 | Valentinian |  |
1
ACT. I.
SCEN. I.
The Curtain flies up with the Musick of Trumpets and Kettle-Drums; and discovers the Emperor passing through to the Garden, Attended with a great Court. Æcius and Maximus stay behind.Maximus. Æcius.
Max.
Great is the Honour, which our Emperor
Does by his frequent Visits throw on Maximus;
Not less than thrice this Week has his Gay-Court,
With all its Splendor shin'd within my Walls:
Nor does this glorious Sun bestow his Beams
Upon a barren Soyl, My happy Wife,
Fruitful in Charms for Valentinian's Heart,
Crowns the soft Moments of each welcome Hour,
With such variety of successive Joys,
That Lost in Love, when the long Day is done,
He willingly would give his Empire up
For the Enjoyment of a Minute more,
While I—
2
Am at the Court ador'd as much as She,
As if the vast Dominion of the World
He had Exchang'd with me for my Lucina.
Æcius.
I rather wish he would Exchange his Passions,
Give you his Thirst of Love for yours of Honour.
And leaving you the due possession
Of your just Wishes in Lucina's Arms,
Think how he may by force of Worth and Virtue,
Maintain the Right of his Imperial Crown,
Which he neglects for Garlands made of Roses;
Whilst, in disdain of his ill-guided Youth,
Whole Provinces fall off, and scorn to have
Him for their Prince, who is his Pleasures Slave.
Max.
I cannot blame the Nations, Noble Friend,
For falling off so fast from this wild man,
When, under our Allegiance be it spoken,
And the most happy Tye of our Affections,
The whole World groans beneath him: By the Gods,
I'de rather be a Bondslave to his Panders,
Constrain'd by Power to serve their vicious Wills,
Than bear the Infamy of being held
A Favourite to this fowl flatter'd Tyrant.
Where lives Vertue,
Honour, Discretion, Wisdom? Who are call'd
And chosen to the steering of his Empire,
But Whores and Bawds and Traitors! Oh my Æcius.
The Glory of a Souldier, and the Truth
Of men made up for Goodness sake, like shells
Grow to the rugged Walls for want of Action,
Only your happy self and I that love you,
Which is a larger means to me than Favour.—
Æcius.
No more, my worthy Friend, tho' these be Truths,
And tho' these Truths would ask a Reformation,
At least a little Mending—Yet remember
We are but Subjects, Maximus, Obedience
To what is done, And Grief for what's ill done,
Is all we can call Ours, The Hearts of Princes
Are like the Temples of the Gods: pure Incense,
(Till some unhallow'd Hands defile their Offerings,)
3
Because the Priests, who touch these Sweets are wicked.
We dare not, Dearest Friend; Nay more, we cannot
(While we consider whose we are, and how,
To what Laws bound, much more to what Lawgiver,
While Majesty is made to be obey'd;
And not enquir'd into.
Max.
Thou best of Friends, and Men, whose wise instructions
Are not less charitable, weigh but thus much,
Nor think I speak it with Ambition,
For by the Gods I do not. Why my Æcius,
Why are we thus? or how became thus wretched?
Æcius.
You'l fall again into your Fit.
Max.
I will not
Or are we now no more the Sons of Romans,
No more the followers of their mighty Fortunes!
But conquer'd Gauls, And Quivers for the Parthians:
Why is the Emperor, this Man we honour,
This God that ought to be,
Æcius.
You are too curious.
Max.
Give me leave,—Why is this Author of us?
Æcius.
I dare not hear you speak thus.
Max.
I'l be modest,
Thus led away, thus vainly led away,
And we beholders! Misconceive me not,
I sow no Danger in my Words; but wherefore
And to what end are we the Sons of Fathers
Famous and fast to Rome! Why are their Virtues
Stampt in the Dangers of a thousand Battels,
Their Honours Time out-daring
I think for our Example.
Æcius.
You speak well.
Max.
Why are we Seeds of those then to shake hands
With Bawds and base Informers? Kiss Discredit,
And Court her like a Mistress? Pray your leave yet,
You'l say th'Emperor's young, and apt to take
Impression from his Pleasures,
Yet even his Errors have their good Effects,
For the same gentle temper which inclines
His Mind to Softness, does his Heart defend
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Which throu' the streets of Rome in streams did flow
From Hearts of Senators under the Reigns
Of our severer Warlike Emperors?
