University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Æcius Solus. A Letter.
Æcius.
Look down, ye equal Gods, and guide my heart,
Or it will throw upon my hands an act
Which after Ages shall record with horror:
As well may I kill my offended Friend,
As think to punish my offending Prince.
The Laws of Friendship we our selves create,
And 'tis but simple Villany to break 'em;
But Faith to Princes broke, is Sacriledge,
And injury to the Gods, And that lost Wretch
Whose Breast is poyson'd with so vile a Purpose,
Tears Thunder down from Heav'n on his own head,
And leaves a Curse to his Posterity:
Judge him your selves, ye mighty Gods, who know
Why you permit sometimes that Honour bleed,
That Faith be broke, and Innocence opprest.
My Duty's my Religion, and howe're
The great Account may rise 'twixt him and you,
Through all his Crimes I see your Image on him,
And must protect it no way then but this,
To draw far off the injur'd Maximus,
And keep him there fast Prisoner to my Friendship;
Revenge shall thus be flatter'd or destroy'd,
And my bad Master whom I blush to serve,
Shall by my means at least be safe. This Letter
Informs him I am gone to Ægypt, there
I shall live secure and innocent;
His sins shall ne're o'retake me, nor his fears,
Enter Proculus.
Here comes one for my Purpose, Proculus;
Well met, I have a Courtesie to ask of you.

Proc.
Of me, my Lord! Is there a House on fire?
Or is there some knotty Point now in debate
Betwixt your Lordship and the Scavengers?
For you have such a popular, and publick Spirit,
As in dull times of Peace will not disdain
The meanest opportunity to serve your Country.

Æcius.
You witty Fools are apt to get your Heads broke:
This is no season for Buffooning Sirrah;
Though heretofore I tamely have endur'd
Before th'Emperour your ridiculous Mirth,
Think not you have a Title to be sawcy;
When Monkey's grow mischievous, they are whipt,
Chain'd up and whipt. There has been mischief done,
And you (I hear) a wretched Instrument:
Look to't, when e're I draw this Sword to punish,
You and your grinning Crew will tremble, Slaves;
Nor shall the ruin'd world afford a Corner
To shelter you, nor that poor Princes Bosom,
You have invenom'd and polluted so;
As if the Gods were willing it should be
A Dungeon for such Toads to crawl and croak in.

Proc.
All this in earnest to your humblest Creature?
Nay, then my Lord, I must no more pretend
With my poor Talent to divert your Ears;
Since my well-meaning Mirth is grown offensive.
Tho' Heav'n can tell,
There's not so low an Act of servile Duty,
I wou'd not with more Pride throw my self on,
For great Æcius's sake, than gain a Province,
Or share with Valentinian in his Empire.

Æcius.
Thou art so fawning and so mean a Villain,
That I disdain to hate, tho' I despise thee;
When e're thou art not fearful, thou art sawcy;
Be so again, my Pardon gives thee leave,
And to deserve it, carry this my Letter
To the Emperor: Tell him I am gone for Ægypt,
And with me, Maximus; 'twas scarce fit we two
Should take our leaves of him: Pray use your Interest
He may forgive us. 'Twill concern you much,
For when we are gone, to be base vicious Villains,
Will prove less dang'rous—
[Exit Æcius.

Proc.
What the Devil possesses
This rusty Back and Breast without a Head-Piece?
Villains and Vicious! Maximus and Ægypt!
This may be Treason, or I'le make it so:
The Emperor's apt enough to fears and jealousies;
Since his late Rape. I must blow up the fire,
And aggravate this doating Hero's Notions,
Till they such Terrors in the Prince have bred,
May cost the Fool his worst part, that's his Head.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

Enter Emperour, Lycinius, Chylax, and Balbus.
Emp.
Dead?

Balb.
'Tis too certain.

Emp.
How?

Lycin.
Grief and Disgrace,
As people say.

Emp.
No more, I have too much on't,
Too much by you. You whetters of my Follies;
Ye Angel-formers of my sins; but Devils,
Where is your cunning now? you would work Wonders.
There was no Chastity above your practice;
You'd undertake to make her love her Wrongs,
And doat upon her Rape. Mark what I tell you,
If she be dead!

Chy.
Alas Sir!

Emp.
Hang you Rascals.
Ye blasters of my Youth, if she be gone,
'Twere better ye had been your Fathers Camels,
Groan'd under weights of Wooll and Water.
Am I not Cæsar?

Lycin.
Mighty, and our Maker—

Emp.
Then thus have given my Pleasures to destruction—
Look she be living, Slaves—

Chy.
We are no Gods, Sir,
If she be dead, to make her live again.

