University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Athenais drest in Imperial Robes, and Crown'd: A Table with a Bowl of Poison.
Athen.
A midnight Marriage! must I to the Temple
Thus, at the Murderers hour? 'Tis wond'rous strange!
But so thou say'st my Father has commanded;
And that's Almighty Reason.

Delia.
Th'Emperour in compassion to the Prince,
Who would, perhaps, fly to extravagance,
If he in publick should resolve to espouse you,
Contriv'd by this close Marriage to deceive him.

Athen.
Go fetch thy Lute, and sing those Lines I gave thee;
So, now I am alone, yet my Soul shakes;
For where this dreadful Draught may carry me,
The Heav'ns can only tell; yet I am resolv'd
To drink it off in spite of Consequence,
Whisper him, O some Angel! what I am doing;
By sympathy of Soul let him too tremble,
To hear my wondrous Faith, my wondrous Love,
Whose Spirit not content with an Ovation,
Of ling'ring Fate, with Triumph thus resolv'd:
Thus in the rapid Chariot of the Soul;
To mount and dare as never Woman dar'd:
'Tis done, haste, Delia, haste! come bring thy Lute,
[Drinks.
And sing my waftage to immortal Joys,
Methinks I cannot but smile at my own bravery,
Thus from my lowest Fortune rais'd to Empire,
Crown'd and adorn'd! worshipt by half the Earth,
While a young Monarch dies for my Embraces:
Yet now to wave the Glories of the World,
O my Varanes! tho' my Births unequal,
My Vertue sure has richly recompenc'd,
And quite out-gone Example!

SONG.

Enter Pulcheria.
Pulch.
How fares my dear Eudosia? ha, thou look'st,
Or else the Tapers cheat my sight, like one
That's fitter for thy Tomb than Cæsar's Bed,
A fatal Sorrow dims thy shaded Eyes,
And in despite of all thy Ornaments,
Thou seem'st to me the Ghost of Athenais.

Athen.
And what's the punishment, my dear Pulcheria?
What Torments are allotted those sad Spirits,
Who groaning with the burden of Despair;
No longer will endure the Cares of Life,
But boldly set themselves at liberty,
Through the dark Caves of Death to wander on,
Like wilded Travellers without a Guide,
Eternal Rovers in the gloomy Maze,
Where scarce the Twi-light of an Infant Moon,
By a faint Glimmer checkering through the Trees,
Reflects to dismal view the walking Ghosts,
And never hope to reach the blessed Fields?

Pulch.
No more o' that, Atticus shall resolve thee;
But see, he waits thee from the Emperour;
Thy Father too attends.

Enter Leontine, Atticus, &c.
Leont.
Come, Athenais! Ha, what now in Tears?
O fall of Honour, but no more I charge thee,
I charge thee, as thou ever hop'st my Blessing,
Or fear'st my Curse, to banish from thy Soul
All Thoughts, if possible, the Memory
Of that ungrateful Prince that has undone thee.
Attend me to the Temple on this Instant,
To make the Emperour thine, this Night to wed him,
And lie within his Arms.

Athen.
Yes, Sir, I'll go—
Let me but dry my Eyes, and I will go;
Eudosia, this unhappy Bride shall go,
Thus like a Victim crown'd and doom'd to bleed,
I'll wait you to the Altar, wed the Emperour,
And if he pleases, lie within his Arms.

Leont.
Thou art my Child agen.

Athen.
But do not, Sir, imagine that any Charms,
Or Threatnings shall compel me
Never to think of poor Varanes more:
No, my Varanes: No—
While I have Breath, I will remember thee:
To thee alone I will my Thoughts confine,
And all my Meditations shall be thine:
The Image of thy Woes my Soul shall fill,
Fate and my End, and thy Remembrance still;
As in some Pop'lar Shade the Nightingale,
With piercing Moans does her lost Young bewail,
Which the rough Hind, observing as they lay
Warm in their Downy Nest, had stoln away,
But she in mournful Sounds does still complain,
Sings all the Night, tho' all her Songs are vain,
And still renews her miserable strain:
So my Varanes, 'till my Death comes on,
Shall sad Eudosia thy dear Loss bemoan.

[Ex. Athenais, Atticus.

SCENE II.