While under this scarcely one Criminal
Meets the hard Sentence of the dooming Law,
And the whole World dissolv'd into a Peace,
Owes its Security to this Mans Pleasures;
But Æcius—be sincere, do not defend
Actions and Principles your Soul abhors.
You know this Virtue is his greatest Vice:
Impunity is the highest Tyranny:
And what the fawning Court miscals his Pleasures,
Exceeds the Moderation of a Man:
Nay to say justly, Friend, they are loath'd Vices,
And such as shake our Worths with Foreign Nations.
Æcius.
You search the Sore too deep; and let me tell you
In any Other man, this had been Treason;
And so rewarded: Pray depress your Spirit;
For tho' I constantly believe you honest,
(You were no Friend for me else); and what now
You freely speak, But good you owe to the Empire,
Yet take heed, Worthy Maximus, all Ears
Hear not with that distinction mine do, few you'l find
Admonishers, but Urgers of your Actions,
And to the Heaviest (Friend) and pray consider
We are but Shadows, Motions others give us,
And tho' our Pities may become the Times,
Our Powers cannot, nor may we justifie
Our private Jealousies, by open Force,
Wife or what Else to me it matters not,
I am your Friend, but durst my own Soul urge me,
And by that Soul I speak my just Affections,
To turn my hand from Truth, which is Obedience,
And give the Helm my Virtue holds, to Anger,
Tho' I had both the Blessings of the Bruti
And both their instigations, tho' my Cause
Carry'd a Face of Justice beyond theirs,
And as I am a Servant to my Fortunes,
That daring Soul that first taught Disobedience,
Should feel the first Example.
5
Mistake me not my dearest Æcius,
Do not believe that through mean Jealousie
How far th'Emperor's Passion may prevail
On my Lucina's thoughts to our Dishonour,
That I abhor the Person of my Prince,
Alas! That Honour were a trivial Loss
Which she and I want merit to preserve;
Virtue and Maximus are plac'd too near.
Lucina's Heart, to leave him such a fear,
No private loss or wrong, inflames my Spirits,
The Roman Glory, Æcius, languishes;
I am concern'd for Rome, and for the World,
And when th'Emperor pleases to afford
Time from his Pleasures, to take care of those,
I am his Slave, and have a Sword and Life
Still ready for his Service.
Æcius.
Now you are brave,
And like a Roman justly are concern'd:
But say he be to blame. Are therefore we
Fit Fires to purge him? No, My Dearest Friend,
The Elephant is never won with Anger,
Nor must that man who would reclaim a Lion
Take him by the Teeth.
Our honest Actions, and the Truth that breaks
Like Morning from our Service chast and blushing,
Is that that pulls a Prince back, then he sees
And not till then truly repents his Errors.
Max.
My Heart agrees with yours: I'l take your Council,
The Emperor appears; let us withdraw
And as We both do love him, may he flourish.
Exeunt.
Enter Valentinian and Lucina.
Val.
Which way, Lucina, hope you to escape,
The Censures both of Tyrannous and Proud,
While your Admirers languish by your Eyes
And at your feet an Emperor despairs!
Gods! Why was I mark'd out of all your Brood
To suffer tamely under mortal hate?
Is it not I that do protect your Shrines?
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Forc'd by whose great Commands the knowing World
Submits to own your Beings and your Power.
And must I feel the Torments of Neglect?
Betray'd by Love to be the Slave of Scorn?
But 'tis not you, Poor harmless Deities,
That can make Valentinian sigh and mourn!
Alas! All Power is in Lucina's Eyes!
How soon could I shake off this heavy Earth
Which makes me little lower than your selves,
And sit in Heaven an Equal with the first;
But Love bids me pursue a Nobler Aim.
Continue Mortal, and Lucina's Slave,
From whose fair Eyes, would pity take my part,
And bend her Will to save a bleeding Heart,
I in Her Arms such Blessings shou'd obtain,
For which th'unenvy'd Gods might wish in vain.
Lucin.
Ah! Cease to tempt those Gods and Virtue too!
Great Emperor of the World and Lord of me!
Heaven has my Life submitted to your Will!
My Honour's Heav'ns, which will preserve its own.
How vile a thing am I when that is gone!
When of my Honour you have rifl'd me,
What other Merit have I to be yours?