Emp.
She cannot dye, she must not dye: are those
I plant my Love upon but common livers?
Their Hours told out to 'em? Can they be Ashes?
Why do you flatter a belief in me,
That I am all that is? The World my Creature;
The Trees bring forth their Fruit, when I say Summer;
The Wind that knows no limits but its wildness,
At my command moves not a Leaf: The Sea,
With his proud mountain-Waters envying Heav'n,
When I say still, runs into chrystal Mirrors.
Can I do this and she dye? Why ye Bubbles,
That with my least breath break, no more remember'd,
Ye Moths that fly about my Flames and perish;
Why do ye make me God, that can do nothing?
Is she not dead?

Chy.
All Women are not dead with her.

Emp.
A common Whore serves you, and far above you,
The Pleasures of a Body lam'd with lewdness,
A meer perpetual Motions makes you happy.
Am I aman to traffick with Diseases?
You think, because ye have bred me up to Pleasures,
And almost run me over all the rare ones,
Your Wives will serve the turn; I care not for 'em,
Your Wives are Fencers Whores, and shall be Footmens,
Tho' sometimes my Fantastick Lust or Scorn,
Has made you Cuckolds for variety;
I wou'd not have ye hope or dream, ye poor ones,
Always so great a Blessing from me. Go,
Get your own Infamy hereafter Rascals; ye enjoy
Each one an Heir, the Royal Seed of Cæsar,
And I may curse ye for it.
Thou Lycinius,
Hast such a Messelina, such a Lais,
The Backs of Bulls cannot content, nor Stallions,
The sweat of fifty men anight does nothing.

Lycin.
I hope Sir, you know better things of her.

Emp.
'Tis Oracle,
The City can bear witness, thine's a Fool, Chylax,
Yet she can tell her twenty, and all Lovers,
All have lain with her too; and all as she is,
Rotten and ready for an Hospital:
Yours is a holy Whore, friend Balbus.

Balb.
Well Sir.

Emp.
One that can pray away the Sins she suffers,
But not the Punishment; she has had ten Bastards,
Five of 'em now are Lictors, yet she prays.
She has been the Song of Rome and common Pasquil,
Since I durst see a Wench, she was Camp-Mistress,
And muster'd all the Cohorts, paid 'em too,
They have it yet to shew, and yet she prays.
She is now to enter old Men turn'd Children,
That have forgot their Rudiments; and am I
Left for these wither'd Vices? And was there but one,
But one of all the World that could content me,
And snatcht away in shewing? if your Wives
Be not yet Witches, or your selves? now be so,
And save your Lives; raise me the dearest Beauty,
As when I forc'd her full of Chastity,
Or by the Gods—

Lycin.
Most sacred Cæsar—

Emp.
Slaves.

Enter Proculus.
Proc.
Hail Cæsar, Tidings of Concern and Danger,
My Message does contain in furious manner,
With Oaths and Threatnings, stern Æcius,
Enjoyn'd me on the peril of my life,
To give this Letter into Cæsars hands,
Arm'd at all points, prepar'd to march he stands,
With crowds of mutinous Officers about him,
Among these, full of Anguish and Despair,
Like pale Tysiphone along Hell-brinks,
Plotting Revenge and Ruine—Maximus
With Ominous aspect walks in silent horror,
In threatning Murmurs and harsh broken speeches,
They talk of Ægypt and their Provinces,
Of Cohorts ready with their lives to serve 'em,
And then with bitter Curses they nam'd you.

Emp.
Letter. He reads.

Sir,

Would some God inspire me with another way to serve you,
I would not thus fly from you without leave; but
Maximus his wrongs have toucht too many, and should
His presence here incourage 'em, dangers to you might follow;
In Ægypt he will be more forgot, and you more safe by his
Absence.

Emp.
A Plot, by Heav'n! a Plot laid for my Life,
This is too subtle for my dull friend Æcius;
Heav'n give you Sir, a better servant to guard you,
A faithfuller you will never find than Æcius,
Since he resents his Friends Wrongs, he'l revenge 'em;
I know the Souldiers love him more than Heav'n,
Me they hate more than Peace; what this may breed
If dull security and confidence
Let him grow up, a Fool may find and laugh at.
Who waits there? Proculus.
Enter Proculus.
Well, hast thou observ'd
The growing pow'r and pride of this Æcius?
He writes to me with terms of Insolence,
And shortly will rebel, if not prevented;
But in my base lew'd Herd of vicious Slaves,
There's not a man that dares stand up to strike
At my Command, and kill this rising Traitor.

Proc.
The Gods forbid Cæsar should thus be serv'd,
The Earth will swallow him, did you command it!
But I have study'd a safe sure way,
How he shall dye and your will ne're suspected.
A Souldiers waits without, whom he has wrong'd,
Cashier'd, disgrac'd, and turn'd to beg or starve.
This fellow for revenge wou'd kill the Devil;
Encouragement of Pardon and Reward,
Which in your name I'le give him instantly,
Will make him fly more swiftly on the Murther,
Than longing Lovers to their first appointment.

