University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A Grove, at the end of it, a Magnificent Temple: Solemn Musick is heard at a Distance.
Enter Perennius and Lætus.
Per.
She's gon! Oh! Lætus! Portia's gon for ever!
This Night, this very Hour, within yon Temple,
That rough hewn Soldier, Martian, bears her from me!
What is Perennius now? What his Glory?
His boasted Favour with Romes Emperor?
The feeble Exhalation of a Night,
That strikes a Terror into none but Boys.
For what are all that dread me here but Boys?
The only Man, Rome holds, contemns my Frowns.

Lætus.
'St not so loud within the sacred Grove,
Or you disturb the holy Juglers Omens.

Per.
Oh! that I durst disturb the hated Rites,
That rob me of my Peace, and of my Love!
Snatch the bright Maid from the pale quaking Priests,
Rifle her Sweets ev'n in the awful Temple,
And break the sullen Malice of my Fate.

Læt.
Now, by the God's, why loose you thus your Temper,
In impotent Complainings on your Fate?
If you want Power to supplant your Rival,
Exert the States-man, and contrive Revenge.

Per.
VVhat can I think? or how can I contrive?
VVhose ruffl'd Thoughts in mad Confusion rowl?
The different Gusts of Hope, Desire, Despair,
Rage, and Revenge drive on the furious Billows,
And to a Hurrican toss up th'impetuous Storm,
That wrecks my Temper, sinks my cooler Counsels,
And leaves me without Refuge from Destruction.

Læt.
Come smooth this rapid Tempest to a calm;
A minutes Calm may safely make the Port.
Think of the Emperor; you know the ways
To twist, and wind him as your Interest leads:
You feed his changeful Appetite with Pleasures;
His Anger, and his Smiles are at your beck;
If Martian like a Gyant scale your Heav'n,
Make your fond Jove destroy him with his Bolts.

Per.
Alas! I've try'd my Pow'r with him in vain,
In only this he's fixt against my Will.
Martian alone, of all his Father's Friends,
Yet braves the Shock of my destroying Hand.
Here I am soil'd, for like a vast Colossus,
He stands too firm, and mighty for my Gripe.

Læt.
He must be undermin'd then—
Call to your Aid, the well known Arts of Court,
Those sure can shake the Emperor's Resolves?

Per.
Oh! 'tis not to be done,
I've try'd him in his Wantonness of Favour.
His peevish Gratitude for Life receiv'd,
From Martian's Hands surrounds him as a Bullwark.

Læt.
Despair not yet, for you will surely have her;
The Wife perverts the Virtue of the Maid,
And Husband warms her for the Lover's Arms.

Per.
Oh! no, she's Virtue all, and stubborn Chastity,
Cold as th'Isicles of severest Winter,
Unsully'd, as the Rose within the Bud,
Before the Morning Sun has kiss'd it open.
I tell thee, I may as well hope to possess
A Goddess, Diana's self, as Portia;
She has no Pride for Flattery to work on;
The Vanity and Follys, that betray the rest
Of Womankind, lose all their Force on her.

Læt.
Believe not that, Nature has made 'em all
Of the same Various, and inconstant Mould:
When the gay Bait is fitted to their Tast,
They change, and clasp the sweet Temptation fast:
Remember she is Woman Sir—
Woman, that loves with Violence to Day,
Is cold to Morrow, and ev'n hates the next day.
Remove your Rival, as I'll shew the means;
Then time, and the soft Dalliance of Court,
And warm Adresses of a vigorous Lover,
Will melt her waxen Virtues down before you,
Deface the old, and make what new Impression
You shall like best—

Per.
Proceed.

Læt.
'Tis not th'Emperor's Gratitude preserves him,
You know him better—for himself's the Center
To all the Motions of his Love, or Hate.
He thinks he holds the Soldiers firmer to him,
By giving them their Darling for their Leader.
Since on their fickle Wills his Empire hangs.
He wou'd repose that Trust, where most secure;
And Martian's oft try'd Loyalty perswades him,
That he has his, as he the Armys Hearts.
But prove him false, you rouze his Native Fears,
And ev'n his Doubts will fix his certain Ruine.
For when he doubts, no longer he will trust him,
And Safety bids him end his Trust with Death.

Per.
But for this Proof, my precious dear Contriver.