With my fair Fame let me your Subject live,
And save that Humbleness you smile upon,
Those Gracious Looks, whose brightness shou'd rejoyce,
Make your poor Handmaid tremble when she thinks
That they appear like Lightning's fatal Flash,
Which by destructive Thunder is persu'd,
Blasting those Fields on which it shin'd before!
And shou'd the Gods abandon worthless Me
A Sacrifice to shame and to dishonour;
A Plague to Rome, and Blot to Cæsar's Fame!
For what Crime yet unknown shall Maximus
By Me and Cæsar be made infamous?
The faithfull'st Servant, and the kindest Lord!
So true, so brave, so gen'rous, and so just,
Who ne'er knew fault: Why shou'd he fall to Shame?
7
Sweet Innocence! Alas! Your Maximus
(Whom I like you esteem!) is in no Danger
If Duty and Allegiance be no shame!
Have I not Prætors through the spacious Earth
Who in my Name do mighty Nations sway?
Enjoying rich Dominions in my Right,
Their Temporary Governments I change,
Divide or take away, as I see good;
And this they think no Injury nor Shame;
Can you believe your Husband's Right to you
Other than what from me he does derive?
Who justly may recall my own at pleasure;
Am I not Emperor? This World my own?
Given me without a Partner by the Gods?
And shall those Gods who gave me all, allow
That one less than my self should have a Claim
To you the Pride and Glory of the whole?
You, without whom the rest is worthless dross;
Life a base Slavery, Empire but a Mock:
And Love, the Soul of all, a bitter Curse!
No, only Blessing, Maximus and I
Must change our Provinces, the World shall bow
Beneath my Scepter, grasp'd in his strong hand
Whose Valour may reduce rebellious Slaves,
And wise Integrity secure the rest:
In all those Rights the Gods to me have given;
While I from tedious Toils of Empire free,
The servile Pride of Government despise!
Find Peace and Joy, and Love and Heav'n in Thee,
And seek for all my Glory in those Eyes.
Lucina.
Had Heav'n design'd for me so great a Fate,
As Cæsar's Love I shou'd have been preserv'd,
By careful Providence for Him alone,
Not offer'd up at first to Maximus;
For Princes should not mingle with their Slaves,
Nor seek to quench their Thirst in troubled streams.
Nor am I fram'd with thoughts fit for a Throne.
To be commanded still has been my Joy;
And to obey the height of my Ambition.
When young in Anxious Cares I spent the Day,
8
Should tread the paths of Error and of Blame:
Till Heav'n in gentle pity sent my Lord,
In whose Commands my Wishes meet their end,
Pleas'd and secure while following his Will;
Whether to live or die I cannot err.
You like the Sun, Great Sir, are plac'd above,
I, a low Mirtle, in the humble Vale,
May flourish by your distant influence,
But should you bend your Glories nearer me,
Such fatal Favour withers me to dust
Or I in foolish gratitude desire
To kiss your feet, by whom we live and grow,
To such a height I should in vain aspire,
VVho am already rooted here below
Fixt in my Maximus's Breast I lie!
Torn from that Bed, like gather'd Flow'rs, I die.
Val.
Cease to oppress me with a thousand Charms!
There needs no succour to prevailing Arms!
Your Beauty had subdu'd my Heart before,
Such Virtue could alone enslave me more:
If you love Maximus to this degree!
How would you be in Love, Did you love Me?
In Her, who to a Husband is so kind,
VVhat Raptures might a Lover hope to find?
I burn, Lucina, like a Field of Corn
By flowing streams of kindled Flames ore-born
VVhen North-winds drive the Torrent with a storm,
These Fires into my Bosom you have thrown,
And must in pity quench 'em in your own:
Heav'n, when it gave your Eyes th'Inflaming pow'r
VVhich was ordain'd to cast an Emperor
Into Loves Feaver, kindly did impart
That Sea of Milk to bathe his burning Heart.
Throu' all those Joys.
[Lays hold on Her.
Lucina.
Hold, Sir, for Mercy's sake—
Love will abhor whatever Force can take.
I may perhaps persuade my self in time
That this is Duty which now seems a Crime;
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My Breast or Yours with what it shou'd desire.
Val.
Fly to their Altars strait, and let 'em know
Now is their time to make me Friend or Foe,
If to my Wishes they your Heart incline,
Or th'are no longer Favourites of mine.
[Exit Lucina.
Ho Chylax, Proculus?
Enter Chylax, Proculus, Balbus and Lycin.
