Julia, let's haste from this infectious person-
I had forgot that Marcian was a traitor;
Yet, by the pow'rs divine, I swear 'tis pity,
That one so form'd by nature for all honour,
All titles, greatness, dignities imperial,
The noblest person, and the bravest courage,
Should not be honest: Julia, is't not pity?
O Marcian! Marcian! I could weep to think
Virtue should lose itself as thine has done.
Repent, rash man, if yet 'tis not too late,
And mend thy errors; so farewel for ever.
[Ex. PULCH. JUL.
Marc. Farewel for ever! no, madam, ere I go,
I am resolv'd to speak, and you shall hear me :
Then, if you please, take off this traitor's head;
End my commission and my life together.

Luc. Perhaps you'll laugh at what I am going
to say;

But by your life, my lord, I think 'tis true,-
Pulcheria loves this traitor! did you mark her?
At first she had forgot your banishment,
Makes you her counsellor, and tells her secrets,
As to a friend; nay, leaves them in your hand,
And says, 'tis pity that you are not honest,
With such description of your gallantry
As none but love could make: Then taking, leave,
Through the dark lashes of her darting eyes
Methought she shot her soul at every glance;
Still looking back, as if she had a mind
That you should know she left her heart behind her.
Marc. Alas! thou dost not know her, nor do I,
Nor can the wit of all mankind conceive her.
But let's away; this paper is of use.

Luc. I guess your purpose:

He is a boy, and as a boy you'll use him-
There is no other way.

Marc. Yes, if he be not

Quite dead with sleep, for ever lost to honour,
Marcian with this shall rouse him. O, my Lucius!
Methinks the ghosts of the great Theodosius,
And thundering Constantine, appear before me;
They charge me as a soldier to chastise him,
To lash him with keen words from lazy love,
And shew him how they trod the paths of honour.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

THEODOSIUS lying on a Couch, with two Boys drest like Cupids, singing to him as he sleeps. SONG.

Happy day! ah happy day!

That Casar's beams did first display;
So peaceful was the happy day,

The gods themselves did all look down,
The royal infant's birth to crown,

So pleas'd, they scarce did on the guilty frown.
Happy day! ah happy day!
And oh thrice happy hour!

That made such goodness master of such pow'r ;
For thus the gods declare to men,

No day like this shall ever come again. ·

4

Enter MARCIAN with an Order.

Theo. Ha! what rash thing art thou, who set'st so small

A value on thy life, thus to presume
Against the fatal orders I have given,
Thus to entrench on Cæsar's solitude,
And urge me to thy ruin?
Marc. Mighty Cæsar,

I have transgress'd, and for my pardon bow
To thee, as to the gods when I offend:
Nor can I doubt your mercy, when you know
The nature of my crime. I am commission'd
From all the earth to give thee thanks and praises,
Thou darling of mankind! whose conqu❜ring arms
Already drown the glory of great Julius,
Whose deeper reach in laws and policy
Makes wise Augustus envy thee in heav'n.
What mean the fates by such prodigious virtue,
When scarce the manly down yet shades thy face,
With conquests thus to overrun the world,
And make barbarians tremble? O, ye gods!
Should destiny now end thee in thy bloom,
Methinks I see thee mourn'd above the loss
Of lov'd Germanicus; thy funerals,
Like his, are solemniz'd with tears and blood.
Theo. How, Marcian!

Marc. Yes, the raging multitude,
Like torrents, set no bound to their mad grief;
Shave their wives' heads, and tear off their own
hair;

With wild despair they bring their infants out, To brawl their parent's sorrow in the streets; Trade is no more, all courts of justice stopp'd; With stones they dash the windows of their temples,

Pull down their altars, break their household gods; And still the universal groan is this, Constantinople's lost, our empire's ruin'd: Since he is gone, that father of his country, Since he is dead, O life, where is thy pleasure! O Rome! oh conquer'd world! where is thy glory! Theo. I know thee well, thy custom and thy

manners;

Thou dost upbraid me; but no more of this, Not for thy life!

