University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Enter Antonius and Eumillius.
Ant.
Farewel to all my Honours,
For I am fallen as low as Fate can throw me.
No more shall Fame, or Time's recorded Legends
Extend my Name to this, or future Ages:
Nor shall there be a mention of it made;
But with Derision and the last Contempt.
Even Hope, that Flatterer Hope,
(That calms the Brow of the most wretched Soul,
And makes Captivity and toylsom Life
To be supported with Content and Ease,)
Has quite abandon'd your unhappy Friend,
And banish'd hence the smallest glympse of Joy.
My Life's dispoil'd of all its blooming Glories,
And very soon by an untimely Death
Fate shall dispose me in my silent Tomb;
Where whosoever pass, shall scoffing say.
This is that Soldier's Tomb that died a Woman's Slave,
And blasted all his Honours for that Sex
Who scarce deserve a wise, or brave Man's Notice.
But oh! it must be so, it must be so,
Even as a Taper whose extinguished Light
Offends with Noisom Savour those about it;
So shall my Name and Fall eclipse thy Virtues,
And make thee Scorn'd and Curst, as I am now.

Eum.
My Lord, I think not so,
I can't conceal my Thoughts, though they may offend you.
You surfeiting in an Excess of Fortune
Call your Abundance Want;
What would you wish that is not fallen upon you,
Greatness, Wealth, Honour, and the World a Dowry
Offer'd with a Princess, whose excelling Form
Exceeds a Fortune so immensely Great.

Ant.
Poison is Poison, though in Gold we drink it,
And what are all those pompous Shows of Pleasure
To one whose Pains forbid him to possess?
A painted Banquet, no essential Food.
When I am scorch'd with a consuming Flame,
Can any other's Fire extinguish mine?
What is her Love, her Wealth, Empire and Greatness
To me, who die in an Excess of Passion
For one whose Smiles can only make me happy?

Eum.
I know you point at
Your Doatage on the scornful Dorothea.
Though she be fair and vertuous,
Yet you must not, cannot
Compare her with the Goddess of your Fortune.
In every Action, wise Men propose their Ends.
Consider, nay timely consider, then
With this there comes all Joy, Delight and Pleasure;
What would you more to form a happy Life?
With the other, though indeed her Birth is Noble,
As Daughter to a Senator of Rome,
By him left rich, yet 'tis a private Wealth,
Inferior to your own, with which she brings
The Curses of the Emperor and your Father;
Nay, and the Anger of our Roman Gods:
For, but consider that she stands suspected
Of favouring Christianity; nay, some
Will openly avow she is a Christian.
If so, you know it doubles Cæsar's Wrath,
And sharper points the Vengeance of the Gods.

Ant.
In that wherein you think your self most wise,
Most grosly you mistake, and judge amiss.
For me, or you to match above our Rank,
Is but to sell our Liberty for State,
And be at best confined in Golden Chains,
Prisoners for Life to all the Tols of Greatness.
What is a Crown? alas, it seems to me
But the uneasie galling tiresom Load
Of him that wears it.

Eum.
You have thought otherwise.

Ant.
I with Artimia still must live a Servant,
With Dorothea as a Husband rule.
As for the Danger,
Or call it if you please assur'd Destruction,
I slight it, and contemn it as a Folly,
For which my Childhood dreaded a Reproof.
If thou, Eumillius, yet wouldst be my Friend,
Let not his Fancy to perplex my Soul
Invent imaginary Ills and Dangers;
But rather lend his kind assisting Hand,
Where, or I want, or merit his Assistance.

Eum.
You know, my Lord, I ever was ambitious
To serve your Wants, and be esteem'd your Friend.

Ant.
Go then, Eumillius,
To Dorothea, tell her I have worn,
In all the Conflicts I have had in War,
Her Image in my Heart, which like a Deity
Has still protected and inspir'd my Fame.
Thou hast been us'd to speak, and let me beg,
This once to serve thy Friend, thy nicest Art.
Let soft Perswasion hang upon thy Tongue,
And in th'Expression of thy Thoughts and mine,
Use what thy Wit and Eloquence can invent.
For Wit and Eloquence will blast the Counsels
Of the Sagest Politician, will dress a horrid Tale
In such a form, that even the Gods themselves
Have oft mistaken and embraced a Falshood.
Thus make her understand how much I Love her.
All Fears that may deter me throw behind,
Say I this Morning in the Name of Friendship
Design to Visit her.

Eum.
You may depend on what
My utmost Service can perform.
[Exit Eum.

