University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Sophronia, Justina.
Soph.
Aspar has promis'd all my Rage could wish,
And this Eudosia's Thrasimond shall find
His Hopes like sickly Flow'rs abortive Pride,
But feel an adverse Blast, and disappear.
He who could slight Sophronia's proffer'd Charms,
To doat and languish for a Slave's Embrace,
Shall with an unsuspected Tempest shake,
A Rival (in his Father) bear her from him:
Genseric for weighty Arguments of State
Shall court the Empress to his Crown and Bed,
And leave the groveling Thrasimond to know
Sophronia's dire Extremity of Anguish,
Divided Loves, and separated Hearts!

Just.
And how are you assur'd his Heart is hers?
Perhaps the Daughter's Charms may tempt him most.

Soph.
To think so, were to call him base indeed,
Add to my Torments, and to his Reproach.
No, 'tis th'Imperial Mother's fuller Bloom
Of perfect Beauties, Majesty and Soul,
That blinds the doating Thrasimond to me.
The Empress has him all, and curse me Jove,
If I could form a Wish of nobler Vengeance,
Than to stand by a Witness to each Pang,
Convulsive Throb, and rending of the Heart,
This Separation by his Duty aw'd,
This forc'd Concession to a Father's Joy,
Will from his Soul extort with Tears of Blood.
To view him plunder'd thus, his Heaven renounc'd,
Another in his place, great Gods! his Torture!

Just.
That, that would be Revenge!

Soph.
It would indeed;
Such as could only be improv'd by this,
To see the young, resenting, amorous Prince,
Throw the ungrateful Charmer from his Breast;
And to torment her Pride with new Desires,
Fierce Pangs, and anxious Burnings, languish here,
Here at my feet, Justina.

Just.
Yes, Madam, then
To triumph in your turn, to spurn him from you,
And pay with Interest back his first Disdain.

Soph.
There thou hast struck me in the tend'rest Vein,
The Woman and the Lover jar within me,
I cannot, dare not answer for my Constancy,
Put to so great a Trial; no, Justina,
I fear to say what Thoughts or what Resolves,
A Sight like that might teach me.

Soph.
How! what you?

Soph.
That former Burst of imprecating Rage
That pour'd forth all the direst, fiercest Vows
Of Malice, Vengeance, Cruelty, and Hate,
Was but, I fear, too much th'impetuous Proof
Of Passions unsuppress'd, and Love disguis'd;
And hottest was that Love, by how much more
My Rage was heighten'd and the Phrenzy swell'd.

Just.
Madam, the King is here.

Soph.
Confusion! how
Shall I conceal my Blushes and Disorder?

Enter Genseric, Honoric, and Aspar.
Gen.
You fly us, Madam, and indeed of late
To our no less Amazement than Concern,
We have remark'd a discontented Frown
Still gathering on your Brow at our Approach.
Have you or Grounds or Subject of Complaint?
Speak, and we hear thee: But I guess the Cause,
The Nuptial Rites have been delay'd too long,
The promis'd Pleasure sickens to the Thought,
And Expectation is at last grown weary.
I doubt not but you wonder at the Reason;
But rest assur'd we had a powerful Reason.

Soph.
Who shall controul your Will? You wrong my Soul,
To think from thence that I contract my Brow,
Accuse delaying Fate, or scowl at thee:
No, 'tis the Pride and Greatness of my Mind,
That knows whene'er my Presence is offensive,
And learns me thus to ease myself and you.
[Exit Sophronia.

