 | The Tragedie of Valentinian |  |
Actus Quartus.
Scæna prima.
Enter Emperor, Lycinius, Chilax, and Balbus.Empe.
Dead?
Chil.
So tis thought Sir.
Empe.
How?
Lyci.
Greife, and disgrace,
As people say.
Empe.
No more, I have too much on't,
Too much by you, you whetters of my follies,
Ye Angell formers of my sins, but devills;
Where is your cunning now? you would worke wonders,
There was no chastity above your practise,
You would undertake to make her love her wrongs,
And doate upon her rape: mark what I tell ye,
If she be dead—
Chil.
Alas Sir.
Empe.
Hang ye rascalls,
Ye blasters of my youth, if she be gon,
T'wer better ye had been your fathers Camells,
Ground under dayly waights of wood and water:
Am I not Cæsar?
Lyci.
Mighty and our maker.
Empe.
Then thus have given my pleasures to destruction.
Looke she be living slaves.
Empe.
We are no Gods Sir,
If she be dead, to make her new againe.
Empe.
She cannot dye, she must not dye; are those
I plant my love upon but common livers?
Their howres as others, told 'em? can they be ashes?
Why do ye flatter a beliefe into me
That I am all that'is, the world's my creature,
The Trees bring forth their fruits when I say Summer,
The Wind, that kdowes no limit but his wildnesse,
At my command moves not a leafe; The sea
With his proud mountaine waters envying heaven,
When I say still, run into christall mirrors,
Can I do this and she dye? Why ye bubbles
That with my least breath break, no more remembred;
Ye moaths that fly about my flame and perish.
Ye golden cancker-wormes, that eate my honors,
Living no longer then my spring of favour:
Why do ye make me God that can do nothing?
Is she not dead?
Chil.
All women are not with her.
Empe.
A common whore serves you, and far above ye,
The pleasures of a body lam'd with lewdnesse;
A meare perpetuall motion makes ye happy:
Am I a man to traffique with diseases?
Can any but a chastity serve Cæsar?
And such a one the Gods would kneele to purchase?
You think because you have breed me up to pleasures,
And almost run me over all the rare ones,
Your wives will serve the turne: I care not for 'em,
Your wives are Fencers whores, and shall be Footmens,
Though sometimes my nyce will, or rather anger
Have made ye Cuckolds for variety;
I would not have ye hope, nor dreame ye poore ones
Alwaies so great a blessing from me; go
Get your own infamy hereafter rascalls,
I have done too nobly for ye, ye enjoy
Each one an heire, the royall seed of Cæsar,
And I may curse ye for't; your wanton Gennets
That are so proud, the wind get's 'em with fillies,
Taught me this soule intemperance: Thou Lycinius
Hast such a Messalina, such a Lais,
The backs of bulls cannot content, nor Stallions,
The sweate of fifty men a night do's nothing.
Lyci.
Your Grace but jests I hope.
Empe.
Tis Oracle.
The sins of other women put by hers
Shew off like sanctities: Thin's a foole Chilax,
Yet she can tell to twenty, and all lovers.
And all lien with her too, and all as she is,
Rotten, and ready for an hospitall.
Yours is a holy whore freind Balbus.
Bal.
Well Sir.
Empe.
One that can pray away the sins she suffers,
But not the punishments: She has had ten bastards,
Five of 'em now are lictors, yet she praies;
She has been the song of Rome, and common Pasquill;
Since I durst see a wench, she was Campe mistris,
And musterd all the cohorts, paid 'em too,
They have it yet to shew, and yet she prayes;
She is now to enter old men that are children,
And have forgot their rudiments: am I
Left for these withëred vices? and but one,
But one of all the world that could content me,
And snatch'd away in shewing? If your wives
Be not yet witches, or your selves, now be so
And save your lives, raise me this noble beauty
As when I forc'd her, full of constancy,
Or by the Gods—
Lyci.
Most sacred Cæsar.
Empe.
Slaves.
17
Good Proculus:
Pro.
By heaven you shall not see it,
It may concerne the Empire.
Empr.
Ha: what said'st thou?
Is she not dead?