Emp.
Thou art the wisest, watchful, wary Villain,
And shalt partake the secrets of my soul,
And ever feel my Favour and my Bounty.
Tell the poor Souldier he shall be a General,
Æcius once dead.

Proc.
Ay, there y'have found the point Sir,
If he can be so brutish to believe it.

Emp.
Oh never fear! urge it with Confidence.
What will not flatter'd angry fools believe?
Minutes are precious, loose not one.

Proc.
I fly Sir—
[Exit Proculus.

Emp.
What an infected Conscience do I live with,
And what a Beast I'me grown? when Lust has gain'd
An uncontroul'd Dominion in mans Heart!
Then fears succeed with horror and amazement,
Which rack the wretch and tyrannize by turns.
But hold—
Shall I grow then so poor as to repent?
Tho' Æcius, Mankind, and the Gods forsake me,
I'le never alter and forsake my self.
Can I forget the last discourse he held?
As if he had intent to make me odious
To my own face, and by a way of terror,
What Vices I was grounded in, and almost
Proclaim'd the Souldiers hate against me. Is not
The sacred Name and Dignity of Cæsar?
Were this Æcius more than man sufficient
To shake off all his Honesty? He is dangerous,
Tho' he be good, and tho' a Friend, a fear'd one,
And such I must not sleep by; as for Maximus,
I'le find a time when Æcius is dispatcht.
I do believe this Proculus, and I thank him;
'Twas time to look about; if I must perish,
Yet shall my fears go formost, that's determin'd.
[Exit Emperour.

SCENE III.

Enter Proculus and Pontius.
Proc.
Besides this, if you do it, you enjoy
The noble name of Patrician, more than that too;
The Friend of Cæsar y'are stil'd. There's nothing
Within the hopes of Rome, or present being,
But you may safely say is yours.

Pont.
Pray stay Sir.
What has Æcius done to be destroy'd?
At least I would have a Colour.

Proc.
You have more.
Nay, all that can be given; he is a Traitor.
One, any man would strike that were a Subject.

Pont.
Is he so foul?

Proc.
Yes, a most fearful Traitor.

Pont.
A fearful Plague upon thee, for thou ly'st;
[Aside.
I ever thought the Souldiers would undo him,
With their too much Affection.

Proc.
You have it.
They have brought him to Ambition.

Pont.
Then he is gone.

Proc.
The Emperour, out of a foolish Pity,
Would save him yet.

Pont.
Is he so mad?

Proc.
He's madder,
Would go to th'Army to him.

Pont.
Would he so?

Proc.
Yes, Pontius, but we consider.

Pont.
Wisely.

Proc.
How else man, that the State lies in it?

Pont.
And your Lives?

Proc.
And every mans.

Pont.
He did me
[Aretus here.
All the disgrace he could.

Proc.
And scurvily.

Pont.
Out of a Mischief meerly. Did you mark it?

Proc.
Yes, well enough.
Now you have means to quit it;
The Deed done, take his Place.

Pont.
Pray let me think on't,
'Tis ten to one I do it.

Proc.
Do, and be happy—
[Exit Proculus.

Pont.
This Emperor is made of nought but mischief,
Sure Murther was his Mother. None to lop
But the main Link he had? Upon my Conscience,
The man is truly honest, and that kills him.
For to live here, and study to be true,
Is all one as to be a Traitor. Why should he dye?
Have they not Slaves and Rascals for their Offerings;
In full aboundance, Bawds, more than Beasts for slaughter?
Have they not singing Whores enough, and Knaves besides,
And millions of such Martyrs to sink Charon,
But the best Sons of Rome must fall too? I will shew him
(Since he must dye) a way to do it truly.
And tho' he bears me hard, yet shall he know
I'm born to make him bless me for a Blow.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

Enter Phidius, Aretus, and Æcius.
Aret.
The Treason is too certain; fly my Lord.
I heard that Villain Proculus instruct
The desperate Pontius to dispatch you here,
Here in the Anti-Chamber.

Phid.
Curst Wretches,
Yet you may escape to the Camp, we'l hazard with you.

Aret.
Lose not your Life so basely Sir; you are arm'd.
And many when they see your Sword, and know why,
Must follow your Adventures.

Æcius.
Get ye from me.
Is not the Doom of Cæsar on this Body?
Do I not bear my last hour here now sent me?
Am I not old Æcius ever dying?
You think this Tenderness and Love you bring me;
'Tis Treason and the strength of Disobedience;
And if ye tempt me further ye shall feel it.
I seek the Camp for safety, when my Death,
Ten times more glorious then my Life and lasting,
Bids me be happy. Let Fools fear to dye,
Or he that weds a Woman for his Honour,
Dreaming no other Life to come but Kisses.
Æcius is not now to learn to suffer;
If ye dare shew a just affection, kill me,
I stay but those that must; why do ye weep?
Am I so wretched as to deserve mens Pities?
Go, give your Tears to those that lose their worths,
Bewail their miseries: For me, wear Garlands,
Drink Wine, and much. Sing Pæans to my Praise,
I am to triumph, Friends, and more than Cæsar,
For Cæsar fears to dye, I love to dye.

