 Lac. It may be fancy, yet 'tis strange. 
 
 Enter Benevolentius. 
 Ben. Two persons have arrived at the fortress from 
 Eomo. They have authority to confer with the Caesar, 
 and demand to speak with him alone. 
 
 Lac. I will retire. If heaven my hopes confirm, 
 These people are the messengers of joy. 
 
 [Exeunt Lactantius and Benevolentius. 
 Enter Sempronius and Fausta, disguised. 
 Semp. Good morrow, royal sir. 
 Cms. Ah, is it thee, 
 
 Sempronius ? 
 
 Semp. And with him hope for you ; 
 
 Deliverance, mayhap, from these grim walls. 
 
 Cms. Sempronius, I build no airy hopes 
 On these fair promises. Though to mine eye 
 Thou ever hast a pleasing presence borne, 
 And seemed most friendly, yet I have observed, 
 
CPJSPUS. HI 
 
 In retrospective thought within these walls, 
 Whene'er thou busiest thyself for mo 
 Some mischief follows. 
 
 Semp. We intend you well. 
 
 Cris. I stand upon the threshold of a tomb, 
 And your intents are futile. Once within, 
 Nor frown nor favour can affect me more. 
 Who is this woman, and what would she here ? 
 
 Fausta. My name is my reproach. 
 
 Cris. Thou say' at enough. 
 
 My sufferings know thy voice. What wouldst with me ? 
 Hast thou not wrought enough of ill on me ? 
 Wast not enough to guess my pangs, that thou 
 Com'st thus into my agonies to pry? 
 Wouldst thou my meditations turn from grace, 
 And scare God's holy angels from my side ? 
 I would my brief breath consecrate to prayer, 
 And thou com'st, like a damn'd incendiary, 
 To seize the taper of my soul's last hope 
 And set ablaze its carnal house anew. 
 Thou art not, surely, woman, but a fiend ; 
 Or thou couldst never thus thy face intrude 
 Upon my end, to murder peace with rage, 
 And send my spirit cursing thee to compt. 
 
 Fausta. O, it is not to light thy rage I come, 
 But with my tears to quench it ; not to goad 
 Thy tongue to cursing, but to soothe and save. 
 O, Crispus, hear me — list — or I must die. 
 
 Cris. Thou weepest. I have seen thee weep before. 
 Thy words come forth in hefts, as if expelled 
 By strong emotions that contend within. 
 I've seen thee moved almost as much before. 
 I have not found thee that which thou hast seemed j 
 But I would show some charity, and hope 
 Would fain these signs interpret to be grief, 
 
112 CRISPUS. 
 
 If 'tis repentance that hath brought thee here 
 To ask forgiveness, take it and begone, 
 For I have sluiced my conscience up with grace, 
 And shut all earthward currents from, my soul. 
 
 Fausta. Conceal thy mercy, and thou show'st it most; 
 For then thou spar'st me pangs of self-reproach. 
 This mildness to my gloomy conscience comes 
 Like dreaded light to secret infamy, 
 And starts my guilt in blushes to my brow. 
 
 Cris. It is a natural sequence, for remorse 
 And anguish are sin's footprints on the soul. 
 But I forgive thee. Get thee gone, and look 
 For confirmation of my pardon there. (Points upwards.) 
 
 Fausta. I dare not look above. My wretched soul 
 Can find no comfort but in saving thee. 
 Ceis. That is impossible. 
 Fausta. It may be done, 
 
 And shall, if thou wilt wink upon the means. 
 Thy father grudged thy lungs the breath of life, 
 And long before that accusation came — 
 Accursed be the hour — he wished thee dead. 
 Cris. So said my fears. 
 
 Fausta. He seized upon that charge, 
 
 Which made an opening for his shaft of spleen — 
 Long poised and pointed — to assail thy life, 
 And thrust it fiercely home. 
 
 Cris. God pardon him. 
 
 Fausta. Pardon? 0, shame, to speak of pardon now! 
 Where is the fire that struck thy father's awe, 
 And made his big heart tremble for his throne ? 
 Art thou so crushed and humbled as to curl 
 In mean submission whilst a hope remains ? 
 Thou hast a chance to triumph. Why forgive ? 
 The hand that struck is raised to strike again. 
 Who pardon needs should seek it ere he finds. 
 
