University of Virginia Library

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.

Lycias.
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:
Ile see him setled too, and as a Souldier,
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.