Gen.
Act as you please, and tremble they who fear
Thy feeble Rage, and impotent Designs;
A more important Care takes up my Thoughts.
Say, Honoric, canst thou love this haughty Maid?
Open thy Mind, unaw'd and unreserv'd;
'Tis true I found it for my Safety once,
When Africk's murmuring Regions brook'd but ill
A Conqueror's Reign, and stood in Arms against me,
To heal the publick Difference and the War,
T'engage thy Faith to this Sophronia, then
Heiress o'th' Realm; but now those Days are past,
The City's free from Mutiny, the Court
Unpoison'd by Cabals or State-Intrigues,
The Party-Clamours hush'd, and Faction dead:
Nor, tho this Calm has cost us Seas of Blood,
Can I descend to think the Purchase dear.
Here, Honoric, I acquit thee from each Tye,
Each prior Obligation of my own,
Chuse for thyself of all our Beauties one,
To be the happy Partner of thy Bed,
As Nature dictates, and thy Heart inclines.

Hon.
My ever-gracious Lord, that Choice be yours:
My Heart, my Soul, my Passions and Desires
Are all resign'd and wait on your Commands;
Propose the Object of my Love or Hate,
Your Will and Honoric's Duty are the same.
Or to Sophronia, or another join
This Son, or keep him unacquainted still
With the enervate Joys of Hymen's Slaves,
You'll find him Honoric, and your Son in all:
Ambition is my Fav'rite Mistress now,
The rugged Camp, shrill Fife, or glitt'ring Spear,
The darling Conversation I adore.

Gen.
By Heav'n I like this mounting of the Soul,
That far out-soars thy Father's lavish Hopes,
That hunts bright Honour thro each puzzl'd Path;
And bravely prizes Glory by the Toils
That block the dang'rous, terrible Ascent.
Yet Thrasimond by Birth succeeds to Empire,
An elder Brother snatches thy Reward;
And tho my Heart prefers thee in my Love,
I yet, in spite of me, foresee the Day
That thou must pay a Subject's Homage there,
Unless we make the present Minutes ours,
And add a foreign Sceptre to our own:
I'll lay the golden Prospect to thy view;
Pursue the great Temptation, fix Success,
And satiate thy Ambition with a Crown.

Hon.
'Tis greatly thought.

Gen.
And may be greatly executed too:
Weigh but each Circumstance of Time and Things,
All correspond, and promise certain Aid.
Our Magazines are stor'd, Fleet stoutly mann'd,
Our Coffers rich, each warlike Sinew strong;
The neighb'ring Princes weak in every Part,
Exhausted by the Length of former Wars,
Enjoy the present Truce, indulge secure
The short-liv'd Slumbers of a fancy'd Peace,
Themselves and their Suspicions all asleep,
What hinders but we make th'Advantage sure?
But then, my Son, what Colour shall we use,
To gild this Rupture with a Face of Justice?
How can we draw the giddy Rabble in,
But with the subtle Countenance of Right?

Hon.
What Right but that of Conquest can we claim?

Gen.
I have, my Son, a Marriage in my Thoughts,
Would give a glorious Sanction to our Cause,
And yield us all our Hopes: You shall be join'd,
Not to Sophronia, alt'ring Time has render'd
A Match impolitick and useless there:
Eudosia, Daughter to Rome's Captive Empress
(Gain but her Hand) can justify a War,
And give thee Title to the Roman Empire:
Her Father's Death, her Mother's forc'd Alliance
With Maximus, his Tyranny and Guilt,
Great Motives of Revenge, and Spurs to Conquest.
That boasted Mistress of the World lies now
Dispirited beneath a Load of Woes,
Open to War, and prostrate to thy Sword,
Shews but a Mournful Remnant of its Greatness;
Where Grandeur swell'd, and Temples blaz'd with Gold,
A pillag'd Country, and a desart World.

Hon.
And how will they admit that Son to reign,
Whose Father's Hands struck deepest in their Ruin,
And ravag'd 'mongst the foremost of their Foes?

Gen.
The Name of Foe will be expung'd in thee,
When wedded to that Roman Monarch's Blood,
Whose Memory lives worship'd with their Gods.
Nay more, I've secret Friends, and great ones too,
By Birth tho Romans, Vandals in their Hearts,
And to our Int'rest firm: it rests in you
To make the Princess yours, but that's a Task
Where all the pow'rful Eloquence of Love,
Insinuating Arts, and Court-Address,
Must be apply'd to melt her to your Wishes;
For know, her Pride is equal to her Birth.