Phid.
O my dear Lord!

Æcius.
No more, go, go I say,
Shew me not signs of sorrow, I deserve none.
Dare any man lament I should dye nobly?
When I am dead, speak honourably of me;
That is, preserve my Memory from dying,
There if you needs must weep your ruin'd Master,
A Tear or two will seem well; This I charge you,
(Because ye say ye yet love old Æcius.)
See my poor Body burnt, and some to sing
About my Pile what I have done and suffer'd.
If Cæsar kill not that too: At your Banquets,
When I am gone, if any chance to number
The times that have been sad and dangerous;
Say how I fell, and 'tis sufficient.
No more I say; he that laments my end,
By all the Gods, dishonours me; be gone,
And suddenly and wisely from my Dangers,
My Death is catching else.

Phid.
We fear not dying.

Æcius.
Yet fear a wilful Death, the just Gods hate it,
I need no Company to that, that Children
Dare do alone, and Slaves are proud to purchase,
Live till your honesties, as mine has done,
Make this corrupted Age sick of your Virtues.
Then dye a Sacrifice, and then you'l know
The noble use of dying well and Romans.

Aret.
And must we leave you Sir?

Æcius.
We must all dye,
All leave our selves, it matters not where, when
Nor how, so we dye well. And can that man that does so,
Need Lamentation for him? Children weep
Because they have offended, or for fear;
Women for want of Will and Anger; is there
In noble man, that truly feels both Poyses
Of Life and Death, so much of this weakness,
To drown a glorious Death in Child and Woman?
I am asham'd to see you, yet you move me,
And were it not my Manhood would accuse me,
For covetous to live, I should weep with you.

Phid.
O we shall never see you more!

Æcius.
'Tis true.
Nor I the Miseries that Rome shall suffer,
Which is a Benefit Life cannot reckon;
But what I have been, which is just and faithful;
One that grew old for Rome, when Rome forgot him,
And for he was an honest man durst dye.
Ye shall have daily with you, could that dye too,
And I return no Traffick of my Travels,
No Annals of old Æcius, but he lived.
My Friends, ye had cause to weep, and bitterly;
The common overflows of tender Women
And Children new born; Crying were too little
To shew me then most wretched; if Tears must be,
I should in justice weep 'em, and for you;
You are to live, and yet behold those Slaughters,
The dry and wither'd bones of Death would bleed at.
But sooner than I have time to think what must be,
I fear you'l find what shall be.
If you love me,
Let that word serve for all. Be gone, and leave me;
I have some little practice with my Soul,
And then the sharpest Sword is welcomest—Go,
Pray be gone. Ye have obey'd me living,
Be not for shame now stubborn—So—I thank ye—
And fare you well—A better Fortune guide ye.

Phid.
What shall we do to save our best lov'd Master?

[Aside.
Aret.
I'le to Affranius, who with half a Legion
Lies in the old Subbura, all will rise
For the brave Æcius.

Phid.
I'le to Maximus,
And lead him hither to prevent this Murther,
Or help in the Revenge, which I'le make sure of.

[Exit Phidius and Aretus.
Æcius.
I hear 'em come, who strikes first? I stay for you.
Enter Balbus, Chylax, Lycinius.
Yet will I dye a Souldier, my Sword drawn,
But against none. Why do you fear? Come forward.

Balb.
You were a Souldier Chylax.

Chy.
Yes, I muster'd,
But never saw the Enemy.

Lycin.
He's arm'd.
By Heav'n I dare not do it.

Æcius.
Why do you tremble?
I am to dye. Come ye not from Cæsar
To that end? speak.

Balb.
We do, and we must kill you.
'Tis Cæsars Will.

Chy.
I charge you put your Sword up,
That we may do it handsomly.

Æcius.
Ha, ha, ha!
My Sword up! handsomely! where were you bred?
You are the merriest Murtherers, my Masters,
I ever met withal. Come forward, Fools.
Why do you stare? Upon my Honour, Bawds,
I will not strike you.

Lycin.
I'le not be first.

Balb.
Nor I.

Chy.
You had best dye quietly. The Emperor
Sees how you bear your self.

Æcius.
I would dye, Rascals,
If you would kill me quietly.

Balb.
Plague on Proculus,
He promis'd to bring a Captain hither,
That has been us'd to kill.