CRISPUS. 113 
 
 To cry forgiveness 'neatk a lifted arm 
 
 Is dastardy that begs what it bestows. 
 
 'Tis danger proves the soldier. Be a man ; 
 
 Bestir thyself to conquer. When thy foe, 
 
 Subdued and humbled, feels thy strength to harm, 
 
 Forbearance then ia mercy. 
 
 q r1s# Say'st thou so, 
 
 Who art my greatest enemy ? 
 
 Fausta. No, no. 
 
 The wrong I did was Wrung, by dread of shame, 
 
 Against my wish, and wrecked my peace of mind. 
 
 But rouse yourself, and I will yet atone. 
 
 Your fate has not been bruited much abroad, 
 
 But in the army wonder daily grows, 
 
 And many hint in whispers at foul play, 
 
 Needing but invocation to your aid 
 To rise for your redress. 
 
 g EM p. This is most true. 
 
 The younger officers are all your friends, 
 And in the ranks are not a thousand men 
 That would not quickly rally to your call. 
 Pledge but your royal word that o'er the past 
 You will consent to drop a veil of grace, 
 And we will straightway hasten back to Rome, 
 And, spreading secret hints of your approach 
 Among the troops, prepare the way for you. 
 I have your father's confidence, and here 
 Your very gaolers are your trusty friends, 
 Who will, on my instructions, any hour 
 Unbar your prison gates and let you forth, 
 Themselves to follow your victorious lead. 
 Within three days those gates shall be unbarred. 
 Then march at once for Rome, and on your way 
 Stout hearts and arms will to your standards crowd; 
 Like winds auspicious to expanded sails, 
 
114 CRISPUS. 
 
 And waft your venture to the port of power. 
 
 Cris. This would be great and glorious revenge. 
 To issue from this lone and gloomy tower, 
 With nothing but my wrongs and sympathy — 
 To shake the dear old tyrant on his throne, 
 And when I had the empire of the world 
 Within my grasp, and at my mercy him — 
 To lay all at his feet were great revenge. 
 
 Semp. Nay, trust him not. Such virtue would offend 
 And chafe most mortally his envious pride. 
 Your reputation's growth has been his plague, 
 Pitting the fair face of his martial fame 
 With loathsome pockrnaiks. You or he must die. 
 Replaced in power, he neither would forgive 
 Your conquest nor our treason. 
 
 Cris. (aside). Treason 'tis, 
 
 But I will probe the filth to its extreme. 
 And what if I this offer do refuse, 
 Choosing to perish rather than rebel ? 
 
 Fausta. Prefer to perish rather than rebel ? 
 To die a dastard, while the tyrant lives ? 
 O, yes, I see — I see thy drift — I see. 
 Thou wouldst be chary of the dotard's life. 
 Fool that thou art ! thou canst not save him so. 
 The cursed bond that chained me to his bed — 
 My hopeful youth to his morose decline, 
 Like beauty to a bear — I burst away, 
 For 'tis the root whence all my crimes have grown ; 
 And if on earth my hate can find a bane, 
 Thy father shall not long live after thee. 
 Who triumphs then ? Why, in Constantius' name, 
 I wield the sceptre o'er the Roman world. 
 
 Semp. (aside). Not while I live. 
 
 Cris. Thy guilt hath made thee mad. 
 
 My soul must pass in peace. If I were sure 
 
CRISPUS. 115 
 
 Thy devilish threat would culminate in deed, 
 I would refuse to profit by thy crime. 
 
 Fausta. By all that's good or evil, he is doomed. 
 Thy death avails not him. Then wherefore die ? 
 Thy brothers ! Ah ! that link is left thee still. 
 But I will murder them — then kill myself — 
 And knaves and thieves shall scramble for the throne ! 
 O, that I had but thought of this in time ! 
 I would have swept thy pathway clean of all, 
 And saved thy priceless life in spite of thee. 
 Art thou a madman ? Hast a reasoning soul ? 
 Seest not what issues on thy life depend ? 
 Thou diest — then this bloody work begins ; 
 Consent to live — thy father's death mends all. 
 
 Cms. Thou sett'st my flesh a crawling on my bones. 
 Is this the way to purge thy soul of sin ? 
 Dost hope a garment stained with blood to cleanse 
 By steeping it in gore ? To hide the spots 
 By sullying all the robe is not to clean. 
 Thou canst not smother sin by heaping sin. 
 If thou wouldst make atonement, tell me how 
 Thou didst contrive to rive me from my love ; 
 Make white the name of that dear girl again ; 
 For I believe the treachery was thine. 
 