Enter Varanes.
Vraa.
'Tis Night, dead Night, and weary Nature lies
So fast, as if she never were to rise:
No breath of Wind now whispers through the Trees;
No noise at Land, nor murmur in the Seas;
Lean Wolves forget to howl at Night's pale Noon;
No wakeful Dogs bark at the silent Moon:
Nor 'bay the Ghosts that glide with Horror by,
To view the Caverns where their Bodies lie,
The Ravens perch, and no Presages give;
Nor to the Windows of the dying cleave.
The Owls forget to scream, no midnight sound
Calls drowsie Echo from the hollow ground;
In Vaults the walking Fires extinguisht lie;
The Stars, Heav'ns Centry, wink and seem to die.
Such universal Silence spreads below,
Through the vast Shades where I am doom'd to go;
Nor shall I need a Violence to wound:
The Storm is here that drives me on the Ground,
Sure means to make the Soul and Body part,
A burning Fever, and a broken Heart.
What, hoa, Aranthes!
[Enter Aranthes.
I sent thee to the Apartment of
Athenais! I sent thee, did I not, to be admitted?

Aran.
You did, my Lord; but oh
I fear to give you an account.

Vara.
Alas!
Aranthes, I am got on the other side
Of this bad World; and now am past all fear.
O ye avenging Gods, is there a Plague
Among your hoarded Bolts and heaps of Vengeance
Beyond the mighty Loss of Athenais?
'Tis contradiction, speak, then speak, Aranthes.
For all misfortunes, if compar'd with that,
Will make Varanes smile—

Aranth.
My Lord, the Empress,
Crown'd and adorn'd with the Imperial Robes,
At this dead time of Night with silent Pomp,
As they design'd from all to keep it secret,
But chiefly sure from you; I say the Empress
Is now conducted by the General.
Atticus and her Father, to the Temple,
There to espouse th'Emperor, Theodosius.

Vara.
Say'st thou? is't certain! hah.

Arant.
Most certain, Sir, I saw 'em in procession.

Vara.
Give me thy Sword, malicious Fate! O Fortune!
O giddy Chance! O turn of Love and Greatness!
Marry'd! she has kept her Promise now indeed;
And oh her pointed Fame and nice Revenge,
Have reach'd their end. No Aranthes! no!
I will not stay the lazy Execution
Of a slow Fever: Give me thy Hand, and swear
By all the Love and Duty that thou ow'st me,
To observe the last Commands that I shall give thee;
Stir not against my purpose, as thou fear'st
My Anger and Disdain; Nor dare to oppose me
With troublesome unnecessary formal Reasons;
For what my Thought has doom'd, my Hand shall seal.
I charge thee hold it stedfast to my Heart,
Fixt as the Fate that throws me on the Point.
Tho' I have liv'd a Persian, I will fall
As fair, as fearless, and as full resolv'd
As any Greek or Roman of 'em all.

Aranth.
What you command is terrible but sacred,
And to atone for this too cruel Duty,
My Lord, I'll follow you—

Vara.
I charge thee not!
But when I am dead take the attending Slaves,
And bear me, with my Blood distilling down,
Streight to the Temple; lay me, O Aranthes!
Lay my cold Coarse at Athenais's Feet,
And say, O why, why, do my Eyes run o'er!
Say with my latest Gasp I groan'd for Pardon.
Just here my Friend, hold fast, and fix the Sword;
I feel the Artery, where the Life-Blood lies;
It heaves against the Point—Now, O ye Gods,
If for the greatly wretched you have room,
Prepare my place, for dauntless lo I come!
The force of Love thus makes the Mortal Wound,
And Athenais sends me to the Ground.

[Kills himself.

SCENE III.

The outward part of the Temple.
Enter Pulcheria and Julia at one Door, Marcian and Lucius at another.
Pulch.
Look Julia, see the pensive Marcian comes;
'Tis to my wish, I must no longer lose him,
Lest he should leave the Court indeed: he looks
As if some mighty secret work'd within him,
And labour'd for a Vent; inspire me Woman,
That what my Soul desires above the World,
May seem impos'd and forc'd on my Affections—

Luc.
I say she loves you, and she stays to hear it
From your own Mouth: Now, in the Name of all
The Gods at once, my Lord, why are you silent?
Take heed, Sir, mark your opportunity;
For if the Woman lays it in your way,
And you over-see it, she is lost for ever.