Marc. What's life without my honour?
Could

Or make that beardless face like Jupiter's,
you transform yourself into a gorgon,
I would be heard in spite of all your thunder:
O pow'r of guilt! you fear to stand the test
Which virtue brings; like sores your vices shake
Before this Roman healer. But, by the gods,
Before I go I'll rip the malady,

And let the venom flow before your eyes.
This is a debt to the great Theodosius,
The grandfather of your illustrious blood;
And then farewell for ever.

Theo. Presuming Marcian!
What canst thou urge against my innocence?
Through the whole course of all my harmless youth,
Ev'n to this hour, I cannot call to mind
One wicked act which I have done to shame me

Marc. This may be true; yet if you give the sway

To other hands, and your poor subjects suffer,
Your negligence to them is as the cause.
O Theodosius! credit me, who know

The world, and hear how soldiers censure kings.
In aftertimes, if thus you should go on,
Your memory by warriors will be scorn'd,
As much as Nero or Caligula loath'd;

They will despise your sloth, and backward ease,
More than they hate the others' cruelty.
And what a thing, ye gods, is scorn or pity!
Heap on me, heav'n, the hate of all mankind;
Load me with malice, envy, detestation :
Let me be horrid to all apprehension,
And the world shun me, so I 'scape but scorn.
Theo. Prithee, no more!

Marc. Nay, when the legions make compari

sons,

And say, thus cruel Nero once resolv'd
On Galba's insurrection, for revenge,
To give all France as plunder to the armies,
To poison the whole senate at a feast;
To burn the city, turn the wild beasts out,
Bears, lions, tigers, on the multitude;
That so, obstructing those that quench'd the fire,
He might at once destroy rebellious Rome-

Theo. O cruelty! why tell'st thou me of this?
Am I of such a barbarous bloody temper?
Marc. Yet some will say, this shew'd he had

a spirit,

However fierce, avenging, and pernicious,
That savour'd of a Roman; but for you,
What can your partial sycophants invent,
To make you room among the emperors;
Whose utmost is the smallest part of Nero;
A pretty player-one that can act a hero,
And never be one? O ye immortal gods!
Is this the old Cæsarian majesty?
Now, in the name of our great Romulus,
Why sing you not, and fiddle too as he did?
Why have you not, like Nero, a phenascus ?
One to take care of your celestial voice?
Lie on your back, my lord, and on your stomach
Lay a thin plate of lead, abstain from fruits;
And when the business of the stage is done,
Retire with your loose friends to costly banquets,
While the lean army groans upon the ground.
Theo. Leave me, I say, least I chastise thee:
Hence, begone I say!

Marc. Not till you have heard me out-
Build too, like him, a palace lin❜d with gold,
As long and large as that to the Esquiline:
Inclose a pool too in it, like the sea,
And at the empire's cost let navies meet:
Adorn your starry chambers too with gems,
Contrive the plated ceilings to turn round,
With pipes to cast ambrosian oils upon you;
Consume with his prodigious vanity,
In mere perfumes and odorous distillations,
Of sesterces at once four hundred millions;
Let naked virgins wait you at your table,
And wanton Cupids dance and clap their wings;
No matter what becomes of the poor soldiers,

So they perform the drudgery they are fit for.
Why let 'em starve for want of their arrears,
Drop as they go, and die like dogs in ditches.
Theo. Come, you are a traitor.
Marc. Go to, you are a boy;
Or by the gods-

Theo. If arrogance, like this, And to the emperor's face, should 'scape unpu nish'd,

I'll write myself a coward-Die then, villain,
A death too glorious for so bad a man,
By Theodosius' hand.

[MARCIAN disarms him, but is wounded.
Marc. Now, sir, where are you?
What, in the name of all our Roman spirits,
Now charms my hand from giving thee thy fate?
Has he not cut me off from all my honours?
Torn my commissions, sham'd me to the earth,
Banish'd the court, a vagabond for ever?

