 | The Tragedie of Valentinian |  |
Actus primus.
Scæna prima.
Enter Balbus, Proculus, Chilax, Licinius.Bal.
I never saw the like, shee's no more stirr'd,
No more another woman, no more alter'd,
With any hopes or promises layd to her
(Let 'em be nev'r so waighty, nev'r so winning,
Then I am with the motion of my owner legs.
Pro.
Chilax.
You are a stranger yet in these designes,
At least in Rome; tell me, and tell me truth,
Did you ere know in all your course of practise,
In all the wayes of woman you have runne through
(For I presume you have been brought up Chilax,
As we to fetch and carry.)
Chi.
True I have so:
Pro.
Did you I say againe in all this progresse,
Ever discover such a peece of beauty,
Ever so rare a Creature, and no doubt
One that must know her worth too, and affect it,
I and be flatter'd, else tis none: and honest?
Honest against the tide of all temptations,
Honest to one man, to her husband only,
And yet not eighteene, not of age to know
Why she is honest?
Chi.
I confesse it freely,
I never saw her fellow, nor er'e shall,
For all our Græcian Dames, all I have tri'd,
(And sure I have tri'd a hunderd, if I say two
I speake within my compasse) all these beauties,
And all the constancy of all these faces,
Mayds, Widdows, Wives, of what degree or calling,
So they be Greekes, and fat, for there's my cunning,
I would undertake and not sweat for't, Proculus,
Were they to try againe, say twice as many,
Vnder a thousand pound, to lay 'em bedrid;
But this Wench staggers me.
Lyc.
Doe you see these Iewells?
You would thinke these pretty baytes; now Ile assure ye
Here's halfe the wealth of Asia.
Bal.
These are nothing
To the full honours I propounded to her;
I bid her think, and be, and presently
What ever her ambition, what the Councell
Of others would adde to her, what her dreames
Could more enlarge, what any President
Of any woman rising up to glory,
And standing certaine there, and in the highest,
Could give her more, nay to be Empresse.
Pro.
And cold at all these offers?
Bal.
Cold as Christall,
Never to be thaw'd again,
Chi.
I trid her further,
And so farre, that I think she is no woman,
At least as women goe now.
Lyc.
Why what did you?
Chi.
I offerd that, that had she been but Mistris
Of as much spleene as Doves have, I had reach'd her;
A safe revenge of all that ever hates her,
The crying down for ever all beauties
That may be thought come neare her.
Pro.
That was pretty.
Chi.
I never knew that way faile, yet Ile tell ye
I offerd her a gift beyond all yours,
That, that had made a Saiuct start, well considerd,
The Law to be her creature, she to make it,
Her mouth to give it, every creature living
From her aspect, to draw their good or evill
Fixd in 'em spight of Fortune; a new Nature
She should be called, and mother of all ages,
Time should be hers, and what she did lame vertue
Should blesse to all posterities: her aire
Should give us life, her earth and water feed us.
And last, to none but to the Emperour,
(And then but when she pleas'd to have it so,)
She should be held for mortall.
Lyc.
And she heard you?
Chi.
Yes, as a Sick man heares a noise, or he
That stands condemn'd his Iudgment, let me perish,
But if there can be vertue, if that name
Be any thing but name and emptie title,
If it be so as fooles have been pleas'd to faigne it,
A power that can preserve us after ashes,
And make the names of men out-reckon ages,
This Woman has a God of vertue in her.
Bal.
I would the Emperor were that God.
Chi.
She has in her
All the contempt of glory and vaine seeming
Of all the Stoicks, all the truth of Christians,
And all their Constancy: Modesty was made
When she was first intended: When she blushes
It is the holyest thing to looke upon;
The purest temple of her sect, that ever
Made nature a blest Founder.
Pro.
Is there no way
To take this Phenix?
Lyc.
None but in her ashes.
Chi.
If she were fat, or any way inclining
To ease or pleasure, or affected glory,
Proud to be seene and worship'd, t'were a venture;
But on my soule she is chaster then cold Camphire.
Bal.
I thinke so too; for all the wayes of woman,
Like a full saile she bears against: I aske her
After my many offers, walking with her,
And her as many down-denyals, how
If the Emperor grown mad with love should force her;
She pointed to a Lucrece, that hung by,
2
Shot Vestall fire against me, she departed.