Æcius.
I'le call the Guard,
Unless you kill me quickly, and proclaim
What beastly, base, cowardly Companions
The Emperor has trusted with his safety;
Nay, I'le give out you fell on my side, Villains;
Strike home you bawdy Slaves.

Chy.
He will kill us,
I markt his hand, he waits but time to reach us;
Now do you offer.

Æcius.
If you do mangle me,
And kill me not at two blows, or at three,
Or not so, stagger me, my Senses fail me,
Look to your selves.

Chy.
I told ye.

Æcius.
Strike me manly,
And take a thousand stroaks.

[Enter Pontius.
Balb.
Here's Pontius.

[Licinius runs away.
Pont.
Not kill him yet?
Is this the Love you bear the Emperor?
Nay, then I see you are Traitors all; have at ye.

Chy.
Oh I am hurt.

Balb.
And I am kill'd—

[Exit Chylax and Balbus.
Pont.
Dye Bawds,
As you have liv'd and flourisht.

Æcius.
Wretched Fellow,
What hast thou done?

Pont.
Kill'd them that durst not kill,
And you are next.

Æcius.
Art thou not Pontius?

Pont.
I am the same you cast, Æcius,
And in the face of all the Camp disgrac'd.

Æcius.
Then so much nobler, as thou art a Soldier,
Shall my death be. Is it revenge provokt thee?
Or art thou hired to kill me?

Pont.
Both.

Æcius.
Then do it.

Pont.
Is that all?

Æcius.
Yes.

Pont.
Would you not live?

Æcius.
Why should I?
To thank thee for my Life?

Pont.
Yes, if I spare it.

Æcius.
Be not deceiv'd, I was not made to thank
For any Courtesie but killing me,
A fellow of thy Fortune. Do thy Duty.

Pont.
Do you not fear me?

Æcius.
No.

Pont.
Nor love me for it?

Æcius.
That's as thou dost thy Business.

Pont.
When you are dead, your Place is mine, Æcius.

Æcius.
Now I fear thee,
And not alone thee, Pontius, but the Empire.

Pont.
Why? I can govern Sir.

Æcius.
I would thou coul'dst,
And first thy self: Thou canst fight well and bravely,
Thou can'st endure all Dangers, Heats, Colds, Hungers;
Heav'ns angry Flashes are not suddener,
Then I have seen thee execute, nor more mortal,
The winged feet of flying Enemies,
I have stood and seen thee mow away like Rushes,
And still kill the Killer; were thy mind
But half so sweet in Peace as rough in Dangers,
I dy'd to leave a happy Heir behind me.
Come strike and be a General—

Pont.
Prepare then,
And for I see your honour cannot lessen,
And 'twere a shame for me to strike a dead man,
Fight your short span out.

Æcius.
No. Thou know'st I must not;
I dare net give thee such advantage of me
As Disobedience.

Pont.
Dare you not defend you
Against your Enemy?

Æcius.
Not sent from Cæsar?
I have no power to make such Enemies,
For as I am condemn'd, my naked Sword
Stands but a Hatchment by me, only held
To shew I was a Souldier; had not Cæsar
Chain'd all defence in this Doom. Let him dye,
Old as I am, and quench'd with Scars and Sorrows,
Yet would I make this wither'd Arm do wonders,
And open in an Enemy such wounds,
Mercy would weep to look on.

Pont.
Then have at you,
And look upon me, and be sure you fear not,
Remember who you are, and why you live,
And what I have been to you: Cry not hold,
Nor think it base injustice I should kill thee.

Æcius.
I am prepar'd for all.

Pont.
For now Æcius,
Thou shalt behold and find I was no Traitor,
[Pontius kills himself.
And as I do it, bless me—Dye as I do—

Æcius.
Thou hast deceiv'd me Pontius, and I thank thee,
By all my Hopes in Heav'n thou art a Roman.

Pont.
To shew you what you ought to do this is not;
But noble Sir, you have been jealous of me,
And held me in the Rank of dangerous persons,
And I must dying say it was but justice,
You cast me from my Credit, Yet believe me,
For there is nothing now but truth to save me,
And your forgiveness, tho' you hold me heinous
And of a troubled Spirit that like fire
Turns all to flames it meets with: You mistook me,
If I were Foe to any thing, 'twas ease,
Want of the Souldiers due.—The Enemy.
The nakedness we found at home, and scorn
Children of Peace and pleasures, no regard
Nor comfort for our Scars, nor how we got 'em;
To rusty time that eats our Bodies up,
And even began to prey upon our hours,
To Wants at home, and more than Wants, Abuses;
To them that when the Enemy invaded,
Made us their Saints, but now the Sores of Rome;
To silken Flattery, and Pride plain'd over,
Forgetting with what Wind their Fathers sail'd,
And under whose protection their soft pleasures
Grow full and numberless. To this I am Foe,
Not to the State or any point of Duty;
And let me speak but what a Souldier may,
Truly I ought to be so, yet I err'd,
Because a far more noble Sufferer,
Shew'd me the way to Patience, and I lost it;
This is the end I dye for, to live basely,
And not the follower of him that bred me,
In full account and Virtue, Pontius dares not,
Much less to out-live all that is good, and flatter.