 Fausta. Helena? Gods! and is thy soul so mean? 
 That heartless minx was minion to thy foe. 
 
 Cms. Away, foul slander ! I have heard too much. 
 
 Fausta. Good youth, I never slandered mortal more 
 Than I belie myself. I am not cruel, 
 But pitiful, to scorn of life, for thee. 
 Whate'er I am, thyself hast made me so. 
 0, Crispus, Crispus — idol of my soul — 
 Why bar thy breast against my wandering love, 
 That knocks so loudly for admission there ? 
 O, bid thy heart unlock its gentle gates 
 
116 CRISPUS. 
 
 And let my travel-worn affection in. 
 
 Thy father dead — more justly dead than thou — 
 
 Thon shalt hia seat by right of heirship take, 
 
 And change, for thoughts of death and bondage lone, 
 
 A life of ecstacy and pomp with mo. 
 
 Cms. What ho ! Lactantins ! Now the mask is off. 
 I'll balk yon, thongh. What ho! Lactantins! ho! 
 
 Semp. What wonldst thon do, fool ? 
 
 Cris. Justice, if I can. 
 
 Fausta. My dagger — gods! — 'tis lost. 
 
 Cris. Lactantins! como! 
 
 Would that thy husband heard thee ! 
 Enter CoNSTANriNE, Old Helena, Lactantius, Benevo- 
 lentius, and Soldiers. 
 
 Con. I have heard 
 
 Enough to cure the blind. Perfidious fiends ! 
 
 Semp. The Emperor! Ah, then, the end is como. 
 I will not fall alone though. There — 
 (Runs to stab Constantine, but Benevolentius receives him 
 on his pike.) 
 
 Con. Well done. 
 
 Thy spleen is baffled. Thou art rightly served. 
 Thy malice drives its teeth into thyself. 
 
 Semp. The Fates are with you — vain and pompons fool ! 
 Would it were not so, for the Ceesar's sake ! 
 What damned accident has brought you here 
 I know not, nor care now ; but let me, dying, 
 This legacy of comfort leave to you : 
 That lovely devil was not all your own ; 
 I had your wife, and, had you stayed in Rome, 
 I would have had your thixme ere many days. 
 
 Fausta. 0, kill me ! kill me ! 
 
 Con. Take the traitor hence, 
 
 And let him spit his venom at the wind. 
 
 Semp. While I have speech — this for the Cassar's ear : 
 
CRISPUS. 117 
 
 Helena is not guilty. She "believed 
 Your life in peril, knew you would not fly, 
 And Fausta, who had wrought upon her fears, 
 Induced her, under oath of secresy, 
 To work a little plot to save your life. 
 She thought the writ she gave the officer 
 Was forged, and did decree your banishment; 
 That you would secretly be kept in Rome 
 Until the cloud of danger passed away, 
 And she set forth at once to meet you there. 
 The rest, my lord, you only know too well. 
 All was by Fausta and myself contrived. 
 My guilt to you lies heaviest on my soul. 
 
 Fausta. Curse on thy craven tongue. 
 
 C 0N# Remove her, too, 
 
 And let her be confined till we have time 
 To think what death her matchless crimes deserve. 
 
 [Ex&tmt Sempronius and Fausta, guarded. 
 Poor outraged youth, my mind is too confused 
 With grief and shame for my credulity, 
 And anger 'gainst the fiends that worked upon it, 
 To offer consolation ; and thy pride 
 Hath goodly cause to spurn it at my hands. 
 Bnt— God forgive me— let the past be buried, 
 And let the future of itself inform. 
 Enter Helena. 
 But here is one who, sorely needing it, 
 Can yet give comfort. Let your sorrows blend, 
 Like meeting streams, and be their nnion joy. 
 (Crispus and Helena embrace.) 
 
 Cris. My suffering angel! Bless thee. This is joy. 
 
 Hel. 0, Crispus, this is rapturous joy indeed !— 
 Delirious bliss, that waxeth into pain, 
 As warmth to burning. Kiss me, sweet, again. 
 0, saintly hosts, can this rich joy be real ? 
 