Pro.
Not any one I know Sir;
I come to bring your Grace a letter, here
Scatterd belike i'th Court: Tis sent to Maximus,
And bearing danger in it.
Emp.
Danger? where?
Double our Guard.
Pro.
Nay no where, but i'th letter.
Emp.
What an afflicted conscience doe I live with,
And what a beast I am growne? I had forgotten
To aske heaven mercy for my fault, and was now
Even ravishing againe her memory,
I find there must be danger in this deed:
Why doe I stand disputing, then and whining?
For what is not the gods? to give they cannot
Though they would linck their powers in one do mischiefe.
This Letter may betray me, get ye gon
—Exeunt.
And waite me in the Garden, guard the house well,
And keep this from the Empresse; The name Maximus
Runnes through me like a feavour, this may be
Some private Letter upon private businesse,
Nothing concerning me: why should I open't?
I have done him wrong enough already; yet
It may concerne me too, the time so tells me;
The wicked deed I have done, assures me tis so.
Be what it will, ile see it, if that be not
Part of my feares, among my other sins,
Ile purge it out in prayers:
How? what's this?
Letter red.
Lord Maximus, you love Aecius,
And are his noble friend too; bid him be lesse,
I meane lesse with the people, times are dangerous:
The Army's his, the Emperor in doubts;
And as some will not stick to say, declining,
You stand a constant man in either fortunes;
Perswade him, he is lost else: Though ambition
Be the last sin he touches at, or never;
Yet what the people made with loving him,
And as they willingly desire another
May tempt him too, or rather force his goodnesse,
Is to be doubted mainly: he is all,
(As he stands now) but the meer name of Cesar,
And should the Emperor inforce him lesser,
Not comming from himselfe, it were more dangerous:
He is honest, and will heare you: doubts are scatterd,
And almost come to growth in every houshold:
Yet in my foolish judgment, were this masterd;
The people that are now but rage, and his,
Might be againe obedience: you shall know me,
When Rome is faire againe; till when I love you.
No name! this may be cunning, yet it seemes not;
For there is nothing in it but is certain,
Besides my safety.
Had not good Germanicus,
That was as loyall, and as straight as he is,
If not prevented by Tiberius,
Bin by the Souldiers forcd their Emperor?
He had, and tis my wisdom to remember it.
And was not Corbulo, even that Corbulo,
That ever fortunate and living Roman,
That broake the heart strings of the Parthians,
And brought Arsases line upon their knees,
Chaind to the awe of Rome, because he was thought
(And but in wine once) fit to make a Cesar,
Cut off by Nero? I must seeke my safety:
For tis the same againe, if not beyond it:
I know the Souldier loves him more then heaven,
And will adventure all his gods to raise him;
Me he hates more then peace: what this may breed,
If dull security and confidence
Let him grow up, a foole may find, and laught at.
But why Lord Maximus I injurd so,
Should be the man to councell him, I know not;
More then he has been friend, and lov'd allegeance:
What now he is I feare, for his abuses
Without the people dare draw bloud; who waits there?
Servant.
Your Grace.
—Enter a Servant.
Emp.
Call Phidias and Aretus hither:
Ile finde a day for him too; times are dangerous,
The Army his, the Emperor in doubts:
I find it is too true; did he not tell me
1.
As if he had intent to make me odious,
2.
And to my face; and by a way of terror,
What vices I was grounded in, and almost
proclaimd the Souldiers hate against me? is not
The sacred name and dignity of Cesar
(Were this Aecius more then man) sufficient
To shake off all his honesty? Hee's dangerous
Though he be good, and though a friend, a feard one,
And such I must not sleep by: are they come yet?
I doe beleeve this fellow, and I thank him;
T'was time to look about, if I must perish,
Yet shall my feares goes foremost.
—Enter Phidias, and Aretus.
Phi.
Life to Cesar:
Emp.
Is Lord Æciuss waiting?
Phi.
Not this morning,
I rather think hee's with the Army,
Emp.
Army?
I doe not like that Army: goe unto him,
And bid him straight attend me, and doe ye heare,
Come private without any; I have businesse
Only for him.