Æcius.
I want a Name to give thy Virtue, Souldier,
For only good is far below thee, Pontius,
The Gods shall find thee one: Thou hast fashion'd Death
In such an excellent and beauteous manner,
I wonder men can live! Canst thou speak one word more?
For thy words are such Harmony, a Soul
Would chuse to fly to Heav'n in.

Pont.
A farewell,
Good noble General your hand: Forgive me,
And think whatever was displeasing to you,
Was none of mine, you cannot live.

Æcius.
I will not,
Yet one word more.

Pont.
Dye nobly, Rome farewel,
And Valentinian fall.
In joy you have given me a quiet Death,
I would strike more Wounds if I had more Breath

[Dies
Æcius.
Is there an hour of goodness beyond this?
Or any man that would outlive such Dying?
Would Cæsar double all my Honours on me,
And stick me o're with Favours like a Mistress;
Yet would I grow to this man: I have Lov'd,
But never donated on a Face till now.
Oh Death! Thou art more than Beauty, and thy Pleasures
Beyond Posterity: Come Friends and kill me.
Cæsar be kind and send a thousand Swords,
The more the greater is my fall: why stay you?
Come and I'le kiss your Weapons: fear me not;
By all the Gods I'le honour ye for killing:
Appear, or through the Court and World I'le search ye,
I'le follow ye, and ere I die proclaim ye
The Weeds of Italy; the dross of Nature,
Where are ye Villains, Traitors, Slaves—

[Exit.

SCENE V.

Valentinian and the Eunuch discover'd on a Couch.
Emp.
A SONG.

Enter Æcius with two Swords.
Emp.
Ha!
What desperate Mad-man weary of his Being,
Presumes to press upon my happy Moments?
Æcius? And arm'd? Whence comes this impious Boldness?
Did not my Will, the Worlds most sacred Law,
Doom thee to die?
And dar'st thou in Rebellion be alive?
Is Death more frightful grown than Disobedience?

Æcius.
Not for a hated Life condemn'd by you,
Which in your Service has been still expos'd
To Pain and Labours, Famine, Slaughter, Fire,
And all the dreadful Toyls of horrid War!
Am I thus lowly laid before your feet?
For what mean Wretch, who has his Duty done,
Would care to live, when you declare him worthless?
If I must fall, which your severe Disfavour
Hath made the easier and the nobler Choice,
Yield me not up a wretched Sacrifice
To the poor Spleen of a base Favourite.
Let not vile Instruments destroy the man
Whom once you lov'd: but let your hand bestow
That welcome Death your anger has decreed.

[Lays his Sword at his feet.
Emp.
Go, seek the common Executioner
Old man, thro' vanity and years grown mad,
Or to reprieve thee from the Hangman's stroak,
Go, use thy military Interest
To beg a milder Death among the Guards,
And tempt my kindl'd Wrath no more with folly.

Æcius.
Ill-counsell'd thankless Prince, you did indeed
Bestow that Office on a Souldier;
But in the Army could you hope to find
With all your Bribes a Murderer of Æcius?
Whom they so long have follow'd, known and own'd
Their God in War? and thy good Genius ever!
Speechless and cold without, upon the Ground
The Souldier lyes, whose generous Death will teach
Posterity true Gratitude and Honour.
And press as heavily upon thy Soul,
Lost Valentinian, as thy barb'rous Rape.
For which since Heav'n alone must punish thee,
I'le do Heav'ns justice on thy base Assister.

[Runs at Lycias.
Lycias.
Save me, my Lord.

Emp.
Hold honest Æcius, hold.
I was too rash. Oh spare the gentle Boy!
And I'le forgive thee all.

Lycias.
Furies and Death.

[Dies.
Emp.
He bleeds! mourn ye Inhabitants of Heav'n!
For sure my lovely Boy was one of you!
But he is dead, and now ye may rejoyce,
For ye have stol'n him from me, spiteful Powers!
Empire and Life I ever have despis'd,
The vanity of Pride, of Hope and Fear,
In Love alone my Soul found real Joys!
And still ye tyrannize and cross my Love.
Oh that I had a Sword,
[Throws him a Sword.
To drive this raving Fool headlong to Hell.

[Fight.
Æcius.
Take your desire, and try if lawless Lust
Can stand against Truth, Honesty and Justice!
I have my Wish. Gods! Give you true Repentance,
And bless you still: beware of Maximus.