As ever you do hope to be by me
Protected in your boundless Infamy,
For Dissoluteness cherish'd, lov'd and prais'd
On Pyramids of your own Vices rais'd,
Above the reach of Law, Reproof or Shame,
Assist me now to quench my raging Flame.
Tis not as heretofore a Lambent Fire,
'Rais'd by some common Beauty in my Breast,
Vapours from Idleness or loose Desire,
By each new Motion easily supprest,
But a fixt Heat that robs me of all rest.
Before my Dazled Eyes cou'd you now place
A thousand willing Beauties to allure
And give me Lust for every loose Embrace,
Lucina's Love my Virtue would secure,
From the contagious Charm in vain I fly,
'Thas seiz'd upon my Heart, and may defie
That great Preservative Variety!
Go, call your Wives to Councel, and prepare
To tempt, dissemble, promise, fawn and swear,
To make Faith look like Folly use your skill
Virtue an ill-bred Crosseness in the Will.
Fame, the loose breathings of a Clamorous Crowd!
Ever in Lies most confident and loud!
Honour a Notion! Piety a Cheat!
And if you prove successful Bawds, be great.
Chy.
All hind'rance to your hopes we'l soon remove,
And clear the Way to your triumphant Love.
Bal.
Lucina for your Wishes we'l prepare,
And shew we know to merit what we are
[Exeunt.
10
Once more the pow'r of Vows and Tears I'l prove,
These may perhaps her gentle Nature move,
To Pity first, by consequence to Love.
Poor are the Brutal Conquests we obtain
Ore Barb'rous Nations by the force of Arms,
But when with humble Love a Heart we gain,
And plant our Trophies on our Conqu'rors Charms.
Enter Æcius.
Such Triumphs ev'n to us may honour bring
No Glory's vain, which does from Pleasure spring:
How now Æcius! Are the Souldiers quiet:
Æcius.
Better I hope, Sir, than they were.
Val.
Th'are pleas'd I hear
To censure me extreamly for my Pleasures;
Shortly they'l fight against me.
Æcius.
Gods defend, Sir. And for their Censures they are
Such shrewd Judges.
A Donative of ten Sexterces
I'l undertake shall make 'em ring your Praises
More than they sung your Pleasures.
Val.
I believe thee!
Art thou in Love Æcius yet?
Æcius.
Oh no, Sir, I am too coarse for Ladies, my Embraces,
That only am acquainted with Allarms,
Would break their tender Bodies.
Val.
Never fear it.
They are stronger than you think—
The Empress swears thou art a Lusty Souldier.
A good one I believe thee.
Æcius.
All that Goodness is but your Creature, Sir.
Val.
But tell me truly,
For thou dar'st tell me;
Æcius.
Any thing concerns you
That's fit for me to speak, or you to pardon.
Val.
What say the Souldiers of me! And the same Words,
Mince 'em not, good Æcius, But deliver
The very Forms and Tongues they talk withal.
11
I'l tell you, Sir; but with this Caution
You be not stirr'd: For should the Gods live with us
Even those we certainly believe are righteous,
Give 'em but Drink, They'd censure them too.
Val.
Forward!
Æcius.
Then to begin, They say you sleep too much,
By which they judge you, Sir, too sensual:
Apt to decline your strength to ease and pleasure:
And when you do not sleep, you drink too much;
From which they fear Suspitions first, then Ruine,
And when you neither drink nor sleep you guess, Sir,
Which they affirm first breaks your Understanding,
Then dulls the edge of Honour, makes them seem
That are the Ribs and Rampires of the Empire,
Fencers and beaten Fools, and so regarded:
But I believe 'em not: for were these Truths,
Your Virtue can correct them.
Val.
They speak plainly.
Æcius.
They say moreover, Sir, since you will have it;
For they will take their freedoms tho' the Sword
Were at their throats: That of late times like Nero,
And with the same forgetfulness of Glory
You have got a vein of Fidling: So they term it.
Val.
Some drunken Dreamers, Æcius.
Æcius.
So I hope, Sir.
They say besides, you nourish strange Devourers;
Fed with the Fat of the Empire, they call Bawds,
Lazy and lustful Creatures that abuse you.
Val.
What Sin's next? for I perceive they have no mind
To spare me!
Æcius.
Nor hurt you, on my Soul, Sir: but such people
(Nor can the pow'r of man restrain it)
When they are full of Meat, and Ease, must prate.
Val.