Marc.
Madam, I come to take my eternal leave;
Your Doom has banisht me, and I obey:
The Court and I shake Hands, and now we part,
Never to see each other more; the Court
Where I was born, and bred a Gentleman:
No more, till your Illustrious Bounty rais'd me,
And drew the Earth-born Vapour to the Clouds:
But, as the Gods ordain'd it, I have lost,
I know not how, through Ignorance, your Grace:
And now the Exhalation of my Glory
Is quite consum'd and vanisht into Air.

Pulch.
Proceed, Sir—

Marc.
Yet let those Gods that doom'd me to displease you,
Be Witnesses how much I honour you—
Thus, worshipping, I swear by your bright self,
I leave this infamous Court with more content
Than Fools and Flatterers seek it. But, oh Heaven!
I cannot go if still your hate pursues me;
Yes, I declare it is impossible,
To go to Banishment without your Pardon.

Pulch.
You have it, Marcian; is there ought beside,
That you would speak, for, I am free to hear?

Marc.
Since I shall never see you more, what hinders
But my last words should here protest the Truth?
Know then, Imperial Princess, matchless Woman,
Since first you cast your Eyes upon my meanness,
Ev'n till you rais'd me to my envy'd height,
I have in secret lov'd you—

Pulch.
Is this Marcian?

Marc.
You frown! but I am still prepar'd for all;
I say I lov'd you, and I love you still,
More than my Life, and equal to my Glory;
Methinks the warring Spirit that inspires
This Frame, the very Genius of old Rome!
That makes me talk without the fear of Death,
And drives my daring Soul to acts of Honour.
Flames in your Eyes! our Thoughts too are a-kin,
Ambitious, fierce, and burn alike for Glory:
Now, by the Gods, I lov'd you in your Fury,
In all the Thunder that quite riv'd my hopes,
I lov'd you most, ev'n when you did destroy me.
Madam, I've spoke my heart, and cou'd say more,
But that I see it grieves you, your high Blood
Frets at the Arrogance and sawcy Pride
Of this bold Vagabond: may the Gods forgive me:
Farewell; a worthier General may succeed me;
But none more faithful to the Emperour's Interest,
Than him you are pleas'd to call the Traytor, Marcian.

Pulch.
Come back, you have subtilly play'd your part indeed;
For first, th'Emperour whom you lately school'd,
Restores you your Commission; next commands you,
As you're a Subject not to leave the Court,
Next, but oh Heav'n! which way shall I express
His cruel Pleasure, he that is so mild
In all things else, yet obstinate in this,
Spite of my Tears, my Birth, and my Disdain,
Commands me, as I dread his high Displeasure,
O Marcian! to receive you as my Husband.

Marc.
Ha, Lucius! what, what does my Fate intend?

Luc.
Pursue her, Sir, 'tis as I said, she yields,
And rages that you follow her no faster!

Pulch.
Is then at last my great Authority,
And my intrusted Pow'r, declin'd to this?
Yet oh my Fate, what way can I avoid it!
He charg'd me streight to wait him to the Temple;
And there resolve! oh Marcian! on this Marriage.
Now generous Soldier, as you're truly noble;
O help me forth, lost in this Labyrinth;
Help me to loose this more than Gordian Knot,
And make me and your self for ever happy.

Marc.
Madam, I'll speak as briefly as I can,
And as a Soldier ought, the only way
To help this Knot is yet to tye it faster.
Since then the Emperor has resolv'd you mine,
For which I will for ever thank the Gods,
And make this Holy-day throughout my Life,
I take him at his word, and claim his promise;
The Empire of the World shall not redeem you.
Nay, weep not, Madam, though my out side's rough,
Yet, by those Eyes, your Soldier has a Heart
Compassionate and tender as a Virgins,
Ev'n now it bleeds to see those falling Sorrows,
Perhaps this Grief may move the Emperour
To a Repentance! Come then to the Tryal;
For by my Arms, my Life, and dearer Honour,
If you go back when given me by his Hand,
In distant Wars my Fate I will deplore,
And Marcian's Name shall ne'er be heard of more.

[Exeunt.
SCENE, the Temple.
Theodosius, Athenais, Atticus joyning their hands—Marcian, Pulcheria, Lucius, Juli a, Delia, &c. Leontine.
Attic.
The more than Gordian knot is ty'd,
Which Death's strong Arm shall ne'er divide;
For when to bliss ye wafted are,
Your Spirits shall be wedded there.
Waters are lost, and Fires will die;
But Love alone can Fate defie.

