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I am not of their principle, that take
A wrong; so far from bearing with a foe,
I would strike first : like old Řome, I would forta,
Elbow the neighbouring nations round about,
Invade, enlarge my empire to the bounds
Of the too narrow universe. Yes, I own
That I despise your holy innovations.
I am for the Roman gods, for funeral piles,
For mounting eagles, and the fancied greatness
Of our forefathers. Methinks my heated spirit
Could utter things worth losing of my head.
Pulch. Speak freely, Marcian, for I know thee
honest.

Marc. O, madam, long, long may the empe-
ror live!

But, I must say, his gentle disposition
Suits not, alas, the oriental sway.
Bid him but look on Pharamond: O gods!
Awake himwith the image of that spirit,
Which, like a pyramid revers'd, is grown
Ev'n from a point to the most dreadful great-

ness.

His very name already shakes the world;
And still in person heading his first squadrons,
Like the first Cæsar o'er the hardy Gauls,
He seems another thunderbolt of war.

Pulch. I oft have blam'd my brother most for this,

That to my hand he leaves the state affairs:
And how that sounds, you know—

Marc. Forgive me, madam;

I think that all the greatness of your sex,
Rome's Clelia, and the fam'd Semiramis,
With all the amazonian valour too,
Meet in Pulcheria; yet I say, forgive me,
If with reluctance I behold a woman
Sit at the empire's helm, and steer the world.
Pulch. I stand rebuk'd.

Marc. Mark but the growing French.
The most auspicious omen of their greatness,
That I can guess, is their late Salique law,
Blest by their priests, the Salii, and pronoun-
ced

To stand for ever; which excludes all women
From the imperial crown. But, oh! I speak
The least of all those infinite grievances,
Which make the subjects murmur: In the army,
Though I proceeded still like Hannibal,
And punish'd every mutineer with death,
Yet, oh! it stabbed me through and through the
soul

To pass the wretches' doom, because I knew With justice they complained: for hard they fought,

And with their blood earn'd that forbidden bread,

Which some at court, and great ones, though unnam'd,

Cast to their hounds, while the poor soldier's starv'd

Pulch. Your pity, too, in mournful fellow

ship,

No doubt might sooth their murmurs?

Marc. Yes, it did.

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To the eternal shame of female councils,
And to the blast of Theodosius' name,
Whom never warlike chronicle shall mention,-
O let me speak it with a Roman spirit !—
We were received like undone prodigals,
By curst ungrateful stewards, with cold looks,
Who yet got all by those poor wretches' ruin,
Like malefactors, at the hands of justice.
I blush, I almost weep with bursting rage;
If thus receiv'd, how paid our long arrears?
Why, as intrusted misers pay the rights
Of helpless widows, or the orphans' tears.
O soldier,-for to thee, to thee I speak it,—
Bawds, for the drudgery of citizens' wives,
Would better pay debilitated stallions.-
Madam, I have said perhaps too much; if so,
It matters not; for he who lies, like me,
On the hard ground, is sure to fall no further.
Pulch. I have given you patient hearing, ho-
nest Marcian;

And, as far as I can see into your temper,
(I speak my serious judgment in cold blood,
With strictest consultation on the matter,)

I think this seeming plain and honest Marcian
An exquisite and most notorious traitor.
Marc. Ha! traitor!

Pulch. Yes, a most notorious traitor.
Marc. Your grandfather, whose frown could
awe the world,

Would not have called me so--or if he had-Pulch. You would have taken it. But to the business:

Was❜t not enough,—oh heaven! thou know'st too much!

At first to own yourself an infidel,
A bold contemner, even to blasphemy,
Of that religion which we all profess,
For which your heart's best blood can ne'er suf-
fice;

But you must dare, with a seditious army,
Thus to conspire against the emperor !
│I mention not your impudence to me,
Taxing the folly of my government,
Ev'n to my face; such an irreverence,
As sure no barb'rous Vandal would have urged;
Beside your libelling all the court, as if
You had engross'd the whole world's honesty,
And flatterers, fools, sycophants, knaves,
(Such was your language,) did inhabit here.