Hon.
She knows not then—

Gen.
[Exit Honoric.

Asp.
To make both more propitious to their Vows,
Then join your Houses by a double Match,
Whilst Hon'ric woos the Princess to his Bed,
Suppose the Mother worthy of your own:
Her Soul, her Beauty, and illustrious Birth,
All answer to your Honour and your Rank.

Gen.
Ill-judging Policy! A Marriage there
Would be the surest Bar to my Designs!
Can the yet-bleeding States of Italy
So soon forget whose Invitation drew
My Sword of Desolation thro the Land,
Then to behold the Authors of their Woes
So close ally'd?—Distraction would ensue!
Would their imbitter'd Wounds then teach them aught
But Curses, Hate, and Vengeance on us both?

Asp.
Their Hate, so deeply grounded, might as well
Extend to all the Family.

Gen.
Aspar, No.
What has Rome suffer'd from the Daughter's Hand?
How can it then impute its Wrongs to her?
Of Years too young, too innocent to mix
In such important enterprizing Counsels,
Urg'd by no Views of vengeful Malice; she
Into its Bosom call'd no foreign Foe.
But, Aspar, I have farther Reasons still,
And foreign to the Policies of State:
My Humour and my Age oppose the Match.
The Empress is a Woman fierce and proud,
Nor to be won with ease the common Way:
'Tis not a Sigh, sad Look, or soft'ning Tear
Can again upon her Soul; her Pride expects
An Age of awful Servitude and Homage,
Assiduous Watchings, Languishments, and Racks,
To recommend the Slave she deigns to hear.

Asp.
Think not, my Lord, she can, or dare be cruel.

Gen.
Aspar, I'd tear my Heart out sooner, far,
Than yield Dominion to this Rebel Passion!
If I have lov'd, I lov'd but for an Hour;
Instant Fruition gave me present ease:
I cannot, will not wait a slow Return.
Dull Expectations are for vulgar Lovers,
A Monarch's Time wears precious, and disdains
To be expended at a Woman's Feet!

Asp.
But tell her that you love, and leave to me
To let her know the Worth of such a Conquest.

Gen.
All thy Endeavours are superfluous still
T'enslave thy Master, and enflame my Breast:
I am not to be talk'd into a Lover.
Aspar, 'tis time you seek the Empress out,
And let her know my Purpose to procure
The Union of our Houses: But she comes!
Now Courtesy and Flatt'ry, aid me all
To bend this stubborn, this imperious Spirit,
That has withstood a Series of Misfortunes;
Unyielding, unsubdu'd, and still the same.

Enter Empress.
Gen.
Madam, at length our Hatred dates its End;
On a King's Word, you shall again be free,
Again shall you enjoy the Banks of Tyber:
A hundred thousand of my choicest Troops
Shall be your Safeguard, and conduct you there;
All forfeit Life, or re-establish you:
Myself in Person swear to lead them on.
Nay, doubt not this; for by the God of War,
By ev'ry Pow'r of Heav'n and Earth, I here—

Emp.
Gens'ric, Reserve those Oaths t'impose on Minds
More easy, and more credulous than mine.
They cannot cheat Resentments like my own,
Too much already, and too long deceiv'd!
Let Chains, and Deaths, and Lybia's groaning States,
And all thy Tyrant Impositions there,
Teach me to credit an Usurper's Faith.

Gen.
Is Faith that poor imaginary Virtue,
That Dream, to preach a King into a Slave?
The Statesman only makes it serve a Turn,
And soon dispenses with the brittle Tie.
But, Madam, your Afflictions are not yet
Past Remedy; you shall be carry'd back
In Pomp and Honour to your native Rome:
To do you Grace, myself will wait you there.