Enter Aranthes with the Body of Varanes.
Arant.
Where is the Empress? Where shall I find Eudosia?
By Fate I am sent to tell that cruel Beauty,
She has rob'd the World of Fame; her Eyes have giv'n
A blast to the big Blossom of the War;
Behold him there nipt in his flowry Morn,
Compell'd to break his promise of a Day;
A Day that Conquest would have made her Boast;
Behold her Lawrel wither'd to the Root,
Canker'd and kill'd by Athenais scorn.

Athen.
Dead! dead, Varanes!

Theo.
O ye Eternal Pow'rs
That guide the World! why do you shock our Reason,
With acts like these that lay our Thoughts in dust?
Forgive me Heav'n this start, or elevate
Imagination more, and make it nothing.
Alas! alas, Varanes! But speak, Aranthes,
The manner of his Fate: Groans choke my words;
But speak, and we will answer thee with Tears.

Arant.
His Fever would, no doubt, by this have done
What some few minutes past his Sword perform'd,
He heard from me your progress to the Temple,
How you design'd at midnight to deceive him,
By a Clandestine Marriage: But, my Lord,
Had you beheld his Racks at my Relation;
Or had your Empress seen him in those Torments,
When from his dying Eyes, swoln to the Brim,
The big round drops rowl'd down his manly Face;
When from his hallowed Breast a murmuring Croud
Of groans rush'd forth, and echo'd, All is well:
Then had you seen him! O ye cruel Gods!
Rush on the Sword I held against his Breast,
And dye it to the Hilts, with these last words—
Bear me to Athenais—

Athen.
Give me way, my Lord,
I have most strictly kept my promise with you,
I am your Bride, and you can ask no more,
Or if you did, I am past the power to give:
But here! oh here! on his cold bloody Breast,
Thus let me breath my last.

Theo.
O Empress, what, what can this transport mean?
Are these our Nuptials! these my promis'd Joys?

Athen:
Forgive me, Sir, this last respect I apy
These sad remains—And oh thou mighty Spiit,
If yet thou art not mingled with the Stars,
Look down and hear the wretched Athenais,
When thou shalt know, before I gave consent
To this indecent Marriage, I had taken
Into my Veins a cold and deadly Draught,
Which soon would render me, alas, unfit
For the warm Joys of an Imperial Lover,
And make me ever thine! yet keep my word
With Theodosius. Wilt thou not forgive me?

Theo.
Poison'd to free thee from the Emperor!
Oh, Athenais! thou hast done a deed
That tears my Heart! what have I done against thee,
That thou should'st brand me thus with Infamy
And everlasting shame! Thou might'st have made,
Thy choice without this cruel act of Death,
I left thee to thy will? and in requital
Thou hast murder'd all my Fame—

Athen.
O pardon me!
I lay my dying Body at your Feet,
And beg, my Lord, with my last sighs intreat you
To impute the fault, if 'tis a fault, to love;
And the ingratitude of Athenais,
To her too cruel Stars: Remember too,
I begg'd you would not let me see the Prince,
Presaging what has happen'd; yet my word,
As to our Nuptials was inviolable.

Theo.
Ha! she is going! see her languishing Eyes
Draw in their Beams; the sleep of death is on her.

Athen.
Farewell, my Lord! alas! alas, Varanes,
To embrace thee now is not immodesty;
Or if it were, I think my bleeding Heart,
Would make me criminal in Death to clasp thee,
Break all the tender niceties of Honour,
To fold thee thus, and warm thee into Life,
For oh what Man, like him, cou'd Woman move!
O Prince belov'd! O Spirit most divine!
Thus by my Death, I give thee all my Love,
And seal my Soul and Body ever thine—

[Dies.
Theo.
O Marcian! O Pulcheria! did not the Power,
Whom we adore plant all his Thunder-bolts
Against Self-murderers, I would perish too:
But as I am, I swear to leave the Empire:
To thee, my Sister, I bequeath the World;
And yet a gift more great the Gallant Marcian!
On then my Friend, now shew thy Roman Spirit:
As to her Sex, fair Athenais was,
Be thou to thine a Pattern of true Honour,
Thus we'll atone for all the present Crimes,
That yet it may be said in after-times,
No Age with such Examples cou'd compare,
So Great, so Good, so Vertuous, and so Fair!

[Ex. Omnes.