Does not the soldier hourly ask it from me?
Sigh their own wrongs, and beg me to revenge'em?
What hinders now, but that I mount the throne,
And make to that this purple youth my foot-
stool?

The armies court me, and my country's cause;
The injuries of Rome and Greece persuade me.
Shew but this Roman blood which he has drawn,
They'll make me emperor whether I will or no:
Did not for less than this the latter Brutus,
Because he thought Rome wrong'd, in person
head

Against his friend a black conspiracy,
And stab the majesty of all the world?

Theo. Act as you please, I am within your power.
Marc. Did not the former Brutus, for the crime
Of Sextus, drive old Tarquin from his kingdom?
And shall this prince too, by permitting others
To act their wicked wills and lawless pleasures,
Ravish from the empire its dear health,
Well-being, happiness, and ancient glory,
Go on in this dishonourable rest?

Shall he, I say, dream on, while the starved troops
Lie cold and waking in the winter camp;
And like pin'd birds, for want of sustenance,
Feed on the haws and berries of the fields?
O temper, temper me, ye gracious gods!
Give to my hand forbearance, to my heart
Its constant loyalty! I would but shake him,
Rouse him a little from this death of honour,
And shew him what he should be.

Theo. You accuse me,

As if I were some monster, most unheard of:
First, as the ruin of the army, then
Of taking your commission: But, by heav'n,
I swear, O Marcian ! this I never did,
Nor e'er intended it: Nor say I this
To alter thy stern usage; for with what
Thou hast said, and done, and brought to my re-
membrance,

I grow already weary of my life.

Marc. My lord, I take your word: you do not know

The wounds which rage within your country's bowels:

The horrid usage of the suff'ring soldier:
But why will not our Theodosius know?
If you intrust the government to others

That act these crimes, who but yourself's to blame?

Be witness, O ye gods! of my plain dealing,
Of Marcians honesty, howe'er degraded:
I thank you for my banishment; but, alas!
My loss is little to what soon will follow;
Reflect but on yourself and your own joys:
Let not this lethargy for ever hold you.
'Twas rumour'd through the city, that you lov'd,
That your espousals should be solemniz'd;
When on a sudden here you sent your orders
That this bright favourite, the lov'd Eudosia,
Should lose her head.

Theo. O heav'n and earth! What say'st thou ? That I have seal'd the death of my Eudosia? Marc. 'Tis your own hand and signet: Yet I

swear,

Though you have given to female hands your sway,
And therefore I, as well as the whole army,
For ever ought to curse all womankind;
Yet, when the virgin came, as she was doom'd,
And on the scaffold, for that purpose rais'd,
Without the walls appear'd before the army-
Theo. What! on a scaffold? Ha! before the
army?

Marc. How quickly was the tide of fury turn'd To soft compassion and relenting tears! But when the axe

Sever'd the brightest beauty of the earth
From that fair body, had you heard the groan,
Which, like a peal of distant thunder, ran
Through all the armed host, you would have
thought,

By the immediate darkness that fell round us,
Whole nature was concern'd at such a suffering,
And all the gods were angry.

Theo. O Pulcheria!

Cruel ambitious sister, this must be
Thy doing! O support me, noble Marcian!
Now, now's the time, if thou dar'st strike; behold
I offer thee my breast, with my last breath;
I'll thank thee too, if now thou draw'st my blood.
Were I to live, thy counsel should direct me;
But 'tis too late-
[He swoons.

Enter LUCIUS.