Phi.
Your Graces pleasure—
Exit Phidias.
Emp.
Goe;
What Souldier is the same, I have seene him often,
That keepes you company Aretus?
Are.
Me Sir?
Emp.
I you Sir.
Are.
One they call Pontius,
And 't please your Grace.
Emp.
A Captaine?
Are.
Yes, he was so;
But speaking somthing roughly in his want,
Especially of warres, the noble Generall
Out of a strict allegiance cast his fortunes:
Emp.
Ha's been a valiant fellow.
Are.
So hee's still.
Emp.
Alas, the Generall might have pardond follies,
Souldiers will talke sometimes.
Are.
I am glad of this.
Emp.
He wants preferment as I take it:
Are.
Yes Sir;
And for that noble Grace his life shall serve.
Emp.
I have a service for him:
I shame a Souldier should become a Begger:
I like the man Aretus.
Are.
Gods protect ye:
Emp.
Bid him repaire to Proculus, and there
He shall receive the businesse, and reward for't:
18
We shall want such.
The sweets of Heaven still crowne yee,
I have a fearefull darknesse in my soule,
And till I be deliverd, still am dying.—
Exeunt.
Scæn. 2.
Enter Maximus alone.Max.
My way has taken: all the Court's in guard,
And businesse every where, and every corner
Full of strange whispers: I am least in rumour,
—Enter Aecius and Phidias.
And so Ile keep my selfe, Here comes Aecius
I see the bait is swallow'd: If he be lost
He is my Martyr, and my way stands open,
And honour on thy head, his bloud is reckond.
Aec.
Why how now friend, what make ye here unarmd:
Are ye turnd Merchant?
Max.
By your faire perswasions,
And such a Marchant trafficks without danger;
I have forgotten all Æcius,
And which is more, forgiven.
Aec.
Now I love ye,
Truly I doe, ye are a worthy Roman.
Max.
The faire repentance of my Prince to me
Is more then sacrifice of bloud and vengeance,
No eyes shall weep her ruins, but mine owne.
Aec.
Still ye take more love from me: vertuous friend
The gods make poore Æcius worthy of thee:
Max.
Only in me y'are poore Sir: and I worthy
Only in being yours:
But why your arme thus,
Have ye bin hurt Æcius?
Aec.
Bruisd a little:
My horse fell with me friend: which till this morning
I never knew him doe.
Max.
Pray gods it boade well;
And now I think on't better, ye shall back,
Let my perswasions rule ye.
Aec.
Back, why Maximus?
The Emperor commands me come.
Max.
I like not
At this time his command.
Aec.
I doe at all times,
And all times will obey it, why not now then?
Max.
Ile tell ye why, and as I have bin governd,
Be you so noble Friend: The Courts in Guard,
Armd strongly, for what purpose, let me feare;
I doe not like your going.
Aec.
Were it fire;
And that fire certain to consume this body,
If Cesar sent, I would goe; never feare man,
If he take me, he takes his armes away.
I am too plaine and true to be suspected.
Max.
Then I have dealt unwisely,
Aec.
If the Emperor,
Because he meerely may, will have my life,
That's all he has to worke on, and all shall have:
Let him, 'a loves me better: here I wither,
And happily may live, till ignorantly
I run into a fault worth death: nay more, dishonour.
Now all my sinnes, I dare say those of duty
Are printed here, and if I fall so happy,
I blesse the grave, I lye in, and the gods
Equall, as dying on the Enemy,
Must take me up a Sacrifice.
Max.
Goe on then,
And Ile goe with ye.
Æc.
No, ye may not friend.
Max.
He cannot be a friend, bars me Æcius,
Shall I forsake ye in my doubts?
Æc.
Ye must.
Max.
I must not, nor I will not; have I liv'd
Only to be a Carpet friend for pleasure?
I can endure a death as well as Cato.
Æc.
There is no death nor danger in my going,
Nor none must goe along.
Max.
I have a sword too,
And once I could have usd it for my friend.
Æc.
I need no sword, nor friend in this, pray leave me;
And as ye love me, do not overlove me;
I am commanded none shall come: At supper
Ile meet ye, and weele drink a cup or two,
Ye need good Wine, ye have bin sad: Farwell.
