University of Virginia Library

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.