Pro.
This is the first wench I was ever pos'd in,
Yet I have brought young loving things together
This two and thirty yeare.
Chi.
I find by this wench
The calling of a Bawd to be a strange,
A wife, and subtile calling; and for none
But staid, discreet, and understanding people:
And as the Tutor to great Alexander,
Would say a young man should not dare to read
His morall books, till after five and twenty;
So must that he or she, that will be bawdy,
(I meane discreetly bawdy, and be trusted)
If they will rise, and gaine experience,
Wel steept in yeares, and discipline, begin it,
I take it tis no boys play.
Bal.
Well, what's thought off?
Pro.
The Emperour must know it.
Lyc.
If the women should chance to faile too,
Chi.
As tis ten to one,
Pro.
Why what remaines, but new nets for the purchase?
Chi.
Let's goe consider then: and if all faile,
This is the first quick Eele, that sav'd her taile.
Exeunt.
Scæne 2.
Enter Lucina, Ardelia, and Phorba.Ardelia.
You still insist upon that Idoll, Honour,
Can it renue your youth, can it adde wealth,
That takes off wrinkles: can it draw mens eyes,
To gaze upon you in your age? can honour,
That truly is a Saint to none but Souldiers,
And lookd into, beare no reward but danger,
Leave you the most respected person living?
Or can the common kisses of a husband,
(Which to a sprightly Lady is a labour)
Make ye almost Immortall? ye are cozend,
The honour of a woman is her praises;
The way to get these, to be seene, and sought too,
And not to bury such a happy sweetnesse
Vnder a smoaky roofe.
Luci.
Ile heare no more:
Phor.
That white, and red, and all that blessed beauty,
Kept from the eyes, that make it so, is nothing;
Then you are rarely faire, when men proclaime it;
The Phenix, were she never seene, were doubted,
That most unvalued Horne the Vnicorne
Beares to oppose the Huntsman, were it nothing
But tale, and meere tradition, would help no man,
But when the vertue's knowne, the honor's dobled:
Vertue, is either lame, or not at all,
And Love a sacriledge, and not a Saint,
When it bars up the way to mens Petitions.
Ard.
Nay ye shal love your husband too; we come not
To make a Monster of yee;
Luc.
Are ye women?
Ard.
You'l find us so, and women you shall think too,
If you have grace to make your use.
Luc.
Fye on yee,
Phor.
Alas poore bashfull Lady, by my soule,
Had ye no other vertue, but your blushes,
And I a man, I should run mad for those:
How daintlily they set her off, how sweetly?
Ard.
Come Goddesse, come, you move too neer the earth,
It must not be, a better or be staies for you:
Here: be a mayd, and take 'en,
Luc.
Pray leave me.
Phor.
That were a sin sweet Lady, and a way
To make us guilty of your melancholly;
You must not be alone; In conversation
Doubts are resolv'd, and what sticks neer the conscience
Made easie, and allowable.
Luc.
Ye are Devills,
Ard.
That you may one day blesse for your damnation.
Luc.
I charge ye in the name of Chastity,
Tempt me no more; how ugly ye seem to me?
There is no wonder men defame our Sex,
And lay the vices of all ages on us,
When such as you shall beare the names of women;
If ye had eyes to see your selves, or sence
Above the base rewards ye play the bawds for:
If ever in your lives ye heard of goodnesse,
(Though many Regions off, as men heare thunder)
If ever ye had Mothers, and they soules:
If ever Fathers, and not such as you are;
If ever any thing were constant in you,
Beside your sins, or comming but your curses,
If ever any of your Ancestors
Dyde worth a noble deed, that would be cherishd,
Soule-frighted with this black infection,
You would run from one another, to repentance,
And from your guilty eyes drop out those sins,
That made ye blind, and beasts.
Phor.
Ye speak well Lady;
A signe of fruitfull education,
If your religious Zeale had wisdome with it.
Ard.
This Lady was ordain'd to blesse the Empire,
And we may all give thanks for't.
Phor.
I beleive ye,
Ard.
If any thing redeem the Emperour,
From his wild flying courses, this is she;
She can instruct him if ye mark; she is wise too.