Ant.
Thus do the wretched raise Fantastick Projects,
On the least Basis their wild Fancy forms,
And bless themselves with the delightful Prospect,
'Till some unthought of sudden blast of Chance,
Destroys at once all their projecting Hopes.
Would the just Gods be once propitious here,
Nought have I else, either to hope or fear,
For what's beyond my Love, shall be beyond my Care.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

A Prison, Men in Chains Begging.
Enter Dorothea and Hellena.
Dor.
My Friend, is this the Prison,
Whose needy sorrowful Inhabitants
Have not yet tasted what my Wants could spare?

Hell.
Madam, it is.

Dor.
Alas, poor Souls!

1 Pris.
Pray your Charity, for Heavens sake.

Dor.
Saw you the Place within?

Hell.
I did,
Which made me interceed for their Relief.
When first I entred, the offensive Stench
Was so extreamly Noysom to the Sense,
That with the dismal Horror of the Place,
And dreadful Cries and Howlings of the Tortur'd,
My Senses were almost depriv'd and gone.
Indeed 'twas very piteous to behold
The many Poor, Naked, unhappy starving Souls,
That lay just ready to expire through Pain,
Through bitterest Want, Thirst, Cold and Hunger,
And not one Charitable Friend to help them.

1 Pris.
Pray your Charity.

Dor.
Take what my mean and slender Fortune grants,
And from this loathsom Prison free your selves.
Dear bought Experience is the surest way
To Knowledge of the World and base Mankind.
If Crimes confine you, done against the Laws,
Amend, and let Repentance make Attonement;
But if for your Religion you are chain'd,
I pity you indeed.

1 Pris.
Heaven ever bless you.

2 Pris.
May the good Gods protect you.

Dor.
That which Necessity of Life can spare,
If from the Prisoner, Friendless, and the Orphan,
The Widow, or the aged poor Man's Wants,
For any baser Use we should perloin,
We rob 'em of their Due, and for Reward
Entail a Curse on us and on our Children.
But now my Friend, our Charity thus given,
Let our Devotion next employ our Time.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The Palace.
Enter Sapritius and Eumillius meeting.
Sap.
Eumillius,
May Rome's Guardian Gods direct thee.

Eum.
If you mean well, my Lord,
Eumillius does return the friendly Wish.

Sap.
If I mean well?
When did I ever mean thee otherwise?

Eum.
I am in haste, and beg your Lordship's Pardon.

Sap.
Stay, hear me yet a Word.

Eum.
Be brief.

Sap.
As Thought.
Tell me, Eumillius, how the Princess does;
Say how she rested; you can tell I know,
Such youthful amorous Souls as you're possest with
Urges you, ere you're able to write Man,
Or the soft callow Down can shade your Face
From boyish Looks,
To think on nought but Women,
And watch each single Smile or am'rous Glance;
Besides Intelligencers, that like Flies,
Observe unseen a Princess' closest Actions,
And buz their Knowledge to your Ears in Whispers.

Eum.
She rested ill, it seems.

Sap.
Double your Courtesie.
How does my Son?

Eum.
Ill, well, worse, better,
I can't tell how he does.

Sap.
Why what an Answer's this? but one Word more;
When does the Princess take him to her Bed?

Eum.
I know not.

Sap.
That's very strange,
Since thou'rt the Manuscript where he writes his Secrets.
Prethee Eumillius, say.

Eum.
I said before, my Lord, I did not know.
[Exit Eum.

Sap.
Either the young ill-manner'd Clown is mad,
Or, what is much the same, in Love;
Deeply in Love, up to the Head and Ears:
And yet my Mind suggests there's something more
Than I'm acquainted with: I'll fathom it,
And may be stop its Progress. Let me see,
'Tis told me he's in Love with Dorothea,
That lifeless Image of what Woman should be,
That dries up all her ruddy gay Complexion
In Fasting, Penance, Prayer and Meditation,
And 'tis supposed, in Mockery of our Gods:
Should she once blast the Soul of Antony,
By Pluto's self, with such unheard of Tortures
I'd Sacrifice her Body to the Gods,
That ev'n the Damn'd should start at the Invention,
And count their Torments an Elisium to 'em.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

Enter Dorothea and Eumillius.
Dor.
You have been lavish in his Praise already.

Eum.
And yet most just to Truth.
There is in Antony so brave a Soul,
So much of Honour, Honesty and Truth; and then
A Form full of such Manly Excellence,
That Queens admire him, and court his Love.

