University of Virginia Library

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.