Læt.
Produce you me, to charge the Treason home,
You can't want swearing Rogues enough to vouch it;
That is a Trade in Rome, Families live by't,
And never blush to own their Occupation.
Enforce but you his Popularity,
His ancient Junian Race, that twice freed Rome:
Shew how h'affects their old Roman Manners,
Ev'n in his wedding Revives th'Obsolete Rites
Of Conferreation; his nice Palate
Can rellish nothing of our present Times.
Th'Emperor's Fears will swell the Fantom so,
He'll fly like Lightning to the Holy Temple,
And crush him in the very Hour of Bliss.

Per.
There may be Life in this, I like it well,
I'll winnow so his Looks, his Words, and Actions,
That I will shew he's more of Chaff, than Corn.
Snatch we this Moment, this white Lock of Time,
Before he comes here to these damn'd Espousals.
Ha! let's away, for see the Pomp draws nigh,
Follow'd by Portia, and the fatal Martian.
I cannot bear the sight: I'll blast his Joys,
And in the Harbour of his full fraught Wishes,
Sink the gay Pinnace with her goodly Cargo.

(Exeunt Ambo.

SCENE II.

Enter Flamens, Augurs, and Pontifices in their Robes, follow'd by Heautboys, Flutes, and Trumpets, after them the Camilli with the Sacrificing Vessels in their Hands, with the Officers of the Sacred Rites; next the Auspices, then the Flamen Dialis, the Camillus Puer, and Portia led by three Boys, follow'd by Martian. As the Pomp passes on Martian and Portia come forward.
Mar.
Enter Aurelian.
(They Embrace.

Aur.
My Master, Brother, Father, Friend! Oh! thou
Dearer to me far than Fame, or Victory.

Por.
My Brother!

Aur.
My Sister too! this gives a double Pleasure
(They Embrace.
For my past Fears, to find thee thus secur'd
From the Assaults of the injurious Court.

Mar.
Her Roman Vertue is her surest Guard.
Is not this Triumph worth a Soldier's Toyl?
So brave a Friend, a Wife so wondrous good?
Oh! m' unruly Joys!—give, give you Gods,
Your glitt'ring Boons of Gold, of Pow'r, and State,
To those mean Souls, who think 'em worth their Hopes;
I'll not have less, nor can you give me more
Than full Possession, of my present Store.

Por.
You see my Love the Rites attend us!

Mar.
Proceed.
(As she's led forward, she looks back on Martain.
O! my Friend, support me!
A sudden shiv'ring shoots through all my Veins,
As cold, and chilling, as the hand of Fate.
For as my gentle Portia parted from me,
Methought she grew all pale, and wan, as Death.
Now by the Gods, the dreadful Fantom works so,
I cannot bear the ghastly Image of it.

Au.
'Tis but the Deluge of too mighty Pleasure,
That bears your Spirits down th'impetuous Stream.
The shock will soon be over.

Mar.
O! it is more, and Fate I feel is in it;
The Gods are angry at my Happiness!

Aur.
Have they not Reason think you?

Mar.
Ha!

Aur.
When you amidst this Hurricane of Nature,
And all th'expiring Gasps of falling Rome,
Deaf to their Calls, are lost in lazy Love?

Mar.
Touch not my Love, I charge thee, touch not that.

Aur.
Ha! but I must, I came to rouze you from it.
Is it for naught d'ye think, that the Wise Gods
Send such amazing Prodigies among us?
Nothing but wild Confusion is all round,
Nature seems sick, and these her dying Pangs,
The Sun, her Soul, shines with diminish'd Light,
Or rather sheds a gloomy Twi-light on us;
No genial Heat to raise the sickly Herbage,
And cheer the drooping Reliques of Mankind.
The Earth, as weary of her guilty Burthen,
With dire Convulsions ope's her Pond'rous Jaws,
And sucks whole Cities with their People down.
The Sea swells o're its ancient Boundaries,
And drowns whole Countries; thro' the Air are heard
Sad hollow Groans, and lamentable Screams,
That kill like Mandrake's Shreiks, all those that hear 'em.
And is this then a time for Bridal Joys?

Mar.
Ha this! all this! and from my Portia's, Brother!