Max.
Farwell my noble Friend, let me embrace ye
Ere ye depart; it may be one of us
Shall never doe the like agen.
Æc.
Yes often:
Max.
Farwell good deer Æcius.
Æc.
Farwell Maximus
Till night: indeed you doubt too much.—
Exit.
Max.
I doe not:
Goe worthy innocent, and make the number
Of Cesars sinnes so great, heaven may want mercy:
Ile hover hereabout to know what passes:
And if he be so divelish to destroy thee,
In thy bloud shall begin his Tragedy.
—Exit.
Scæn. 3.
Enter Proculus, and Pontius.Pro.
Besides this, if you do it, you enjoy
The noble name Patrician: more than that too,
The Friend of Cesar ye are stild: ther's nothing
Within the hopes of Rome, or present being
But you may safely say is yours.
Pon.
Pray stay Sir;
What has Æcius done to be destroyd?
At least I would have a colour.
Pro.
Ye have more,
Nay all that may be given, he is a Traitor,
One, any man would strike that were a subject,
Pon.
Is he so fowle?
Pro.
Yes, a most fearefull Traytor.
Pon.
A fearefull plague upon thee, for thou lyest;
I ever thought the Souldier would undoe him
With his too much affection.
Pro.
Ye have hit it,
They have brought him to ambition.
Pon.
Then he is gone:
Pro.
The Emperor out of a foolish pittie.
Would save him yet.
Pon.
Is he so mad?
Pro.
He's madder!
Would goe to'th Army to him.
Pon.
Would'a so?
Pro.
Yes Pontius; but we consider—
Pon.
Wisely;
Pro.
How else man, that the state lies in it,
Pon.
And your lives too:
Pro.
And every mans.
Pon.
He did me
All the disgrace he could
19
And scurvily,
Pon.
Out of a mischiefe meerly: did you mark it?
Yes well enough.
Pro.
Now ye have meanes to quit it,
The deed done, take his place.
Pon.
Pray let me thinke on't,
Tis ten to one I doe it.
Pro.
Doe and be happy.—
Exit Pro.
Pon.
This Emperor is made of naught but mischiefe,
Sure, Murther was his Mother: none to lop,
But the maine linck he had? upon my conscience
The man is truly honest, and that kills him;
For to live here, and study to be true,
Is all one to be Traitors: why should he die?
Have they not Slaves and Rascalls for their Offrings
In full abundance; Bawds more then beasts for slaughter?
Have they not singing whores enough, and knaves too,
And millions of such Martyrs to sink Charon,
But the best sons of Rome must saile too? I wil shew him
(since he must dye) a way to doe it truly:
And though he beares me hard, yet shall he know,
I am born to make him blesse me for a blow.—
Exit.
Scæn. 2.
Enter Phidias, Aretus, and Æcius.Phi.
Yet ye may scape to'th Camp, wee'l hazard with ye,
Aretus.
Loose not your life so basely Sir: ye are armd,
And many when they see your sword out, and know why
Must follow your adventure.
Aec.
Get ye from me:
Is not the doom of Cesar on this body,
Doe not I beare my last houre here, now sent me?
Am I not old Aecius, ever dying?
You think this tendernesse and love you bring me,
Tis treason, and the strength of disobedience,
And if ye tempt me further, ye shall feele it:
I seek the Camp for safety, when my death
Ten times more glorious then my life, and lasting
Bids me be happie: Let the foole feare dying,
Or he that weds a woman for his honour.
Dreaming no other life to come but kisses;
Æcius is not now to learne to suffer:
If ye dare shew a just affection, kill me,
I stay but those that must: why do ye weep?
Am I so wretched to deserve mens pities?
Goe give your teares to those that lose their worths,
Bewaile their miseries, for me wear Garlands.
Drink wine, and much; sing Peans to my praise,
I am to triumph friends, and more then Cesar,
For Cesar feares to die, I love to die.
Phi.
O my deare Lord!
Aec.