Phor.
Exceeding wise, which is a wonder in her,
And so religious, that I well believe,
Though she would sinne she cannot.
Ard.
And, besides
She has the Empires cause in hand, not loves;
There lies the maine consideration,
For which she is chiefly borne.
Phor.
She finds that point
Stronger then we can tell her, and believe it
I look by her meanes for a reformation,
And such a one, and such a rare way carried
That all the world shall wonder at.
Ard.
Tis true;
I never thought the Emperor had wisdom,
Pittie, or faire affection to his Country,
Till he profest this love: gods give'em Children,
Such as her vertues merit, and his zeale.
I looke to see a Numa from this Lady,
Or greater then Octavius.
Phor.
Do you mark too,
Which is a Noble vertue, how she blushes,
And what a flowing modesty runs through her,
When we but name the Emperour?
Ard.
But mark it,
Yes, and admire it too, for she considers,
Though she be faire as heaven, and vertuous
As holy truth, yet to the Emperour
She is a kind of nothing but her service,
Which she is bound to offer, and shee'l do it,
And when her Countries cause commands affection;
She knows obedience is the key of vertues,
Then flye the blushes out like Cupids arrowes.
And though the tye of marriage to her Lord,
Would faine cry stay Lucina, yet the cause
3
Makes her find surer ends and happier,
And if the first were chaste, this is twice dobled.
Phor.
Her tartnes unto us too.
Ard.
That's a wise one.
Phor.
I rarely like, it shewes a rising wisdom,
That chides all common fooles as dare enquire
What Princes would have private.
Ard.
What a Lady
Shall we be blest to serve?
Luc.
Goe get ye from me.
Ye are your purses Agents, not the Princes:
Is this the vertuous Lore yee traind me out too?
Am I a woman fit to imp your vices?
But that I had a Mother, and a woman
Whose ever living fame turnes all it touches,
Into the good it selfe is, I should now
Even doubt my selfe, I have been search't so neere
The very soule of honour: why should you two,
That happily have been as chast as I am,
Fairer, I think, by much, for yet your faces,
Like ancient well built piles, shew worthy ruines,
After that Angell age, turne mortall Devills?
For shame, for woman-hood, for what ye have been,
For rotten Cedars have borne goodly branches,
If ye have hope of any Heaven, but Court,
Which like a Dreame, you'l find hereafter vanish,
Or at the best but subject to repentance,
Study no more to be ill spoken of;
Let women live themselves, if they must fall,
Their owne destruction find 'em, not your fevours.
Ard.
Madam, yee are so excellent in all,
And I must tell it you with admiration,
So true a joy ye have, so sweet a feare,
And when ye come to anger, tis so noble,
That for mine own part, I could still offend,
To heare you angry; women that want that,
And your way guided (else I count it nothing)
Are either Fooles, or Cowards.
Phor.
She were a Mistris for no private greatnesse,
Could she not frowne a ravishd kisse from anger,
And such an anger as this Lady learnes us,
Stuck with such pleasing dangers. Gods (I aske ye)
Which of ye all could hold from?
Luc.
I perceive ye,
Your owne dark sins dwell with yee, and that price
You sell the chastitie of modest wives at
Runs to diseases with your bones: I scorne ye,
And all the nets ye have pitcht to catch my vertues
Like Spiders Webs, I sweep away before me.
Goe tell the Emperour, yee have met a woman,
That neither his owne person, which is God-like,
The world he rules, nor what that world can purchase,
Nor all the glories subject to a Cesar,
The honours that he offers for my body,
The hopes, gifts, everlasting flatteries,
Nor any thing that's his, and apt to tempt me,
No not to be the Mother of the Empire,
And Queene of all the holy fires he worships,
Can make a Whore of.
Ard.
You mistake us Lady.
Luc.
Yet tell him this ha's thus much weakend me,
That I have here his knaves, and you his Matrons,
Fit Nurses for his sins, which gods forgive me,
But ever to be leaning to his folly,
Or to be brought to love his lust, assure him,
And from her mouth, whose life shal make it certain
I never can: I have a Noble husband,
Pray tell him that too, yet a noble name,
A Noble Family, and last a Conscience:
Thus much for your answer: For your selves,
Ye have liv'd the shame of women, dye the better,
Exit Lucina.