Aur.
Pardon me Sir, I taste the noble Honour
You design her, but must prefer my Country
To all, to ev'ry Good, that's meerly mine.
His Countrys Glory is the Soldier's Idol!
For 'tis for her he toyls in Forreign Camps;
She cools his Heats, and warms his friezing Limbs;
Fires his large Soul with that Immortal Fury,
That with undaunted Ardor hunts her Foes
Through all the bloody Tempest of the Field.
The Gods selects us Soldiers from Mankind,
To give our Country's Safety to our Care;
Shall we betray that Trust then, Who shou'd guard it,
And while her harrass'd Armies starve abroad,
Here see her rifl'd by Domestick Spoilers,
The pointed Dagger levell'd at her Heart,
And loose the Sense of it in unmanly Pleasures?
O! Virtue, Honour, whether are you fled?
When Martian has forgot your glorious Charms!

Mar.
Enough my Friend, I own the guilty Charge,
Thou'st got the start of me in Glorys Race,
I own I've been a Lag; all shall be mended,
And Rome shall find, that I've not yet forgot her;
Be but thou still my Friend.

Aur.
Oh Sir, for ever!
Be sure of that, not all the Shocks of Fortune,
Or wearing time shall e'r pervert my Faith.

Mar.
Then let's away, I'll to my Portia's Bosome,
And in that Aromatic Flame
Burn off the Dregs that clog my rising Soul;
And on the Eagle of her soaring Virtues,
As from th'Imperial Funeral Pile;
Mount up the Roman's just avenging God.
And purge their City from the filty Herd
Of Pimps, Bawds, Flatterers, Informers, Ruffians,
Userers, and Betrayors of the public Good,
Exert the Soldier in this noble Cause,
And fix their Freedom, and restore the Laws.

Aur.
Bravely resolv'd, away then to the Temple,
And thence to cheer your longing Army's Hearts.

Mar.
It shall be so but see th'Emp'rour comes,
And with him Perennius,
That Monstrous Birth of prostituted Favour.

(Exeunt.
Enter Emperor, Perennius, Lætus, and Train. Perennius, and Lætus seem to speak to him as he enters.
Em.
There needs no more, you've made his Guilt most plain,
And he shall find that Galienus will not
Bear his Wrongs like a poor Tame Plebeian;
For I will punish him, as he deserves:
Nor shall the awful Temple there protect him,
I'll treat my Justice with ingenious Mischief,
Ev'n to the height, and wantonness of Revenge.

(Pass on to the Temple.)
Scene opens and discovers a magnificent Temple; during the Ceremony the Emperor gazes earnestly on Portia.

The Solemn Invocation and Music.
O Juno! Suadela! O Mighty Jove,
Diana! and thou brightest Queen of Love,
Who, o're our Nuptial Rites preside,
Show'r united Blessings on our beauteous Bride.
Give her Health, and give her Joy,
Give her ev'ry Year a Boy,
Brave as his Father, as his Mother Good,
Full of the Virtues of his ancient Blood.
Send us kind Omens while aloud we Sing,
Jo! Thalassius! Jo! Jo! Thalassius! Jo! Jo!

When the last Chorus is sung, the Flamen Dialis leads Portia to touch the Fire, and the Water on the Altar, as another Flamen does Martian, they cross, so that while one touches the Fire, the other touches the Water, and when the Chorus is done, the Flamen Dialis asks Martian, Will you Caius have Caia to be your Wife? He answers Yes; Then he asks Portia, Will you Caia have Caius to be your Husband? As she's going to answer, the Emperor steps between, and separates them.
Emp.
No, by the Gods, I swear it ne'r shall be,
Sooner shall Tygers wed the bleating Sheep,
And Birds engender with the baleful Serpent;
Sooner shall all Extreams unite, than thou, and Portia

Mar.
Gods—good Gods fix my staggering Piety.
That I don't violate your holy Dwellings!

Por.
Alas! my Boding fears! what means the Emperour?

Emp.
To snatch thee from Perdition, from a Traytor.

Mar.
Traytor, ha!—What Villain has traduc'd me?
And is my Virtue so unknown to you?

Emp.
Traduce thee? Oh! Impudence, Oh! acted Virtue!
With such false Baits you catch my needless People
To back your Treasons; but I'll crush thee Scorpion,
And heal the Wound up with thy guilty Blood.

Mar.
Produce the Villain that will dare t'accuse me?

Emp.
It is enough, that I'm convinc'd, 'tis true.

Mar.
It is too much, too much, ingrateful Prince;
Have I for this, upheld thy sinking State,
And stem'd the Torrent of o'rflowing Foes,
That from each side came rowling in upon thee?

Aur.
Oh! have but Patience; do not fix your Ruine.