No more, goe, goe I say;
Shew me not signes of sorrow, I deserve none:
Dare any man lament, I should die nobly;
Am I grown old to have such enemies?
When I am dead, speake honourably of me,
That is, preserve my memory from dying;
There if you needs must weep your ruind Master,
A teare or two will seem well: this I charge ye,
(because ye say you yet love old Aecius)
See my poore body burnt, and some to sing
About my Pile, and what I have done and sufferd,
If Cesar kill not that too: at your banquets
When I am gone, if any chance to number
The times that have been sad and dangerous,
Say how I fell, and tis sufficient:
No more I say, he that laments my end
By all the gods dishonours me; be gone
And sodainly, and wisely from my dangers,
My death is catching else.
Phi.
We feare not dying:
Aec.
Yet feare a wilfull death, the just Gods hate it,
I need no company to that that children
Dare doe alone, and Slaves are proud to purchase;
Live till your honesties, as mine has done,
Make this corrupted age sicke of your vertues,
Then dye a sacrifice, and then ye know
The noble use of dying well, and Roman.
Are.
And must we leave ye Sir?
Aec.
We must all die
All leave our selves, it matters not, where, when,
Nor how, so we die well: and can that man that does so
Need lamentation for him? Children weep
Because they have offended, or for feare,
Women for want of will, and anger; is there
In noble man, that truly feeles both poyses
Of life and death, so much of this wet weaknesse.
To drown a glorious death in child and woman?
I am a shamd to see ye; yet ye move me,
And were it not my manhood would accuse me,
For covetous to live, I should weep with ye.
Phi.
O we shall never see you more:
Aec.
Tis true;
Nor I the miseries that Rome shall suffer,
Which is a benefit life cannot reckon:
But what I have been, which is just, and faithfull;
One that grew old for Rome, when Rome forgot him,
And for he was an honest man durst die,
Ye shall have daily with ye: could that dye too,
And I returne no trafficke of my travells,
No pay to have bin Souldier, but this silver,
No Annalls of Æcius, but he liv'd,
My friends ye had cause to weep, and bitterly;
The common overflowes of tender women,
And children new borne crying, were too little
To shew me then most wretched: if teares must be,
I should in justice weep 'em, and for you,
You are to live, and yet behold those shughters
The drie, and witherd bones of death would bleed at:
But sooner, then I have time to thinke what must bee,
I feare you'l find what shall be;
If ye love me,
Let that word serve for all; be gone and leave me;
I have some little practise with my foule,
And then the sharpest sword is welcom'st; goe,
Pray be gon, ye have obeyd me living,
Be not for shame now stubborn; so I thank ye,
And faryewell, a better fortune guide yee—
Exeunt Phi. and Aretius.
I am a little thirstie, not for feare,
And yet it is a kind of feare, I say so;
Is it to be a just man now againe,
And leave my flesh unthought of, tis departed:
I heare 'em come, who strikes first?
I stay for ye:
—Enter Balbus, Chilax, Lycinius.
Yet I will dye a Souldier, my sword drawne,
But against none:
Why doe ye feare? come forward.
Bal.
You were a Souldier Chilax,
Chil.
Yes, I musterd
But never saw the Enemy.
Lyc.
Hee's drawne,
20
Aec.
Why doe ye tremble?
I am to die, come ye not now from Cesar,
To that end, speake?
Bal.
We doe, and we must kill ye,
Tis Cesars will.
Chil.
I charge you put your sword up,
That we may doe it hansomly.
Aec.
Ha, ha, ha,
My sword up, hansomly where were ye bred?
Ye are the merriest murderers my masters
I ever met withall; Come forward fooles,
Why doe ye stare? upon mine honour Bawds,
I will not strike ye.
Lyc.
Ile not be first,
Bal.
Nor I;
Chil.
You had best die quietly: the Emperour
Sees how you beare your selfe,
Aec.
I would die Rascalls,
If you would kill me quietly,
Bal.
—of Proculus,
He promisd us to bring a Captaine hither,
That has been used to kill.
Aec.
Ile call the Guard,
Vnlesse you will kill me quickly, and proclaim
What beastly, base, and cowardly companions,
The Emperor has trusted with his safetie:
Nay Ile give out, ye fell of my side, villaines.