Marc. You wrest my honest meaning, by the
gods

You do; and if you thus go on, I feel
My struggling spirit will no longer bear it.
Pulch. I thought the meaning of all rational

men

Should still be gathered out of their discourse;

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Pulch. What now! ha! does the traitor murmur?

If in three days,-mark me; 'tis I that doom thee!

Rash, inconsiderate man, a wretch beneath
The torments I could execute upon thee !-
If, after three days space, thou'rt found in court,
Thou dy'st! thy head, thy head shall pay the
forfeit.

Farewell: now rage! now rail and curse the court;

Saucily dare to abuse the best of princes,
And let thy lawless tongue lash all it can ;
Do, like a madman, rave! deplore thy fortune,
While pages laugh at thee; then haste to the

army,

Grow popular, and lead the multitude;
Preach up thy wrongs, and drive the giddy beast
To kick at Cæsar. Nay, if thou weep'st, I am
gone.-

O Julia! if I stay, I shall weep too.
Yet 'tis but just that I the heart should see
Of him who once must lord it over me.
[Exit PULCHERIA, &c.
Luc. Why do you droop, sir? Come, no more
o'this,

You are and shall be still our general:
Say but the word, I'll fill the Hippodrome
With squadrons that shall make the emperor
tremble;

We'll fire the court about his ears.
Methinks, like Junius Brutus, I have watch'd
An opportunity, and now it comes !
Few words and I are friends; but, noble Marcian,
If yet thou art not more than general
Ere dead of night, say Lucius is a coward.

Marc. I charge thee, in the name of all the
gods,

Come back! I charm thee by the name of friend.
All's well, and I rejoice I am no general.
But, hush! within three days we must be gone,
And then, my friend, farewell to ceremony.
We'll fly to some far distant lonely village,
Forget our former state, and breed with slaves,
Sweat in the eye of day, and, when night comes,
With bodies coarsely fill'd, and vacant souls,
Sleep like the labour'd hinds, and never think;
For if I think again, I shall go mad,

Enter LEONTINE and ATHENAIS, &c. Therefore no thought. But see, we are interrupted!-

O court! O emperor! yet let death threaten,

I'll find a time. Till then be still, my soul-
No general now! A member of thy country,
But most corrupt, therefore to be cut off;
Loyal, plain-dealing, honest Marcian!
A slave, a traitor! O ye eternal gods!--[Exeunt.
Leon. So, Athenais; now our compliment
To the young Persian prince is at an end;
What then remains, but that we take our leave,
And bid him everlastingly farewell?
Athen. My lord!

Leon. I say, that decency requires

We should be gone, nor can you stay with ho

nour.

Athen. Most true, my lord.

Leon. The court is now at peace, The emperor's sisters are retir'd for ever, And he himself compos'd; what hinders then, But that we bid adieu to prince Varanes ?

Athen. Ah, sir, why will you break my heart?
Leon. I would not;

Thou art the only comfort of my age;
Like an old tree I stand among the storms,
Thou art the only limb that I have left me,
My dear green branch; and how I prize thee,
child,

Heaven only knows! Why dost thou kneel and weep?

Athen. Because you are so good, and will, I hope,

Forgive my fault, who first occasioned it. Leon. I charg'd thee to receive and hear the prince.

Athen. You did, and, oh, my lord! I heard too much!

Too much, I fear, for my eternal quiet.

Leon. Rise, Athenais! Credit him who bears More years than thou: Varanes has deceived thee.

Athen. How do we differ then! You judge the

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I think him the most virtuous of men:
Therefore take heed, my lord, how you accuse him,
Before you make the trial.--Alas, Varanes,
If thou art false, there's no such thing on earth
As solid goodness or substantial honour.---
A thousand times, my lord, he has sworn to
give me

(And I believe his oaths) his crown and empire, That day I make him master of my heart.