Mar.
Preach Patience to the Winds or raging Fires;
They'l sooner hear thee. Shall I bear my Wrongs
Like Boys, and Women with secret Moans, and Tears?
No, by the Gods, I'll urge his Baseness home,
Upbraid him with Ingratitude to's Face.
Have I not left the sweets of downy Peace,
For the fierce Shock of Weather, and of War,
The parching Heats, and the bleak friezing Colds,
To keep thee safe in thy inglorious Ease?
Have I not spent whole sleepless Nights in Arms,
To keep your lazy Slumbers here unbroken,
On Beds of Roses with lewd Whores, and Boys?
Whilst the Ambition of your mighty Mind
Soar'd not above some Kitchen Mystery,
And durst not hear the Battles that I sought.

Emp.
Ha! durst not hear 'em? Base detracting Envy,
Be Witness all how I disdain this Boaster.
(Pauses a little.
He knows it well, when Fury once prevail'd,
(For I slight War, not out of Fear, but Choice)
How I like Mars in the Phlegrean Plains,
Quash'd stern Ingenuus, and drove home the Goths,
Whose numerous Swarms struck Rome it self with Terror.

Mar.
It was a Start quite from thy Native Bent,
And yet ev'n then thy Cruelty burst out,
With wild Delight enjoy'd the bloody Field,
VVanton'd in Goar, and dimn'd your brightest Action.
Like a wide wasting Plague, y'impeopl'd Countries
That own'd the Roman Pow'r, you then had fal'n
A Victim to th'avenging Army's Rage,
Had not my misplac'd Love most timely quell'd 'em.

Em.
I'll hear no more.—

Mar.
You dare not, by the Gods!
You dare not hear how much you are indebted,
Because you have resolv'd you ne'r will pay.
Your Life you owe me; and your Empire too;
To me you owe the Pow'r, by which you wrong me.
If you not like it, why return the Gift.

Emp.
This Insolence is never to be born—
Guards seize the Traytor, I'm not safe ev'n here.

Mar.
Oh! the just Gods!— pauses a little
—but I deserve it all!
For if I am a Traytor 'tis to Rome.
To let this purple Monster lay her wast.
For she derives her Sufferings all from me,
Her VVidow'd Matron's Pangs, her Orphan's Tears,
Her ravish'd Virgins, and her murther'd Fathers.
For 'twas from me she took thee for her Lord.

Emp.
It is enough—there needs no farther Proof,
Away with him

Por.
O! Emperor hear me, hear the wretched Portia!
If ever gentle Pity touch'd your Soul,
For Honour, and for Justice hear me speak!

Mar.
Kneel not to him, nor urge him by such Motives,
How can he pitty us that sports with Murther?
And laughs at all the Groans of gasping Rome?
How can the source of daily Wrongs love Justice?
Or Honour move his mean degenerate Heart,
That leaves his noble Father still in Bonds,
The shameful Footstool of the Persian King,
Who, still unpunish'd when he mounts his Horse,
Treads on the hoary Majesty of Rome.

Emp.
What e'er he does the Majesty of Rome
Shall not be bearded in th'imperial City.
Therefore away with him to the Tarpeian Rock.

Por.
Stay, stay till I've spoke but to the Emperor.
To the Guards.
O! Sir, consider, will you kill your Soldier?
Kneels again.
Your Empire's Guard, and for a few rash words?
Forc'd from him by this Burst of sudden woe?
To have me snatch'd from his impatient Arms,
Ev'n in the brightest shine of his full hopes!
To lose me when he most did think me his!
Oh! 'tis enough to make him talk, and rave!

Emp.
Rise Noble Portia, I must not let you kneel.

Port.
O! I will kneel as long as I have Life;
Till I can move your cruel Breast to Pity.
Think what it is to lose a thing you love,
Though but a Trifle, and as he loves me,
For Oh! he loves me; good Gods how he does love me!
His very Soul is bound up in my Faith;
I'm sure 'twould kill him should I speak unkindly;
Indeed it wou'd; and when you drag me from him,
You tear the very Strings of his poor Heart.
Think what the wild convulsive pangs of Love,
Of wondrous Love, wou'd force your Tongue to speak!

Emp.
Well Madam, you've Charms I find that will prevail;
His Life I give you, ev'n against my Peace;
But see you learn Compassion from me, Fair One,
I shall expect it.—

Mar.
Barbarian, I dispise thee, and thy Pity.
I charge thee do not dare to banish me,
For if thou dost—

Por.
O! do not rouse his Wrath I've lull'd asleep:
But with me kneel, and own the generous Gift.

