University of Virginia Library

Scæn. 3.

1 Lo.
Lady, time cals upon you not to stay,
Lest by a fond delay you call upon
His fury to convert into some worse,
And sudden punishment, which may deny
All hopes of future safety; of all ills
The least is always wisely to be chosen.

Seph.
Go and prepare that floting grave, which must
Devour's alive, I will attend you here.
Before when will my dearest find his grief,
In finding me thus lost without relief.
Exeunt.
Manet Sephestia.
Why doth my Love thus tarry? surely he
Forgotten hath the place, or time, or else
He would not stay thus long; but can I blame
Him, to be slow to meet his ruine? I
Could wish he would not come at all, that so
He yet might live, although I perish; but
How fondly do I wish to be without
Him, without whom alas! I cannot live.
'Twere as impossible as without air:
He 'tis for whom I suffer, and with him,
All places are alike to me.—See where
He comes, who is sole keeper of my heart.

Enter Maximus.
Max.
My dear!

Seph.
Ah, dear indeed, for whom thy life
Must pay the shot of cruelty enrag'd.—

Max.
What meanes my love? is't she, or do I dream?
Sure this cannot be she, whose words were wont
To be more sweet than honey, soft as oil:
These words, more sharp than daggers points, ne're came
From her I know—What sayst thou my sweet?

Seph.
The same—truth will not suffer me to speak
Other, lest I should injure her:—O that
'Twere possible so to dispense with truth,
Not to betray our selves—I know not what to say.—

Max.
Heavens bless us, what a sudden change is here?
Love, who hath wrong'd thee? tell me, that I may
Thrid their lives upon my sword, & make their
Dead trunks float in their own blood, till they blush
At their own shame: Tell me my heart, who is't?

Seph.
Alas poor soul! thou little dreamst what sad
News do's await thine ears; my tongue doth fail,
Not daring once to name the thing must be
Our loves sad end, and dire Catastrophe.
My fathers fury—Oh that that name
I once delighted in, should odious be
To mine affrighted senses!—But for thee
Alone, it is I grieve, not for my self.—

Max.
Be't what it will, so that it be but in
Relation to thy love, I will embrace,
And hug, and thank that malice too, that so
Invented hath a means whereby I may
But testifie my loyalty to thee:
For whose sweet sake I would encounter with
Legions of armed furies; sacrifice
My dearest blood unto thy service, which
I more esteem, than all the wealth the world
Can boast of: 'Tis thee alone I value,
Above whatever mens ambitious thoughts
Can fathom with their boundless appetites.

Seph.
This flame of love must now be quenched in
The foaming sea; we are design'd a prey
Unto the fury of winds and waves.—
The deadly Barque's providing, which must be
Our moving habitation; the sea
Must be our Kingdom, and the scaly frie
Our subjects:—This, this, the portion is
Of fortunes frowns, and fathers fiercer hate.
Fly, fly, my dearest Maximus, and save
My life in thine; oh stay no longer here.

weeps
Max.
Why dost thou torment thy self before
Thy time? wilt thou anticipate the sea?
And drown thy self in tears? Deny me not
To share with thee in suffering, as well
As I have done in pleasure; 'tis for me
This storm is rais'd, were I once cast away,
His rage would cease. I, I have wrong'd thee,
And I'll be just to thee and to my word.
draws
I'll ope the sluces of my fullest veins,
And set them running, till they make a flood,
Wherein I'll drown my self—

He offers to kill himself. She stays his hand.
Seph.
Thine heart lies here;
'Tis here, lock't up securely in my brest:
First open that, and take it out; for death
Shall ne're divorce me from thy company:
I will attend thee through those shady vaults
Of death, or thou shalt live with me.—Dost think
This body possible to live without
A soul? or without thee? Have pitie on
Thy tender babe, whose life depends on thine,
And make not me widow, and him orphan,
With unadvised rashness—Sheath thy sword.

Max.
Mine eyes will ne're endure it, to behold,
Thee miserable, no, no, death first shall draw
A sable veil of darkness over them—
Pardon my rashness, I will live with thee,
And tire thy fathers rage with suffering,
So he'l but suffer thee to live in mirth,
The greatest sorrow shall not make me sad.

Seph.
Here comes my father, cerainly his rage
Will know no bounds: I fear it will
Break forth into some desperate act on me.

Max.
Although he be a King, which sacred name
I reverence, and as a mortal god
Adore; he shall not dare to injure you
Before my face: first shall he wear my life
Upon his sword, if he but dare to touch
Thy sacred self.—