Phor.
What's now to doe?
Ard.
Ev'n as she said, to dye,
For ther's no living here, and women thus,
I am sure for us two.
Phor.
Nothing stick upon her?
Ard.
We have lost a masse of mony; wel Dame vertue,
Yet ye may halt if good luck serve.
Phor.
Wormes take her,
She has almost spoil'd our trade,
Ard.
So godly;
This is ill breeding Phorba.
Phor.
If the women
Should have a longing now to see this Monster,
And she convert 'em all.
Ard.
That may be Phorba,
But if it be, Ile have the young men gelded:
Come, let's goe think, she must not scape us thus;
There is a certain season, if we hit,
That women may be rid without a bit.
Exeunt.
Scæn. 3.
Enter Maximus and Æcius.Max.
I cannot blame the Nations noble friend,
That they fall off so fast from this wild man,
When (under our Allegeance be it spoken,
And the most happy tye of our affections)
The worlds weight groanes beneath him; where lives vertue,
Honour, discretion, wisdom? who are cald
And chosen to the steering of the Empire
But Baudes, and singing Girles? ô my Aecius,
The glory of a Souldier, and the truth
Of men made up for goodnesse sake, like shells
Grow to the ragged walls for want of action:
Only your happy selfe, and I that love ye,
Which is a larger meanes to me then favour.
Æcius.
No more my worthy friend, though these be truths,
And though these truthes would aske a Reformation,
At least a little squaring; yet remember,
We are but subjects Maximus; obedience
To what is done, and griefe for what is ill done,
Is all we can call ours: the hearts of Princes
Are like the Temples of the gods; pure incense,
Vntill vnhallowed hands defile those offrings,
Burnes ever there; we must not put 'em out,
Because the Priests that touch those sweetes are wicked;
We dare not deerest friend, nay more we cannot,
While we consider why we are, and how,
To what lawes bound, much more to what Law-giver;
Whilest majestie is made to be obeyed,
And not inquired into, whilest Gods and Angels
Make but a rule as we do, though a stricter;
Like desperate and unseason'd fooles let fly
Our killing angers, and forsake our honors.
Max.
My noble Freind, from whose Instructions
I never yet tooke surfet, weigh but thus much,
Nor thinke I speake it with ambition,
For by the Gods I do not, why Æcius,
Why are we thus, or how become thus wretched?
Æcius.
You'l fall againe into your fit.
Max.
I will not.
Or are we now no more the sons of Romanes,
No more the followers of their happy fortunes,
But conquer'd Gaules, or Quivers for the Parthians?
4
This God that ought to be?
Æcius.
You are too curious.
Max.
Good, give me leave, why is this Author of us?
Æci.
I dare not heare ye speake thus.
Max.
Ile be modest,
Thus led away, thus vainly led away,
And we beholders, misconceive me not,
I sow no danger in my words; but wherefore
And to what end, are we the sonnes of Fathers
Famous, and fast to Rome? Why are their vertues
Stampt in the dangers of a thousand Battailes,
For goodnesse sake, their honors, time out daring,
I thinke for our example.
Æci.
Ye speake nobly.
Mac.
Why are we seeds of these then, to shake hands
With Bawdes and base Informers, kisse discredit,
And court her like a Mistris? pray, your leave yet;
You'l say the Emperor is young, and apt
To take impression rather from his pleasures
Then any constant worthynsse, it may be.
But why do these, the people call his pleasures,
Exceed the moderation of a man?
Nay to say justly freind, why are they vices
And such as shake our worthes with forraigne Nations?
Æc.
You search the soare too deep, and I must tel ye,
In any other man this had been boldnesse,
And so rewarded; pray depresse you spirit,
For though I constantly beleeve ye honest,
Ye were no freind for me else, and what now
Ye freely spake, but good ye owe toth Empire,
Yet take heed worthy Maximus, all eares
Heare not with that distinction mine doe, few
You'l find admonishers, but urgers of your actions,
And to the heaviest (freind;) and pray consider
We are but shadowes, motions others give us,
And though our pitties may become the times,
Iustly our powers cannot; make me worthy
To be your ever freind in faire allegiance,
But not in force: For durst mine own soule urge me
(And by that soule, I speake my just affections)
To turn my hand from truth, which is obedience,
And give the helme my vertue holds, to Anger,
Though I had both the blessings of the Brutij,
And both their Instigations, though my cause
Carried a face of Iustice beyond theirs,
And as I am a servant to my fortunes,
That daring soule, that first taught disobedience,
Should feele the first example: Say the Prince,
As I may well beleeve, seemes vitious,
Who justly knowes tis not to try our honors?
