University of Virginia Library

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.