Dor.
Eumillius!
I thought your Years had not been yet acquainted
With the deluding Cozenage of Mankind;
But now I see it, and am satisfy'd.
Men learn to flatter, and betray our Sex,
Almost as soon as they are taught to speak,
So natural is Deceit ev'n to the youngest:
But do not think a Lover's idle Language
Can force Belief in one that knows his Arts,
His Passions, Protestations, Vows and Sighs,
And all his foolish Train of Madman's Actions:
No: if thou hast a Message, let me know it
In as few Words as Brevity allows.

Eum.
He scorns to boast his Father's Pow'r and Wealth,
Or his own Honours merited from Cæsar;
Rejects the offer'd Love ev'n of a Princess,
And greets the World and Fortune with Contempt,
To throw his Person into your Possession:
You're the only Object of his Love and Hopes,
And Mistress of his Fate.

Dor.
Surely it must be Gold;
For Friendship only, as the World goes now,
Is not of force to bribe such Commendation.

Eum.
What Answer must I bear?

Dor.
Tell him,
The Tales of Love are most offensive to me.
And let him know that my Affection's plac'd
On something far above perfidious Man;
Man, that delights to prey upon our Sex,
And make their Sport of our mistaking Folly.

Eum.
You make me an unwelcome Messenger.
Enter Antonius.
But himself—who will, I hope,
Hear News more pleasing from you.

Ant.
And has my Friend receiv'd unwelcome News?

Eum.
I care not to repeat it.

Ant.
How can there be,
In such a noble Casket, wherein lies
Beauty and Chastity in full Perfection,
A Heart so flinty hard, that Innocence
And lawful Love can force no Entrance?

Dor.
O there are many, very many Arts,
Your Sex employs to undermine our Virtue,
Baffle our Virgin Chastity, and make us
The easie Prey to your unlawful Passions.

Ant.
Can you suspect?
Let me protest and vow.

Dor.
I have often heard,
A Lover's Protestations are but Wind,
Made to disguise the Baseness of his Purpose.
I must retire, my Lord.—Your Pardon.

[Going.
Ant.
O, why should Innocence become a Suppliant,
And ask for Pardon where there's no Offence!
Be but so merciful before you go,
As let me whisper in your Virgin Ear,
What I am loath to lay on any Tongue
But this my own.

Dor.
If one immodest Accent should escape it,
My Hatred is—

Ant.
O, name it not!
My virtuous Love ne'er entertain'd a Thought
But what the purest Vestal might express.

Eum.
Hermes inspire my Friend.

Enter behind Sapritius and Artimia.
Sap.
As I suspected; their Engine too;
Curse on him, he is busie in the Work.

Art.
Base Villain.

Sap.
Bridle your Rage, sweet Princess,
My Arm shall satisfie your just Resentment.

Dor.
Sir, for your Fortunes, were they Mines of Gold,
My Love is placed upon an Object richer;
And for your Worth, your Person is to him
Lower than any Slave is to a Monarch.

Sap.
So insolent! base Christian.

Dor.
Could I, with wearing out my Knees before him,
Gain that most happy Grace, to make you his,
You would confess your self
Happier than Kings.

Sap.
Confusion on the Witch!
Her Christian Magick works against his Faith.

Ant.
No Power is there,
Within the Verge of this terrestial Globe,
To whom with such Devotion I would kneel.

[Kneels.
Sap.
Curse on his Baseness.

Dor.
Why will you kneel, my Lord?

Ant.
This, as the humblest Posture, was design'd
To move Compassion and implore the Gods,
When contrite Mortals beg'd the Aid of Heav'n:
O, let it then move Pity in your Breast,
For one who begs Acceptance of his Love;
Contemns the offer'd Service of a Princess,
And scorns her Wealth and Person, to adore you.

Art.
Ingrateful Monster!

Ant.
Perhaps 'tis my Religion makes you frown.
Permit me but your Love, you may enjoy
Your own religious Faith and Christian Worship;
I ne'er shall urge you from that Pow'r,
To which you Christians kneel.

Sap.
I can no longer
Fret out my Life, with wondering at the Villain:
Would, when his pregnant Mother bore him.
The Gods had struck him dead within the Womb,
And made his Birth abortive.

Eum.
My Lord, your Father.

Art.
Is that the Idol your Devotion points at,
Traitor to Love and me? But I have Pow'r,
And can find Means to satiate my Revenge.

Sap.
Gods! I could tear my Heart!
Thy Crime is Punishment enough for thee:
But for this Hag. I'll count it Pleasure,
Whole Winter Nights to watch on the black Verge
Of some high Precipice, horrid to Nature,
Or in some magick Cave or loathsome Dungeon,
Whose suffocating Fumes or ragged Entrails
Shall shock thy Soul, make thee to houl in Anguish,
And, plung'd in Hell's Despair, curse thy own Being.