Mar.
How! Portia? is this kind to thank the Tyrant
For the extent, and utmost stretch of's Malice!
Life without thee is lingring on the Rack.

Por.
Ha! without me? forbid it ye just Pow'rs!
No, I will wander with thee through the World;
Through the bad World, to find out a Retreat
from Villany; for Virtue, and for Love.
Come let's away, for Exile's only here.

Emp.
Go see him strait without the City Gates.
To the Guards.
Hold, Madam, you must stay and shine in Rome;
Taking hold of her Hand.
The leading Star of all her glittering Host.

Por.
Stand off— Snatching her Hand away, and flying to Martian, catches hold of his Arm amidst the Guards.

For I'll go with my Lord, my Love!
Thus will I cling to him as long as I have Life:
Not Death it self shall loose my eager hold.

Emp.
Dogs, Hell, and Furies, am I not obey'd?
Cut off the Traytor's Arm, ev'n in her grasp?
And drag him hence, and drive him out of Rome;
If he comes back, he dyes.

Por.
Oh! hurt not him; for see my Hands are loos'd.

(The Guards struggle, and offering to cut his Arm, she lets go.
Mar.
Dogs! barbarous Tyrant! bloody Villains!

(He's born out.
Por.
Stay, take one parting Kiss, stay prithee do;
Stay but a Moment, for I've much to say,
Believe me constant, think me thine for ever.
Not Racks, nor Torture shall pervert my Faith!
Oh let me hear from thee! each tedious Minute,
I'll send thee back my restless Throws and Pangs,
My eager Longings, and my raving Wishes.
Looking up and about.
Ha! he is gone! torn from my panting Bosome!
Torn from me in the Temple, at the Altar!
Revenge it Gods upon this bloody Tyrant!
Pour on his guilty Head, Distress and Ruin,
Poverty, Contempt, Rebellion, Slavery,
Knawing Diseases, Leprosies, Plagues, and Famine!
Blast all his Hopes, and Wishes in Enjoyment!
Seize him ye Furies, sink him, plunge him in profoundest Hell:
For my poor Martian! for my injur'd Martian!

Aurel.
[Aside ...]
Forgive me Friendship, if I'm silent now;
Or seem to break thy holy Laws to keep 'em!
It is the only means of dear Revenge;
If I dissemble well, I gain the Pow'r
To crush the Tyrant, and restore my Friend [... Aside]


Emp.
Wrong not thy Vertue thus for a black Traytor,
But lift thy Eyes up to a Monarch's Love.

(To Portia, offering her his Hand.
Por.
Ha! Love from thee!—blasted be thy Tongue,
That spoke the guilty word! thy Mind that form'd it!
I ne'er shall fall from the auspicious Height
Of Martian's Love, to th'low Abyss of thine.
O! no! the vast Descent's too terrible,
And my Soul sickens at the dreadful View:
Avant, be gone, nor with one touch pollute me.

(Starts away from him.
Aurel.
Forbear my Sister, before the awful Gods,
T'affront their Srored Image in your Prince!
But know the generous Honour, that he means you;
And let me give you to his Royal Arms.

Por.
Is it Aurelian spoke those guilty words?
Sure 'tis impossible! desert thy noble Friend
On the first shock of his unequal Fortune?

Aur.
No Friend can ballance with my Emperor's Will:
He, and the Gods, require our first Obedience.
Nor shall you fondly throw away their Blessing.

Por.
O Martian! Martian! How wilt thou believe it.
A part of me is false to thee already?
Oh! Where is Virtue fled? Apostate Wretch!
How I dispise thee, and disclaim thy Blood!
(pauses a little.
Oh! break my Heart, this is too much to bear!
Stand off, and give me Room, that I may dye,
I will not stay in this contagious World!
O let me fly aloft to the great Gods,
And snatch their idle Thunder to destroy you!
Oh! Oh! Oh!

(Faints away.
Emp.
Ha! by the Gods, she faints! go bear her gently
To the Imperial Pallace; Quiet, and Musick
May smooth, and lull this Frenzy of her Mind.
Come to my Arms, my Brother now, and Friend,
(to Aurel.
Thy Zeal for me shall meet a just Reward;
The Prize thou giv'st, deserves my Diadem!
For on her Love depends thy Emperor's Life.
Bound with these Bonds, my Empire thou shalt share.
Thine be the rugged Glories of the War,
And mine the boundless Joys of this soft yielding Fair.