Strike home ye bawdy slave.
Chil.
By heaven he will kill us,
I markd his hand, he waits but time to reach us,
Now doe you offer.
Aec.
If ye doe mangle me,
And kill me not at two blowes, or at three,
Or not so stagger me, my sences faile me,
Look to your selves.
Chil.
I told ye,
Aec.
Strike me manly,
And take a thousand strokes.—
Enter Pontius.
Bal.
Heer's Pontius.
Pon.
Not kild him yet?
Is this the love ye beare the Emperor?
Lyc. runs away
Nay then I see yee are Traitors all, have at yee—
Chil.
Oh I am hurt,
Balb.
And I am killd—
Exeunt Chil. and Bal.
Pon.
Dye Bawdes;
As ye have liv'd and flourish'd.
Aec.
Wretched fellow,
What hast thou done?
Pon.
Killd them that durst not kill,
And you are next.
Aec.
Art thou not Pontius?
Pon.
I am the same you cast Æcius,
And in the face of all the Camp disgracd.
Æc.
Then so much nobler, as thou wert a Souldier,
Shall my death be: is it revenge provoked thee,
Or art thou hir'd to kill me?
Pon.
Both,
Aec.
Then doe it.
Pon.
Is that all?
Aec.
Yes,
Pon.
Would you not live?
Aec.
Why should I,
To thanke thee for my life?
Pon.
Yes, if I spare it,
Aec.
Be not deceiv'd, I was not made to thank
For any curtesie, but killing me,
A fellow of thy fortune; doe thy duty.
Pon.
Doe not you feare me?
Aec.
No.
Pon.
Nor love me for it?
Aec.
That's as thou dost thy businesse,
Pon.
When you are dead,
Your place is mine Aecius.
Aec.
Now I feare thee,
And not alone thee Pontius, but the Empire,
Pon.
Why, I can governe Sir;
Aec.
I would thou couldst,
And first thy selfe: Thou canst fights well, and bravely,
Thou canst endure all dangers, Keates, colds, hungers;
Heavens angry flashes are not sodainer,
Then I have seene thee execute; nor more mortall;
The winged feete of flying enemies
I have stood and viewd thee mow away like rushes,
And still kill the killer: were thy minde,
But halfe so sweet in peace, as rough in dangers,
I died to leave a happy heire behind me;
Come strike, and be a Generall.
Pon.
Prepare then:
And for I see your honour cannot lessen,
And 'twere a shame for me to strike a dead man,
Fight your short span out.
Aec.
No thou knowst I must not,
I dare not give thee so much vantage of me,
As disobedience;
Pon.
Dare ye not defend ye,
Against your enemy?
Aec.
Not sent from Cesar,
I have no power to make such enemies;
For as I am condemn'd, my naked sword
Stands but a hatchment by me; only held
To shew I was a Souldier; had not Cesar
Chaind all defence in this doom, let him die,
Old as I am, and quenchd with scarres, and sorrowes,
Yet would I make this witherd Arme do wonders,
And open in an enemy such wounds
Mercy would weep to look on.
Pon.
Then have at ye,
And look upon me, and be sure ye feare not:
Remember who you are, and why you live,
And what I have been to you: cry not hold,
Nor think it base injustice I should kill ye.
Aec.
I am prepard for all,
Pon.
For now Aecius,
Thou shalt behold and find I was no traitor,
And as I doe it, blesse me; die as I doe.—
Pontius kills himselfe
Aec.
Thou hast deceiv'd me Pontius, and I thank thee;
By all my hopes in heaven, thou art a Roman.
Pon.