[They fight. Acius runs on the Emp. Sword, and falls. Dies.
Emp.
Farewel dull Honesty, which tho' despis'd,
Canst make thy owner run on certain Ruine.
Old Æcius! Where is now thy Name in War?
Thy Interest with so many conquer'd Nations?
The Souldiers Reverence, and the Peoples Love?
Thy mighty Fame and Popularity?
With which thou kept'st me still in certain fear,
Depending on thee for uncertain safety:
Ah what a lamentable Wretch is he,
Who urg'd by Fear or Sloth, yields up his pow'r
To hope protection from his Favourite?
Wallowing in Ease and Vice? feels no Contempt,
But wears the empty Name of Prince with scorn?
And lives a poor lead Pageant to his Slave?
Such have I been to thee, honest Æcius!
Thy pow'r kept me in awe, thy pride in pain,
Till now I liv'd; but since th'art dead, I'le reign.

Enter Phidius with Maximus.
Phid.
Behold my Lord the cruel Emperor,
By whose tyrannick Doom the noble Æcius
Was judg'd to die.

Emp.
He was so, sawcy Slave!
Struck by this hand, here groveling at my feet
The Traitor lyes! as thou shalt do bold Villain!
Go to the Furies, carry my Defiance,
[Kills him.
And tell 'em, Cæsar fears nor Earth nor Hell.

Phid.
Stay Æcius, and I'le wait thy mightier Ghost.
Oh Maximus, thro' the long vault of Death,
I hear thy Wife cry out, revenge me!
Revenge me on the Ravisher! no more
Aretus comes to aid thee! oh farewel!

[Dies.
Emp.
Ha! what not speak yet? thou whose wrongs are greatest;
Or do the Horrors that we have been doing,
Amaze thy feeble Soul? If thou art a Roman,
Answer the Emperor: Cæsar bids thee speak.

Max.
A Roman? Ha! And Cæsar bids thee speak?
Pronounce thy Wrongs, and tell 'em o're in Groans;
But oh the Story is ineffable!
Cæsar's Commands, back'd with the Eloquence
Of all the inspiring Gods, cannot declare it.
Oh Emperor, thou Picture of a Glory!
Thou mangled Figure of a ruin'd Greatness!
Speak, saist thou? Speak the Wrongs of Maximus.
Yes, I will speak. Imperial Murderer!
Ravisher! Oh thou royal Villany!
In Purple dipt to give a Gloss to Mischief.
Yet ere thy Death inriches my Revenge,
And swells the Book of Fate, you statelier Mad-man,
Plac'd by the Gods upon a Precipice,
To make thy Fall more dreadful. Why hast thou slain
Thy Friend? thy only Stay for sinking Greatness?
What Frenzy, what blind Fury did possess thee,
To cut off thy right Hand, and fling it from thee?
For such was Æcius.

Emp.
Yes, and such art thou;
Joynt Traitors to my Empire and my Glory.
Put up thy Sword; be gone for ever, leave me,
Tho' Traitor, yet because I once did wrong thee,
Live like a vagrant Slave. I banish thee.

Max.
Hold me you Gods; and judg our Passions rightly,
Lest I should kill him: kill this luxurious Worm,
Ere yet a thought of Danger has awak'd him.
End him even in the midst of night-Debauches,
Mounted upon a Tripos, drinking Healths
With shallow Rascals, Pimps, Buffoons and Bawds,
Who with vile Laughter take him in their Arms,
And bear the drunken Cæsar to his Bed,
Where to the scandal of all Majesty,
At every grasp he belches Provinces,
Kisses off Fame, and at the Empires ruine,
Enjoys his costly Whore.

Emp.
Peace Traitor, or thou dy'st.
Tho' pale Lucina should direct thy Sword,
I would assault thee if thou offer more.

Max.
More? By the immortal Gods I will awake thee;
I'le rouze thee Cæsar, if strong Reason can,
If thou hadst ever sence of Roman Honour,
Or th'imperial Genius ever warm'd thee.
Why hast thou us'd me thus? for all my Service,
My Toyls, my Frights, my Wounds in horrid War?
Why didst thou tear the only Garland from me,
That could make proud my Conquests? Oh ye Gods!
If there be no such thing as Right or Wrong,
But Force alone must swallow all possession,
Then to what purpose in so long descents
Were Roman Laws observ'd or Heav'n obey'd?
If still the Great for Ease or Vice were form'd,
Why did our first Kings toyl? Why was the Plow
Advanc'd to be the Pillar of the State?
Why was the lustful Tarquin with his House
Expell'd, but for the Rape of bleeding Lucrece?

Emp.
I cannot bear thy words. Vext Wretch no more.
He shocks me. Prithee Maximus no more.
Reason no more; thou troublest me with Reason.

