 | The Emperovr of the East |  |
Scæne 2.
Pulcheria. Flaccilla. Arcadia. Timantus. Gratianus. Chrysapius.Pulch.
Still in his sullen moo'd? no intermission
Of his melancholy fit?
Timantus.
It rather Madam
Increases, then grows lesse.
Gratianus.
In the next roome
To his bed-chamber, wee watch'd, for hee by signes
Gaue vs to vnderstand, hee would admit
Nor company, nor conference.
Pulch.
Did hee take
No rest as you could ghesse?
Chrys.
Not any Madam;
Like a Numidian Lyon, by the cunning
Of the desperate huntsman taken in a toyle,
And forc'd into a spatious cage, hee walkes
About his chamber, wee might heare him gnash
His teeth in rage, which opend, hollow grones
Imprison'd in the cauernes of the earth
Striuing for liberty; and sometimes throwing
His body on his bed, then on the ground,
And with such violence, that wee more then fear'd
And still doe, if the tempest of his passions
By your wisdome bee not lay'd, hee will commit
Some outrage on himselfe.
Pulch.
His better Angell,
I hope will stay him from so foule a mischiefe,
Nor shall my care bee wanting.
Tim:
Twice I heard him,
Say false Eudoxia, how much art thou
Vnworthy of these teares? then sigh'd, and straight
Rores out Paulinus, was his goutie age
To bee preferr'd before my strength and youth?
Then groand againe, so many wayes expressing
Th'afflictions of a tortur'd soule, that wee
Who wept in vaine, for what wee could not helpe,
Were sharers in his iuffrings.
Pulch.
Though your sorrow
Is not to bee condemn'd, it takes not from
The burthen of his miseries, wee must practise
With some fresh obiect to diuert his thoughts
From that they are wholly fix'd on.
Chrys.
Could I gaine
The freedome of accesse, I would present him
With this petition. Will your highnes please,
A paper deliuer'd.
To looke vpon it. You will soone finde there
What my intents, and hopes are.
Enter Theod.
Gratianus.
Hal 'tis hee.
Pul.
Stand close,
And giue way to his passions, 'tis not safe
To stoppe them in their violent course, before
They haue spent themselues.
Theod.
I play the foole, and am
Vnequall to my selfe, delinquents are
Nothing, which will not hold waight in the scale
Of my impartiall iustice: neither feele
The worme of conscience, vpbraiding mee
For one blacke deed of tyranny; wherefore then
Should I torment my selfe? great Iulius would not
Rest satisfi'd that his wife was free from fact,
But only for suspition of a crime
S'ud a diuorce, nor was this Roman rigour
Censur'd as cruell, and still the wise Italian,
That knowes the honor of his family,
Depends vpon the purity of his bed
For a kisse, nay wanton looke, will plough vp mischiefe,
And sowe the seedes of his reuenge in blood.
And shall to whose power the law's a seruant,
That stand accomptable to none, for what
My will calls an offence, being compell'd,
And on such grounds to raise an Altar to
My anger, though I grant 'tis cemented
With a loose strumpets and adulterers gore,
Repent the iustice of my furie? no.
I should not: yet still my excesse of loue
Fed high in the remembrance of her choice
And sweete embraces, would perswade mee that
Conniuence, or remission of her fault,
Made warrantable by her true submission
For her offence, might bee excusable,
Did not the crueltie of my wounded honor
With an open mouth denie it.
Pulch.
I approue of
Your good intention, and I hope 'twill prosper.
Hee now seemes calme. Let vs vpon our knees
Encompasse him. Most royall Sir,
Flacc.
Sweet brother.
Arc.
As you are our Soueraigne, by the tyes of nature
You are bound to bee a Father in your care
To vs poore Orphans.
Shew compassion Sir,
Vnto your selfe.
Grat.
The maiestie of your fortune
Should flie aboue the reach of griefe.
Chrys.
And 'tis
Impair'd, if you yeeld to it.
Theod.
Wherefore pay you
This adoration to a sinfull creature?
I am flesh, and blood as you are, sensible
Of heat, and cold, as much a slaue vnto
The tyrannie of my passions, as the meanest
Of my poore subiects the proud attributes
(By oil'd tongu'd flatterie impos'd vpon vs)
As sacred, glorious, high, inuincible,
The deputie of heauen, and in that
Omnipotent, with all false titles els
Coind to abuse our frailetie, though compounded,
And by the breath of Sycophants appli'd,
Cure not the least fit of an ague in vs.
Wee may giue poore men riches; confer honors
On vndeseruers; raise, or ruine such
As are beneath vs, and with this puff'd vp,
Ambition would perswade vs to forget
That wee are men: but hee that sits aboue vs,
And to whom, at our vtmost rate, wee are
But pageant properties, derides our weakenesse.
In mee to whom you kneele, 'tis most apparent.
Can I call backe yesterday, with all their aides
That bow vnto my scepter? or restore
My minde to that tranquillitie, and peace
It then inioy'd? can it make Eudoxia chaste?
Or vile Paulinus honest?
Pul.
If I might
Without offence, deliuer my opinion,
Theod.
What would you say?
Pul.
That on my soule the Empresse
Is innocent.
The good Paulinus guiltlesse.
Grat.
And this should yeeld you comfort.
Theod.
In being guiltie
Of an offence far, far transcending that
They stand condemn'd for. Call you this a comfort?
Suppose it could bee true? a corrasiue rather,
Not to eate out dead flesh, but putrifie
What yet is sown'd. was murther euer held
A cure for iealousie? or the crying blood
Of innocence, a balme to take away
Her festring anguish? as you doe desire
I should not doe a iustice on my selfe,
Adde to the proofes by which Paulinus fell,
And not take from 'em, in your charitie
Sooner beleeue that they were false, then I
Vnrighteous in my iudgement? subiects liues
Are not their Princes tennisballs to bee banded
In sport away, all that I can indure
For them, if they were guilty, is an atome
To the mountaine of affliction, I pull'd on mee,
Should they proue innocent.
Chrys.
For your Maiesties peace
I more then hope they were not; the false oth
Tooke by the Empresse, and for which shee can
Plead no excuse, conuicted her, and yeelds
A sure defence for your suspition of her.
And yet to be resolu'd, since strong doubts are
More grieuous for the most part, then to know
A certaine losse.
Theod.
'Tis true Chrysapius,
Were there a possible meanes.
Chrys.
'Tis offer'd to you,
If you please to embrace it. Some few minutes
Make truce with passion, and but read, and follow
What's there proiected, you shall finde a key,
Will make your entrance easie to discouer
Her secret thoughts, and then, as in your wisdome
And rest confirm'd, whether Paulinus died
A villaine or a Martyr.
Theod.
It may doe,
Nay sure it must, yet howsoeuer it fall,
I am most wretched which way in my wishes,
I should fashion the euent, I am so distracted
I cannot yet resolue of follow mee;
Though in my name, all names are comprehended,
I must haue witnesses, in what degree
I haue done wrong, or suffer'd,
Pulch.
Hope the best Sir.
Exeunt.
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