Emp.
Has Rome more Treasures left to pillage, then?

Gen.
You do me wrong, 'tis for your sake alone.

Emp.
For mine! 'Tis falsly judg'd, to think that I
Can give you Colour for a second War.
Would you revisit Rome, resolve on some
New Motive, some more plausible Pretence.

Gen.
I here propose the Union of our Houses;
To join our Int'rests, and conclude our Jars:
Let this evince how much I am sincere.

Emp.
Unite with thee! Oh! sooner, sooner far,
The Poles shall meet, and Contraries agree;
Th'Antipathies of Nature be forgot;
Wolves graze with Lambs, and Vultures roost with Doves;
The Wretch that's stung, with fatal Mercy nurse
The Viper in his Breast, than we forget
To hate eternally thy Race, and thee.

Gen.
Nay, storm not, this is what I gladly wish
Accomplish'd for the Int'rest of us both;
And in behalf of Honoric, my Son,
The Benefit I offer to your House,
With Joy attend, with Gratitude embrace.
I make you Mistress of the Roman Empire,
As soon as Hymen's sacred Rites unite
The Princess and my Son.

Emp.
My Daughter, ha!
I'd rather plunge a Dagger in her Breast,
And save the Glory of our spotless Race,
Than see the hated Coupling: curs'd Idea!
Change, change, my Lord, this generous Design,
'Tis too much Honour for our hopeless State:
For shame! what, Honoric wed his Father's Slave!
And will he stoop to such Indignity?
He cannot, sure, approve it: For myself,
I could with fuller Satisfaction meet
Befriending Death, than such a wond'rous Bounty.

Gen.
This is too much; but I advise you, Madam,
Henceforth beware, nor urge my Fury more:
Learn, with becoming Thanks, to prize the Glory
A Victor and a King descends to proffer.
Ha! know you, with one Nod, like Jove, I could—

Emp.
What could'st thou do? Speak out, I scorn to tremble;
And, Blusterer, dare thy Menaces their worst.
Oh! would thy Rage be once severely kind,
And end this hated, this inglorious Life,
I'd bless relenting Fate, and pardon thee;
But thou'rt my Tyrant, and my Curse in all:
I beg but Death, and thou deny'st me that.

Gen.
Those only wish to die who fear to live,
Fetter'd with Guilt, Reflection, and Remorse,
Made Cowards by an Age of former Crimes:
Hence this Distaste of Life, these desperate Thoughts.

Emp.
But those who know no Crimes, know no Remorse.

Gen.
Can'st thou acquit thyself? Think, think again,
What was the Death of Maximus? He was—

Emp.
A Villain, and a Tyrant like thyself.
Oh! could I, to th'all-searching Conscience here,
But answer ev'ry Action of my Life
With equal Boldness, as that glorious Deed
That compass'd my resolv'd, my just Revenge
On him by whom my former Husband fell,
That durst aspire, and did by Force succeed
My Valentinian in his Throne and Bed!
I suffer'd him to wed me, gave my Hand,
When most my Heart was meditating Vengeance,
I yielded to his Wishes and Embrace,
But as the surest Method to destroy:
And let the future World learn this from me,
Where Injuries deeply strike, those patient Slaves
That feel their Smart, yet dare not to revenge 'em,
Like flying Soldiers, mark'd with shameful Scars,
Disgrace their Beings, and deserve their Wounds.

Gen.
I understand you, Madam, and, indeed,
This Spirit of Revenge, and Thirst of Blood,
Speak the ambitious Race from whence you sprung;
All Italy has curs'd its fatal Guilt.

Emp.
And Carthage may have cause to curse it too.
The Princess is my Daughter, and, be cautious:
Each Maxim of her Mother's was impress'd
And grafted early on her Infant Mind.
She knows the noble Soul that suffers Wrong
Demands as great a Vengeance to appease it:
Timely retract the Honour you vouchsafe her;
Nor rashly covet an Alliance there,
The Blood of Theodosius swells her Veins.
Know you what Opportunity of Justice
Her Rage may seize to vindicate our Wrongs?
That Head may be in danger even here.