Max.
What servile Rascal, what most abject Slave,
That lick'd the Dust where ere his Master trod,
Bounded not from the Earth upon his feet,
And shook his Chain, that heard of Brutus Vengeance?
Who that ere heard the Cause, applauded not
That Roman-Spirit, for his great Revenge?
Yet mine is more, and touches me far nearer:
Lucrece was not his Wife as she was mine,
For ever ravisht, ever lost Lucina.

Emp.
Ah name her not! That Name, thy Face, and Reason,
Are the three things on Earth I would avoid:
Let me forget her, I'le forgive thee all,
And give thee half the Empire to be gone.

Max.
Thus steel'd with such a Cause, what Soul but mine
Had not upon the instant ended thee?
Sworn in that moment.—Cæsar is no more;
And so I had. But I will tell thee Tyrant,
To make thee hate thy Guilt, and curse thy Fears,
Æcius, whom thou hast slain, prevented me;
Æcius, who on this bloody Spot lyes murder'd
By barb'rous Cæsar, watcht my vow'd Revenge,
And from my Sword preserv'd ungrateful Cæsar.

Emp.
How then dar'st thou, viewing this great Example,
With impious Arms assault thy Emperor?

Max.
Because I have more Wit than Honesty,
More of thy self, more Villany than Vertue,
More Passion, more Revenge, and more Ambition,
Than foolish Honour, and fantastick Glory.
What share your Empire? Suffer you to live?
After the impious Wrongs I have receiv'd,
Couldst thou thus lull me, thou might'st laugh indeed.

Emp.
I am satisfy'd that thou dist ever hate me,
Thy Wifes Rape therefore was an act of Justice,
And so far thou hast eas'd my tender Conscience.
Therefore to hope a Friendship from thee now,
Were vain to me, as is the Worlds Continuance,
Where solid pains succeed our sensless joys,
And short-liv'd pleasures fleet like passing Dreams.
Æcius, I mourn thy Fate as much as man
Can do in my condition, that am going,
And therefore should be busie with my self:
Yet to thy memory I will allow
Some grains of Time, and drop some sorrowing Tears.
Oh Æcius! oh!

Max.
Why this is right, my Lord,
And if these Drops are orient, you will set
True Cæsar, glorious in your going down,
Tho' all the Journey of your Life was cloudy.
Allow at least a Possibility,
Where Thought is lost, and think there may be Gods,
An unknown Countrey after you are dead,
As well as there was one ere you were born.

Emp.
I've thought enough, and with that thought resolve
To mount Imperial from the burning Pile.
I grieve for Æcius! Yes, I mourn him, Gods,
As if I had met my Father in the dark,
And striving for the Way had murder'd him.
Oh such a faithful Friend! that when he knew
I hated him, and had contriv'd his Death,
Yet then he ran his Heart upon my Sword,
And gave a fatal proof of dying Love.

Max.
'Tis now fit time, I've wrought you to my purpose,
Else at my entrance with a brutal Blow,
I'd fell'd you like a Victim for the Altar,
Not warn'd you thus, and arm'd you for your hour,
As if when ere Fate call'd a Cæsar home,
The judging Gods lookt down to mark his dying.

Emp.
Oh subtil Traitor! how he dallies with me?
Think not thou sawcy Counsellor, my Slave,
Tho' at this moment I should feel thy Foot
Upon my Neck, and Sword within my Bowels,
That I would ask a Life from thee. No Villain,
When once the Emperor is at thy Command,
Power, Life and Glory must take leave for ever.
Therefore prepare the utmost of thy malice;
But to torment thee more, and shew how little
All thy Revenge can do, appears to Cæsar.
Would the Gods raise Lucina from the Grave,
And fetter thee but while I might enjoy her,
Before thy Face I'd ravish her again.

Max.
Hark, hark Aretus, and the Legions come.

Emp.
Come all, Aretus, and the Rebel Legions;
Let Æcius too part from the Gaol of Death,
And run the flying race of Life again.
I'le be the foremost still, and snatch fresh Glory
To my last Gasp, from the contending World;
Garlands and Crowns too shall attend my Dying;
Statues and Temples, Altars shall be rais'd
To my great Name, while your more vile Inscriptions
Time rots, and mouldring Clay is all your Portion.

Enter Aretus and Souldiers. They kill the Emperor.
Max.
Lead me to Death or Empire, which you please,
For both are equal to a ruin'd man:
But fellow Souldiers, if you are my Friends,
Bring me to Death, that I may there find peace,
Since Empire is too poor to make amends
For half the Losses I have undergone,
A true Friend and a tender faithful Wife,
The two blest Miracles of humane Life.
Go now and seek new Worlds to add to this,
Search Heav'n for Blessings to enrich the gift,
Bring Power and Pleasure on the wings of Fame,
And heap this Treasure upon Maximus,
You'l make a great man not a happy one;
Sorrows so just as mine must never end,
For my Love ravish'd, and my murder'd Friend.

[Ex. omnes.