Art.
My Love henceforward shall be turn'd to Hatred,
And nothing will I study but Revenge.

[Exeunt Sap. and Art.
Eum.
I am Thunder-struck!
We're all o'er-whelm'd in the same Gulph of Ruin.

Dor.
For sake of Honour, Sirs, for what you've been,
Partners in Danger, and inured to War;
Let not your Courage be o'erthrown
By a weak Woman's Threats.
I cannot fear either her Rage or Malice.

Ant.
O 'tis the Malice,
Not only of a Woman, but a Princess;
And when to the Invention of her Sex,
The Power and Means to execute her Will
Be also added, what may we expect
But Death and sure Destruction?

Dor.
In gallant Souls
The fear of Death is Baseness:
For what is Death to one that looks beyond it,
But a Repose from Care, a soft Retreat
From the perplexing Toils of tiresom Life?

Re-enter Artimia, Sapritius, Theopilus, and Guards.
Art.
Seize on Antonius.
Now, Sir, you are in my Power;
Yet I shall not insult you,
Nor linger out your Death.
Hence with 'em all. With him to Execution;
But even Death it self
Shall be out-wearied in tormenting her:
I'll change those scornful Smiles, e'er I have done,
To Shrieks and Groans thro' Agony and Pain;
And when the Pangs of Death shall rend her Heart,
Then let her Pride and Scorn insult and brave me.

Sap.
Altho' the Reverence
I bear the Gods, and you, are in my Bosom
Torrents so strong that Pity quite lies drown'd,
And I can scarce even speak for this rash Boy;
Yet when I think and ponder with my self
What 'tis to die, perhaps to cease to be,
And in the Bloom of Youth, that might
By Nature's course have been thrice doubled:
Powerful I feel the Anguish of a Father,
The natural Pangs of a paternal Sorrow;
And must confess I am forc'd to be a Man,
Forc'd on my Knees to beg his forfeit Life.

Ant.
Why does my Father kneel? Rise, Sir,
And beg not that which I disdain to enjoy;
I am more content to undergo the Sentence,
Than you to give the Judgment, and freely offer
My Blood the Sacrifice to appease your Anger;
But I must kneel, tho' 'tis not for my self,
To implore your Mercy on that heav'nly Form.
Preserve that Temple builded fair as yours is,
And Cæsar never went in greater Triumph
Than I shall to my Death.

Art.
Are you so brave and resolute?
Set forward, Sirs; and let those Darlings,
The Partners of his Heart, partake the Honour.

Dor.
For my Part, Death is welcome to my Arms.
As gladly I'll embrace the Means that brings it,
As a desiring Maid her wisht-for Love.
The Visage of a Hangman frights not me.
Your torturing Racks, your Gibbets, Axes, Fires,
Are Scaffoldings, by which my Soul mounts up
To an eternal glorious Habitation.

Theo.
Cæsar's Imperial Daughter, hear me speak.
Let not this Christian Witch, in her proud Pageantry,
And vile Derision of our Gods and Cæsar,
Build to her self a Kingdom in her Death;
Take my Advice, and then her bitterest Torments
Shall be, to feel her Constancy beat down,
The Pride and Bravery of her Resolution
Lie batter'd by our Arguments in Pieces;
She on her Knees will gladly creep again,
To implore the Mercy of our Roman Gods.

Art.
How is this to be done?

Theo.
I'll send my Daughters to her,
And they shall turn her rocky Faith to Wax;
Or this shall be, or never let me meet
An honest Roman's, but a Villain's Death.

Art.
Be she your Prisoner then.
Your Son and that the Minion he delights in,
Sapritius do your keep in close Confinement.
My self will horrid Death inflict
On those that suffer them by Speech or Letters
To greet, or to communicate their Thoughts.
Seize her Estate, Theopilus; deprive her
Of all the Means of Sustenance and Life,
Only some Bread and Water; apply her Wealth
To your own Use, and take it for your Service.

Dor.
I'll bear with Patience what's th'Almighty's Will,
The Bread of Poverty shall feed me still;
Content and Peace shall dwell within my Breast,
'Till Death has seal'd my everlasting Rest.
Cease not, my Soul, to adore that Power above,
Who thus expresses his correcting Love;
Thus guards my Weakness 'gainst that Fiend Despair,
And arms my Soul with Penitence, and Pray'r.

[Exeunt.