Gen.
This Insolence instructs me to beware.
Yes, I will guard this Head. But, Madam, hear me;
Look to't, your Daughter, e'er the Morning's Dawn.
Vouchsafes a quick Compliance to our Will,
Or I may take my turn to threaten next:
Know, 'tis enough that I command it so.
She comes! I'll leave you to consult yourselves.

[Exeunt Gen. and Aspar.
Enter Eudosia.
Emp.
Daughter, you're yet a Stranger to your Fate:
Gens'ric has chose a Husband for your Bed.

Eud.
For mine! From whence this insolent Proceeding?
Am I at his Dispose?

Emp.
He thinks, indeed,
He does thee too much Honour by his Choice,
When he prefers thee to a Son of his.

Eud.
A Son of his, ha! Honoric's betroth'd;
And Thrasimond—But, Madam, to your Will,
I am a Daughter, and Obedience all.

Emp.
I see the fond Delusion of thy Hopes:
Daughter, you love the Prince, and love him still.
Thy Mother gives Consent; nay, bids thee bless
A Youth, so well deserving of us both,
Who views our Mis'ries, and his Father's Crimes,
With just Disdain, and sympathizing Woe,
Sever'd by Virtue from his barbarous Race.
But, oh! prepare thee for a Shock beyond
His former Insults, or these servile Chains.
Maugre the Faith of Oaths, this Tyrant King,
In bold defiance to the Gods and Justice,
Breaks with Sophronia thro each sacred Tie,
And gives her promis'd Honoric to you.

Eud.
Unhappy Revolution! Can it be?

Emp.
So sure, so dreadful is it, only he,
That Prince you love, is able to prevent it:
Tell him the threatned Wrong, implore his Aid;
He is the Idol in the publick Eye,
The Promise and the Hope of ev'ry Heart:
And if he loves, what dares not Love attempt,
To force thy Rescue from a Rival's Triumph?

Eud.
Instead of hazarding a Life so dear,
Should I explain my Sorrows to his Brother;
Could he then dare—

Emp.
Alas! What dares he not?
'Tis not for Love that he aspires to thee,
But as the Ladder to the Roman Empire.
His Race, his Pride, and his Ambition's known:
We know him, base, and cruel as he is,
The fav'rite Heir of all his Father's Crimes.

Eud.
And can we count so many neigb'ring Realms,
Confederate Nations, and Allies to Rome,
Yet none to rescue her Imperial Blood
From these Barbarian Insults? Where is fled
That dreaded Roman Spirit, that of old
Inform'd her Heroes with the Souls of Gods?

Emp.
That Glory is eclips'd; the present Rome
Is but a shameful Shadow of the old:
We're beaten and despis'd, the Roman Virtue,
And far-fam'd Roman Grandeur, are no more.
Oh, Italy! Oh miserable Country!
Once was't thou stil'd the Arbiter of Kings,
Th'expanded Globe, all bending to thy Laws;
But Heav'n has now forsook thee in its Vengeance:
Thy Crimes have made thee weak; yes, yes, 'twas those,
Not Genseric raz'd thy Temples to the ground;
By those thy costly Palaces have blaz'd,
And we, tho guiltless, feel the Guilty's Fate:
Not one Ally will arm in our Defence;
The Wife and Daughters of those Godlike Men,
That were the boasted Masters of the World,
Groan unassisted in a State of Bondage.

Eud.
Oh! that a speedy Death would give us that
The Coward Martian dares not undertake!

Emp.
Slave to an Oath, which once redeem'd his Life,
He vainly pities what he fears to aid.
Go, Daughter, find out Thrasimond, make him
The Witness of thy Tears, and thy Distress,
Let him the Father's Tyranny atone,
Espouse thy Cause, and make thy Wrongs his own.