Or say he be an ill Prince, are we therefore
Fit fires to purge him? No, my dearest freind
The Elephant is never won with anger,
Nor must that man that would reclaime a Lyon,
Take him by'th teeth.
Max.
I pray mistake me not.
Æci.
Our honest actions, and the light that breakes
Like morning from our service, chaste and blushing
Is that, that pulls a Prince backe; then he sees,
And not till then truly repents his errors,
When subjects Chrystall soules are glasses to him.
Max.
My ever honored freind, Ile take your councel:
The Emperor appeares, Ile leave ye to him,
And as we both affect him, may be flourish.
Exit Max.
Enter the Emperor and Chilax.
Empe.
Is that the best newes?
Chil.
Yet the best we know Sir.
Empe.
Bid Maximus come to me, and be gone then:
Mine own head be my helper, these are fooles;
How now Æcius, are the Souldiers quiet?
Æci.
Better I hope Sir, then they were.
Empe.
They are pleas'd I heare,
To censure me extremely for my pleasures,
Shortly they'l fight against me.
Æci.
Gods defend Sir.
And for their censures they are such shrew'd Iudgers;
A donative of ten Sesterties
Ile undertake shall make 'em ring your praises,
More then they sang your pleasures.
Empe.
I beleeve thee.
Art thou in love Æcius yet?
Æci.
O no Sir.
I am too course for Ladies; my embraces
That only am acquainted with Alarums,
Would break their tender bodies.
Empe.
Never feare it,
They are stronger then ye think, they'le hold the hammer
My Empresse sweares thou art a lusty Souldier,
A good one I beleeve thee.
Æci.
All that goodnesse
Is but your Graces creature.
Empe.
Tell me truly,
For thou darst tell me.
Æci.
Any thing concernes ye,
That's fit for me to speake and you to pardon.
Emp.
What say the soldiers of me, and the same words,
Mince 'em not good Æcius, but deliver
The very forms and tongues they talke withall,
Æci.
Ile tell your Grace, but with this caution
You be not stirr'd, for should the Gods live with us,
Even those we certainly beleeve are righteous,
Give 'em but drinke, they would censure them too.
Empe.
Forward.
Æci.
Then to begin, they say you sleep too much
By which they judge your Majesty too sensuall,
Apt to decline your strength to ease and pleasures,
And when you do not sleepe, you drink too much,
From which they feare suspitions first, then ruines;
And when ye neither drinke nor sleepe, ye wench much,
Which they affirm first breakes your understanding,
Then takes the edge of honor, makes us seeme,
That are the ribbes, and rampires of the Empire,
Fencers, and beaten Fooles, and so regarded;
But I beleive 'em not; for were these truths,
Your vertue can correct them.
Empe.
They speake plainly.
Æc.
They say moreover (since your grace wil have it,
For they will talke their freedoms, though the sword
Were in their throat) that of late time, like Nero,
And with the same forgetfullnes of glory,
You have got a vaine of filing, so they terme it.
Empe.
Some drunken dreames Æcius.
Æci.
So I hope Sir.
And that you rather study cruelty.
And to be feared for blood, then lov'd for bounty.
Which makes the Nations, as they say, despise ye,
Telling your yeares and actions by their deathes,
Whose truth, and strength of duty made you Cæsar.
They say besides you nourish strange devourers,
Fed with the fat o'th Empire, they call Bawdes,
Lazie and lustfull creatures that abuse ye.
A people as they terme 'em, made of paper,
In which the secret sins of each mans monyes
Are sealed and sent a working.
5
What sin's next?
For I perceive they have no mind to spare me.
Æci.
Nor hurt ye ô my soule Sir; but such people
(Nor can the power of man restraine it)
When they are full of meat and ease, must prattle.