Leon. That day he'll make thee mistress of
his power,
Which carries a foul name among the vulgar.
No, Athenais! let me see thee dead,

Borne a pale corpse, and gently laid in earth,
So I may say, she's chaste, and died a virgin,
Rather than view thee with these wounded eyes
Seated upon the throne of Isdigerdes,
The blast of common tongues, the nobles' scorn,
Thy father's curse; that is, the prince's whore.

Athen. O horrid supposition ! how I detest it, Be witness, heaven, that sees my secret thoughts! Have I for this, my lord, been taught by you The nicest justice, and severest virtue,

To fear no death, to know the end of life,
And, with long search, discern the highest good?
No, Athenais! when the day beholds thee
So scandalously rais'd, pride cast thee down,
The scorn of honour, and the people's prey!
No, cruel Leontine, not to redeem
That aged head from the descending axe,
Not, though I saw thy trembling body rack'd,
Thy wrinkles about thee fill'd with blood,
Would I for empire, to the man I love,
Be made the object of unlawful pleasure.
Leon. O greatly said! and by the blood which

warms me,

Which runs as rich as any Athens holds,
It would improve the virtue of the world,
If every day a thousand votaries,

And thousand virgins came from far to hear thee. Athen. Look down, ye pow'rs, take notice we obey

The rigid principles ye have infus'd!

Yet oh, my noble father, to convince you,
Sincé you will have it so, propose a marriage;
Though with the thought I'm covered o'er with
blushes.

Not that I doubt the prince, that were to doubt
The heavens themselves; I know he is all truth:
But modesty,

The virgin's troublesome and constant guest,
That, that alone forbids.

Leon. I wish to heav'n'

There prove no greater bar to my belief.
Behold the prince; I will retire a while,
And, when occasion calls, come to thy aid.

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Were I a god, yet would I raise her higher,
This is the nature of thy prince: But, oh!
As to the world, thy judgment soars above me,
And I am dar'd with this gigantic honour,
Glory forbids her prospect to a crown,
Nor must she gaze that way; my haughty soul,
That day when she ascends the throne of Cyrus,
Will leave my body pale, and to the stars
Retire in blushes, lost, quite lost for ever.
Aran. What do you purpose then?
Vara, I know not what :

But, see, she comes, the glory of my arms,
The only business of my instant thought,
My soul's best joy, and all my true repose!
I swear I cannot bear these strange desires,
These strong impulses, which will shortly leave

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greatness!

To all the Persian
Athen. I believe you;

For I have heard you swear as much before. Vara. Hast thou? O why then did I swear again!

But that my love knew nothing worthier of thee, And could no better way express my passion. Athen. O rise, my lord!

Vara. I will do every thing Which Athenais bids: If there be more In nature to convince thee of my love, Whisper it, oh some god, into my ear! And on her breasts thus to her listening soul I'll breathe the inspiration! Wilt thou not speak? What, but one sigh, no more! Can that suffice For all my vast expence of prodigal love! O, Athenais! What shall I say or do, To gain the thing I wish?

Athen. What's that, my lord?

Vara. Thus to approach thee still! thus to behold thee. Yet there is more--

Athen. My lord, I dare not hear you. Vara. Why dost thou frown at what thou dost not know?

Tis an imagination which ne'er pierc'd thee; Yet, as 'tis ravishing, 'tis full of honour.

Athen. I must not doubt you, sir: But oh I

tremble

To think if Isdigerdes should behold you,
Should hear you thus protesting to a maid
Of no degree, but virtue, in the world--

Vara. No more of this, no more; for I disdain
All pomp when thou art by; far be the noise.
Of kings and courts from us, whose gentle souls
Our kinder stars have steer'd another way!
Free as the forest-birds, we'll pair together,
Without rememb'ring who our fathers were;
Fly to the arbours, grots, and flow'ry meads,
And in soft murmurs interchange our souls;
Together drink the crystal of the stream,
Or taste the yellow fruit which autumn yields,
And when the golden evening calls us home,
Wing to our downy nest, and sleep till morn.