To shew you what you ought to doe, this is not;
For slanders selfe would shame to find you coward,
Or willing to out-live your honestie:
But noble Sir, ye have been jealous of me,
And held me in the rancks of dangerous persons,
And I must dying say it was but justice,
Ye cast me from my credit; yet believe me,
For there is nothing now but truth to save me,
And your forgivenesse, though ye held me hainous,
And of a troubled spirit, that like fire
Turnes all to flames it meets with, ye mistook me;
If I were foe to any thing, t'was ease,
Want of the Souldiers due, the Enemy,
The nakednesse we found at home, and scorne,
Children of peace, and pleasures, no regard
Nor comfort for our scarres, but how we got 'em,
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And even began to prey upon our honours,
To wants at home, and more then wants, abuses
To them, that when the Enemy invaded
Made us their Saints, but now the sores of Rome;
To silken flattery, and pride plaind over,
Forgetting with what wind their feathers saile,
And under whose protection their soft pleasures
Grow full and numberlesse: to this I am foe,
Not to the state, or any point of duty:
And let me speake but what a Souldier may,
Truly I ought to be so; yet I errd,
Because a far more noble sufferer
Shewd me the way to patience, and I lost it:
This is the end I die Sir; to live basely,
And not the follower of him that bred me,
In full account and vertue Pontius dare not,
Much lesse to out live what is good, and flatter.
Aec.
I want a name to give thy vertue Souldier,
For only good is farre below thee Pontius,
The gods shall find thee one; thou hast fashiond death,
In such an excellent, and beauteous manner,
I wonder men can live: Canst thou speake once more,
For thy words are such harmony, a soule
Would choose to flye to heaven in
Pon.
A farewell:
Good noble Generall your hand, forgive me,
And think what ever was displeasing you,
Was none of mine: ye cannot live.
Aec.
I will not:
Yet one word more.
Pon.
Dye nobly: Rome farewell:
And Ualentinian fall, thou hast broke thy bases,
In joy ye have given me a quiet death,
I would strike more wounds, if I had more breath—
he dyes.
Aec.
Is there an houre of goodnesse beyond this?
Or any man would out-live such a dying
Would Cesar double all my honours on me,
And stick me ore with favours, like a Mistris;
Yet would I grow to this man: I have loved,
But never doated on a face till now:
O death thou art more than beautie, and thy pleasure
Beyond posterity: Come friends and kill me;
Cesar be kind, and send a thousand swords,
The more, the greater is my fall: why stay ye?
Come, and Ile kisse your weapons: feare me not,
By all the gods Ile honour ye for killing:
Appeare, or through the Court, and world, Ile search ye:
My sword is gone; ye are Traitors if ye spare me,
And Cesar must consume ye, all base cowards?
Ile follow ye, and ere I dye proclaime ye,
The weeds of Italy; the drosse of nature—
Exit.
Where are ye, villaines, traytors, slaves.—
Enter Proculus, and 3. others running over the Stage.
Pro.
I knew
H'ad killd the Captain,
1.
Here's his sword.
Pro.
Let it alone, 'twill fight it selfe else; friends,
An hundred men are not enough to doe it,
Ile to the Emperor, and get more ayd.
Aec.
None strike a poore condemnd man.
Pro.
He is mad:
Shift for your selves my masters.—
Exeunt.
Aec.
Then Æcius,
—Enter Aecius.
See what thou darst thy selfe; hold my good sword,
Thou hast been kept from bloud too long, Ile kisse thee,
For thou art more then friend now, my preserver,
Shew me the way to happinesse, I seeke it:
And all you great ones, that have falne as I do,
To keep your memories, and honours living,
Be present in your vertues, and assist me,
That like strong Cato, I may put away
All promises, but what shall crown my ashes;
Rome, farthee well: stand long, and know to conquer
Whilst there is people, and ambition:
Now for a stroak shall turne me to a Star:
I come ye blessed spirits, make me room
To live for ever in Elizium:
Doe men feare this? O that posterity
Could learne from him but this, that loves his wound,
There is no paine at all in dying well,
Nor none are lost, but those that make their hell—
kills himselfe.
—Enter Proculus and two others,
1.
Within.
Hee's dead, draw in the Guard againe,
Pro.
Hee's dead indeed,
And I am glad hee's gone; he was a devill:
His body, if his Eunuches come, is theirs;
The Emperor out of his love to vertue,
Has given 'em that: Let no man stop their entrance.—
Exit.
—Enter Phidias and Aretus.
Phi.
O my most Noble Lord, look here Aretus,
Heer's a sad sight.
