University of Virginia Library

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,
By heaven I dare not doe it.

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,
To rusty time, that eate our bodies up,
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
The man that's falne, and have been nourishd by him,
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.