Athen. Ah, prince! no more!
Forbear, forbear to charm me,

Since I am doom'd to leave you, sir, for ever.
Vara. Hold, Athenais-

Athen. I know your royal temper,

And that high honour reigns within your breast, Which would disdain to waste so many hours With one of humble blood compar'd to you, Unless strong passion sway'd your thoughts to love her;

Therefore receive, oh prince, and take it kindly, For none on earth but you could win it from me, Receive the gift of my eternal love!

'Tis all I can bestow, nor is it little; For sure a heart so coldly chaste as mine, No charms but yours, my lord, could e'er have warm'd!

Vara. Well have you made amends, by this

last comfort,

For the cold dart you shot at me before. For this last goodness, O my Athenais !

I

(For now, methinks, I ought to call you mine!)
I empty all my soul in thanks before you:
Yet oh! one fear remains, like death it chills me;
Why my relenting love did talk of parting!
Athen. Look there, and cease your wonder;
I have sworn

To obey my father, and he calls me hence.

Enter LEONTINE.

Vara. Ha, Leontine! by which of all my ac

tions

Have I so deeply injur'd thee, to merit

The smartest wound revenge could form to end me?

Leon. Answer me now, O prince! for virtue
prompts me,

And honesty will dally now no longer:
What can the end of all this passion be?
Glory requires this strict accompt, and asks
What you intend at last to Athenais?
Vara. How, Leontine !

Leon. You saw her, sir, at Athens; said you
lov'd her ;

I charg'd her humbly to receive the honour,
And hear your passion: Has she not, sir, obey'd

me?

Vara. She has, I thank the gods! but whither

would'st thou ?

Leon. Having resolv'd to visit Theodosius, You swore you would not go without my daugh

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Leon. Why do you walk, and chafe yourself, my lord!

The business is not much.

Vara. How, Leontine !

Not much? I know that she deserves a crown;
Yet 'tis to reason much, though not to love;
And sure the world would blush to see the

daughter

Of a philosopher on the throne of Cyrus.

Athen. Undone for ever!

Leon. Is this your answer, sir?

I look and tremble at the vast descent:
Yet even there, to the vast bottom down,
My rash adventurous love would have me leap,
And grasp my Athenais with my ruin.
Leon. 'Tis well, my lord.

Vara. Why dost thou thus provoke me?
I thought that Persia's court had store of honour
To satisfy the height of thy ambition.
Besides, old man, my love is too well grown,
To want a tutor for his good behaviour;
What he will do, he will do of himself,
And not be taught by you.-

Leon. I know he will not:

Fond tears away! I know, I know he will not;
But he would buy with his old man's preferment
My daughter for your whore.

Vara. Away, I say, my soul disdains the mo
tion!

Leon. The motion of a marriage; yes, I see
it;

Your angry looks and haughty words betray it:
I found it at the first. I thank you, sir,
You have at last rewarded your old tutor
For all his cares, his watchings, services;
Yet, let me tell you, sir, this humble ma.d,
This daughter of a poor philosopher,
Shall, if she please, be seated on a throne
As high as that of the immortal Cyrus.

Vara. I think that age and deep philosophy
Have crack'd thy brain: Farewell, old Leontine,
Retire to rest; and when this brawling humour
Is rock'd asleep, I'll meet my Athenais,
And clear the accounts of love, which thou hast
blotted,
[Exit.
Leon. Old Leontine! perhaps I am mad in-
deed.

But hold my heart, and let that solid virtue,
Which I so long ador'd, still keep the reins.
O Athenais! But I will not chide thee:
Fate is in all our actions, and, methinks,
it has
At least a father judges so,
Rebuk'd thee smartly for thy easiness:
There is a kind of mournful eloquence
In thy dumb grief, which shames all clamorous

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To be forgiven!