Empe.
Forward.
Æci.
I have spoken too much Sir.
Empe.
Ile have all.
Æci.
It fits not
Your eares should heare their vanities; no profit
Can justly rise to you from their behaviour,
Vnlesse ye were guilty of those crimes.
Empe.
It may be
I am so, therefore forward.
Æci.
I have ever
Learn'd to obey, nor shall my life resist it.
Empe.
No more Apologies.
Æci.
They greive besides Sir,
To see the nations, whom our ancient vertue
With many a weary march and hunger conquer'd,
With losse of many a daring life subdude,
Fall from their faire obedience, and even murmure
To see the warlike Eagles mew their honors
In obscure Townes, that wont to prey on Princes,
They cry for enemies, and tel the Captaines
The fruits of Italy are luscious, give us Ægypt,
Or sandy Affrick to display our valours,
There were our Swords may make us meat, and danger
Digest our well got Vyands: here our weapons
And bodyes that were made for shining brasse,
Are both unedg'd and old with ease, and women;
And then they cry agen, where are the Germaines,
Linde with hot Spaine, or Gallia, bring 'em on,
And let the son of war, steel'd Mithridutes,
Lead up his winged Parthians like a storme,
Hiding the face of Heaven with showres of arrowes;
Yet we dare fight like Romanes; then as Souldiers
Tyr'd with a weary march, they tell their wounds
Even weeping ripe they were no more nor deeper,
And glory in those scarrs that make 'em lovely,
And sitting where a Campe was, like sad Pilgrims
They reckon up the times, and living labours
Of Julius or Germanicus, and wonder
That Rome, whose turrets once were topt with honours,
Can now forget the Custome of her conquests:
And then they blame your Grace, and say who leads us,
Shall we stand here like Statues? were our Fathers
The Sonnes of lazie Moores, our Princes Persians,
Nothing but silkes, and softnesse? curses on 'em
That first taught Nero wantonnesse, and bloud,
Tiberius doubts, Caligula all vices;
For from the spring of these succeeding Princes
Thus they talke Sir;
Emp.
Well,
Why doe you heare these things?
Aec.
Why do you do 'em?
I take the gods to witnesse, with more sorrow,
And more vexation, doe I heare these taintures,
Then were my life dropt from me through an hour-glasse
Emp.
Belike then you beleeve 'em, or at least
Are glad they should be so; take heed, you were better
Build your own Tomb, and runne into it living,
Then dare a Princes anger.
Aec.
I am old Sir,
And ten yeares more addition, is but nothing:
Now if my life be pleasing to ye, take it,
Vpon my knees, if ever any service,
As let me brag, some have bin worthy notice,
If ever any worth, or trust ye gave me,
Deserv'd a faire respect, if all my actions,
The hazards of my youth, colds, burnings, wants,
For you and for the Empire, be not vices;
By that stile ye have stampt upon me, Souldier,
Let me not fall into the hands of wretches.
Emp.
I understand ye not.
Aec.
Let not this body.
That has lookd bravely in his bloud for Cesar,
And covetous of wounds, and for your safety,
After the scape of Swords, Speares, Slings, and Arrows,
Gainst which my beaten body was mine Armour,
The Seas, and thirstie deserts, now be purchase
For Slaves, and base Informers: I see anger,
And death look through your eyes: I am markt for slaughter
And know the telling of this truth has made me
A man cleane lost to this world; I embrace it;
Only my last Petition sacred Cesar,
Is, I may dye a Roman.
Emp.
Rise my friend still,
And worthy of my love; Reclaime the Souldier,
Ile study to doe so upon my selfe too,
Goe keep your command, and prosper.
Aec.
Life to Cesar—
Exit Aecius—Enter Chilax.
Chi.
Lord Maximus attends your Grace.
Emp.
Goe tell him,
Ile meete him in the gallery.
The honesty of this Aecius
Who is indeed the Bull-wark of the Empire,
Has div'd so deep into me, that of all
The sins I covet, but this womans beautie,
With much repentance, now I could be quit of:
But she is such a pleasure, being good,
That though I were a god, she would fire my bloud.
Exit.
| The Tragedie of Valentinian | |