Forward.
Æcius.
I have spoken too much, Sir.
Val.
I'l have all.
Æcius.
It is not fit
Your Ears should hear their Vanities, no profit
Can justly arise to you from their Behaviour.
Unless you were guilty of these Crimes.
12
It may be, I am so. Therefore forward.
Æcius.
I have ever learn'd to obey.
Val.
No more Apologies.
Æcius.
They grieve besides, Sir,
To see the Nations whom our ancient Virtue
With many a weary March and Hunger conquer'd
With loss of many a daring Life subdu'd
Fall from their fair Obedience, and ev'n murmur
To see the Warlike Eagles mew their Honours,
In obscure Towns, that us'd to prey on Princes,
They cry for Enemies, and tell the Captain
The Fruits of Italy are Luscious: Give us Ægypt,
Or sandy Affrick to display our Valours,
There, where our Swords may get us Meat and Dangers!
Digest our well-got Food, for here our Weapons
And Bodies that were made for shining Brass,
Are both unedg'd and old with Ease and Women!
And then they cry again, Where are the Germans
Lin'd with hot Spain or Gallia? Bring 'em near:
And let the Son of War, steel'd Mithridates
Pour on us his wing'd Parthians like a storm:
Hiding the face of Heav'n with show'rs of Arrows,
Yet we dare fight like Romans; then as Souldiers
Tyr'd with a weary March, they tell their Wounds
Ev'n weeping ripe, they were no more nor deeper,
And glory in these Scars that make 'em lovely.
And sitting where a Camp was, like sad Pilgrims
They reckon up the Times and loading Labours
Of Julius or Germanicus, and wonder
That Rome, whose Turrets once were topt with Honour
Can now forget the Custom of her Conquests;
And then they blame you, Sir—And say, Who leads us!
Shall we stand here like Statues! Were our Fathers
The Sons of lazy Moors, our Princes Persians!
Nothing but Silk and Softness? Curses on 'em
That first taught Nero Wantonness and Blood,
Tiberius Doubts, Caligula all Vices;
For from the spring of these succeeding Princes—
Thus they talk, Sir.
13
Well!
Why do you hear these things?
Æcius.
Why do you do 'em?
I take the Gods to witness with more sorrow
And more vexation hear I these Reproaches
Than were my Life dropt from me through an Hour-Glass.
Val.
'Tis like then you believe 'em or at least
Are glad they should be so: Take heed—you were better
Build your own Tomb, and run into it living
Than dare a Prince's Anger.
Æcius.
I am old, Sir:
And ten years more addition is but nothing:
Now if my Life be pleasing to you, take it.
Upon my knees, if ever any Service
(As let me brag, some have been worthy notice!)
If ever any Worth or Trust you gave me
Deserv'd a Favour, Sir; If all my Actions
The hazards of my Youth, Colds, Burnings, Wants
For You and for the Empire be not Vices:
By the stile you have stampt upon me, Souldier!
Let me not fall into the Hands of Wretches.
Val.
I understand you not.
Æcius.
Let not this Body
That has look'd bravely in his Blood for Cæsar
And covetous of Wounds, and for your safety.
After the scape of Swords, Spears, Slings and Arrows,
'Gainst which my beaten Body was my Armor!
Throu' Seas, and thirsty Desarts, now be purchace
For Slaves and base informers: I see Anger
And Death, look throu' your Eyes—I am markt for
Slaughter, and know the telling of this Truth has made Me,
A man clean lost to this World—I embrace it,
Only my last Petition, Sacred Cæsar!
Is, I may die a Roman.—
Val.
Rise, my Friend still,
And worthy of my Love: Reclaim the Souldiers!
I'l study to do so upon my self.
Go—keep your Command and prosper,
Æcius.
Life to Cæsar.—
[Exit.
14
The Honesty of this Æcius,
Who is indeed the Bulwark of my Empire
Is to be cherisht for the good it brings,
Not valu'd as a Merit in the Owner!
All Princes are Slaves bound up by Gratitude,
And Duty has no Claim beyond Acknowledgment
Which I'l pay Æcius, whom I still have found
Dull, faithful, humble, vigilant and brave:
Talents as I could wish 'em for my Slave:
But oh this Woman!—
Is it a Sin to love this lovely Woman?
No: She is such a Pleasure, being good;
That though I were a God, shee'd fire my Blood.
The End of the First Act.
| Valentinian | |