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Leon. Thy father does forgive thee,
And honour will; but on this hard condition,
Never to see him more-

Athen. See him! Oh heavens!

Leon. Unless it be, my daughter, to upbraid him: Not though he should repent and straight return, Nay, proffer thee his crown-No more of that. Honour too cries revenge, revenge thy wrongs, Revenge thyself, revenge thy injur'd father;

Varu. Why dost thou urge me thus, and push For 'tis revenge so wise, so glorious too,

me to

The very brink of glory? where, alas!

VOL. I.

As all the world shall praise.
Athen. O give me leave,

X

For yet I am all tenderness: the woman,
The weak, the mild, the fond, the coward wo-

man,

Dares not look forth; but runs about my breast,
And visits all the warmer mansions there,
Where she so oft has harbour'd false Varanes !
Cruel Varanes! false, forsworn Varanes!
Leon. Is this forgetting him? Is this the course
Which honour bids thee take?

Athen. Ah, sir, allow

A little time for love to make his way;
Hardly he won the place, and many sighs,
And many tears, and thousand oaths it cost him;
And, oh! I find he will not be dislodged
Without a groan at parting hence for ever.
No, no! he vows he will not yet be raz'd,
Without whole floods of grief at his farewel,
Which thus I sacrifice! and oh I swear,
Had he proved true, I would as easily
Have emptied all my blood, and died to serve
him,

As now I shed these drops, or vent these sighs,
To shew how well, how perfectly I lov❜d him.
Leon. No woman sure, but thou, so low in
fortune,

Therefore the nobler is thy fair example, Would thus have griev❜d, because a prince ador'd her;

Nor will it be believ'd in after-times,

SCENE I.

That there was ever such a maid in being;
Yet do I still advise, preserve thy virtue;
And since he does disdain thee for his bride,
Scorn thou to be-

Athen. Hold, sir, oh hold, forbear,
For my nice soul abhors the very sound;
Yet with the shame of that, and the desire
Of an immortal name, I am inspir'd:
All kinder thoughts are fled for ever from me,
All tenderness, as if I ne'er had lov'd,
Has left my bosom colder than the grave.
Leon. Ön, Athenais, on! 'tis bright before
thee,

Pursue the track, and thou shalt be a star.

Athen. O, Leontine, I swear, my noble father, That I will starve e'er once forego my virtue; And thus let's join to contradict the world, That empire could not tempt a poor old man To sell his prince the honour of his daughter; And she, too, match'd the spirit of her father. Though humbly born, and yet more humbly bred, She for her fame refus'd a royal bed; Who, though she lov❜d, yet did put off the hour, Nor could her virtue be betray'd by power. Patterns like these will guilty courts improve, And teach the fair to blush at conscious love: Then let all maids for honour come in view, If any maid can more for glory do.

ACT III.

Enter VARANES and ARANTHES.
Vara. Come to my arms, my faithful, dear
Aranthes,

Soft counsellor, companion of my youth;
If I had longer been alone, most sure,
With the distraction that surrounds my heart,
My hand would have rebelled against his master,
And done a murder here.

Aranth. The gods forbid!

Vara. I swear, I press thee with as hearty joy, As ever fearful bride embrac'd her man, When from a dream of death she wak'd, and found

Her lover safe, and sleeping by her side.

Aranth. The cause, my lord?

Vara. Early thou know'st last night I went to rest,;

But long, my friend, ere slumber clos'd my eyes, Long was the combat fought 'twixt love and glory;

The fever of my passion burnt me up,
My pangs grew stronger, and my rack was dou-
bled;

My bed was all afloat with the cold drops
That mortal pain wrung from my lab'ring limbs;
My groans more deep than others' dying gasps:
Therefore, I charge thee, haste to her apart-
ment;

[Exeunt

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