118 CRISPUS. 
 
 Or is it but a flash into my soul 
 
 Of heavenly light, to leave me darker still ? 
 
 Con. No flash, Helena, but a steady flame, 
 Which long shall cheer thee. 
 
 Hel. Yet my busy fear 
 
 Already dims it, like an envious snuff. 
 
 Cris. Now I can die in peace. My truth is cleared, 
 The lost love of my father found again ; 
 Thy sullied name is cleansed, my doubts are o'er, 
 And thy fair fame is whiter than before. 
 
 Hel. Then all to come is joy. 
 
 Cris. Ay, all is joy. 
 
 Let me lie down, Helena, for I feel 
 As I could sleep. I am fatigued with bliss. [Sinks. 
 
 Lac. O, hapless prince, thy haste has ruined all. 
 I had forgotten this. The poison works. 
 
 Con. Who talks of poison ? 
 
 Hel. Poison, poison ? Why, 
 
 What mean you ? 0, immortal angels ! what — 
 What poison ? Who has taken it ? 0, who ? 
 
 Lac. Alas, alas ! the Csesar is to die. 
 A little ere you came he swallowed poison, 
 In consummation of that sad decree. 
 
 Con. O, most unhappy chance ! 
 
 Hel. Thou heartless man — 
 
 Hard-hearted priest — shame, shame, 0, shame on thee. 
 Thou shouldst console, and thou dost talk of death. 
 Has earth no ruffian, hell no friendly fiend, 
 That from that cruel mouth will tear the tongue 
 That speaks of poison on this happy morn ? 
 I shall go mad — 0, heaven — I shall go mad ! 
 And yet he lives. Thou tell'st not true ; he breathes. 
 O, Crispus, tell this wretched man he lies. 
 
 Cris. (fainthj). A kiss — a kiss. Goodnight. 
 
 Hel. Good night, forsooth ? 
 
CKISPUS. 119 
 
 Why, 'tis but morning yet. He jests — he jests, 
 
 Thou wicked priest. Men die not merrily j 
 
 And Crispus jests, for when 'tis only morn 
 
 He says " Good night." Sweet love, be serious ; 
 
 For jests are powerless, such deep grief to cheer, 
 
 As lighted torches flung to warm the sea. 
 
 He sinks — 0, heaven — he sinks ; and he will die. 
 
 Each inspiration 's longer than the last. 
 
 See how he gapes, as if to bite the air 
 
 That will not let him breathe it. I have breath ; 
 
 Take mine, take mine, expiring love — take mine, 
 
 And let us go together to the grave. [Crispus dies. 
 
 He 's gone, he 's gone, and I am here alone — 
 
 Unloved and friendless in this world ; and still 
 
 My stern heart beats. Who says that nature 's frail ? 
 
 Alas, it is too strong. My frighted soul 
 
 Yet flutters, like a scared pet in its cage, 
 
 In this too tough, too stubborn heart of mine. 
 
 Break, break, hard heart, and let my soul go free. 
 
 At last — 0, mercy ! — Crispus — stay — I come. 
 
 [Fall on the body of Ckispus, and dies. 
 
 Lac. Alas, she 's dead. Like air compressed and pent, 
 Her swelling griefs her gentle heart have rent. 
 
 Con. Their bones, with better fortune than their bloom, 
 Shall lie together, in a gorgeous tomb. 
 I will bemourn them with a grief untold, 
 And raise their effigies in purest gold, 
 Whose memory now becomes a lifelong pain, 
 And in all time to come will blot my reign. 
 
 THE END. 
 
fJLo. 
 
 tfift 
 
 ERRATA. 
 
 Page 10, line 34, read — 
 > And — but that absence leaves a vacant place. 
 Page 22, line 6, read — 
 
 Will break the bond and scatter the bouquet. 
 Page 47, line 1, read — 
 
 And bleach his liver white as he thinks mine. 
 Page 54, line 5, read — 
 
 Half smiling, too, as tolerant in scorn. 
 Page 67, line 10, read — 
 
 Then, knowing this, I should such honour prize. 
 Page 85, line 3, after "Fare you well" read — 
 
 Exit Sempronins. 
 Page 90, line 16, read — 
 
 Thou hast a guilty look. 
 Page 93, line 31, read — 
 
 Her guardian angel Mercy can forbear. 
 There are other errors which will be obvious. 
 
 ' ,/od