Are.
O cruelty! O Cesar,
O times that bring forth nothing but destruction,
And overflowes of bloud: why wa'st thou kild?
Is it to be a just man now againe,
As when Tiberius and wild Nero raignd,
Only assurance of his over-throw?
Phil.
It is Aretus: he that would live now,
Must like the Toad, feed only on corruptions,
And grow with those to greatnesse: honest vertue,
And the true Roman honour, faith and valour
That have been all the riches of the Empire,
Now like the fearefull tokens of the Plague,
Are meer fore-runners of their ends that owe'em.
Are.
Never enough lamented Lord: deer master—
Enter Maximus.
Of whom now shal we learn to live like men?
From whom draw out our actions just, and worthy:
Oh thou art gone, and gone with thee all goodnesse,
The great example of all equitie,
O thou alone a Roman, thou art perishd,
Faith, fortitude, and constant noblenesse,
Weep Rome, weep Italy, weep all that knew him,
And you that feard him as a noble Foe,
(If Enemies have honourable teares)
Weep this decayd Aecius falne, and scatterd—
By foule, and base suggestion.
Pho.
O Lord Maximus,
This was your worthy friend.
Max.
The gods forgive me:
Think not the worse my friends, I shed not teares,
Great griefes lament within; yet now I have found 'em:
Would I had never knowne the world, nor women,
Nor what that cursed name of honour was,
So this were once againe Æcius:
But I am destin'd to a mighty action,
And begge my pardon friend, my vengeance taken,
I will not be long from thee: ye have a great losse,
But beare it patiently, yet to say truth
In justice tis not sufferable: I am next,
And were it now, I would be glad on't: friends,
Who shall preserve you now?
Are.
Nay we are lost too.
Max.
I feare ye are, for likely such as love
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Doe not stay long behind: Tis held no wisdom,
I know what I must doe ô my Æcius,
Canst thou thus perish, pluckt up by the rootes,
And no man feele thy worthinesse? From boyes
He bred you both I think.
Phi.
And from the poorest,
Max.
And lov'd ye as his owne,
Are.
We found it Sir.
Max.
Is not this a losse then?
Phi.
O, a losse of losses;
Our lives, and ruines of our families,
The utter being nothing of our names,
Were nothing neere it.
Max.
As I take it too,
He put ye to the Emperor.
Are.
He did so,
Max.
And kept ye still in credit.
Phi.
Tis most true Sir;
Max.
He fed your Fathers too, and made them meanes,
Your Sisters he preferd to Noble Wedlocks,
Did he not friends?
Are.
Oh yes Sir:
Max.
As I take it
This worthy man would not be now forgotten,
I tell ye to my griefe, he was basely murdred;
And something would be done, by those that lov'd him:
And something may be: pray stand off a little.
Let me bewaile him private: ô my dearest.
Phi.
Aretus, if we be not sodaine, he out does us,
I know he points at vengance; we are cold,
And base ungratefull wretches, if we shun it:
Are we to hope for more rewards, or greatnesse,
Or any thing but death, now he is dead?
Dar'st thou resolve?
Are.
I am perfect.
Phi.
Then like flowers
That grew together all wee'l fall together,
And with us that that bore us: when tis done
The world shall stile us two deserving servants:
I fear he will be before us.
Are.
This night Phidias:
Phi.
No more.
Max.
Now worthy friends I have done my mournings
Let's burn this Noble body: Sweetes as many
As sun-burnt: Neroe breeds, Ile make a flame of
Shall reach his soule in heaven: he that shall live
Ten ages hence, but to reherse this story,
Shall with the sad discourse on't, darken Heaven,
And force the painefull burdens from the wombs
Conceivd a new with sorrow: even the Grave
Where mighty Sylla sleeps shall rend asunder
And give her shadow up, to come and groane
About our piles, which will be more, and greater
Then greene Olimpus, Jda, or old Latmus
Can feed with Cedar, or the East with Gums,
Greece with her wines, or Thessalie with flowers,
Or willing heaven can weep for in her showres.
Exeunt.
| The Tragedie of Valentinian | |