Marc. He faints! what, hoa there, Lucius!
My lord the emperor, Eudosia lives;
She's here, or will be in a minute-moment ;-
Quick as a thought she calls you to the temple.
O Lucius, help-I have gone too far-but see,
He breathes again-Eudosia has awak'd him.
Theo. Did you not name Eudosia ?
Marc. Yes, she lives;

I did but feign the story of her death,
To find how near you plac'd her to your heart;
And may the gods rain all their plagues upon me,
If ever I rebuke you thus again:

Yet 'tis most certain that you sign'd her death,
Not knowing what the wise Pulcheria offer'd,
Who left it in my hand to startle you:
But, by my life and fame, I did not think

It would have touch'd your life. O pardon me,
Dear prince, my lord, my emperor ! royal master!
Droop not, because I utter'd some rash words,
And was a madman-by th' immortal gods
I love you as my soul: whate'er I said,
My thoughts were otherwise; believe these tears,
Which do not use to flow, all shall be well:
I swear that there are seeds in that sweet temper,
To atone for all the crimes in this bad age.

Theo. I thank thee-first for my Eudosia's life: What, but my love, could have call'd back that life

Which thou hast made me hate? But oh, methought

'Twas hard, dear Marcian, very hard from thee,
From him I ever reverenc'd as my father,
To hear so harsh a message but no more:
We're friends: Thy hand; nay if thou wilt not
rise,

And let me fold my arms about thy neck,
I'll not believe thy love-In this forgive me.
First let me wed Eudosia, and we'll out;
We will, my general, and make amends
For all that's past-Glory and arms, ye call,
And Marcian leads me on.

Marc. Let her not rest then,-
Espouse her straight; I'll strike you at a heat;
May this great humour get large growth within

you,

And be encourag'd by the embold'ning gods.
O what a sight will this be to the soldier,
To see me bring you, drest in shining armour,
To head the shouting squadronsO ye gods!
Methinks I hear the echoing cries of joy,
The sound of trumpets, and the beat of drums;
I see each starving soldier bound from earth,
As if some god by miracle had rais'd him,
And, with beholding you, grow fat again.
Nothing but gazing eyes, and opening mouths;
Cheeks red with joy, and lifted hands about you:
Some wiping the glad tears that trickle down,
With broken los and with sobbing raptures,
Crying, to arms! he's come, our emperor's come,
To win the world!-Why, is not this far better
Than lolling in a lady's lap, and sleeping,
Fasting, or praying? Come, come, you shall be
merry:

And for Eudosia, she is your's already:
Marcian has said it; sir, she shall be yours.

Theo. O Marcian! oh my brother, father, all! Thou best of friends, most faithful counsellor, I'll find a match for thee too ere I rest,

To make thee love me. For when thou art with

me,

I'm strong and well; but when thou'rt gone, I am nothing.

Enter ATHENAIS meeting THEODOSIUS. Theo. Alas, Eudosia! tell me what to say; For my full heart can scarce bring forth a word Of that which I have sworn to see perform❜d.

Athen. I am perfectly obedient to your plea

sure.

Theo. Well then I come to tell thee, that Va

ranes,

However slighted for her birth and fortune,
Has something in her person and her virtue,
Worth the regard of emperors themselves;
And, to return the compliment you gave
My father, Leontine, that poor philosopher,
Whose utmost glory is to have been your tutor,
I here protest, by virtue and by glory,

I swear by heaven and all the powers divine,
Th' abandon'd daughter of that poor old man
Shall ne'er be seated on the throne of Cyrus.
Vara. O death to all my hopes! what hast
thou sworn

To turn me wild? Ah cursed throne of Cyrus, Would thou had'st been o'erturn'd and laid in dust,

His crown too thunderstruck, my father, all
The Persian race, like poor Darius, ruin'd,
Blotted, and swept for ever from the world,
When first ambition blasted thy remembrance!
Athen. O heaven! I had forgot the base af-
front

Offer'd by this proud man; a wrong so great,
It is remov'd beyond all hope of mercy:
He had design'd to bribe my father's virtue,
And by unlawful means-

Fly from my sight, lest I become a fury,
And break those rules of temperance I propos'd;
Fly, fly, Varanes! fly this sacred place,
Where virtue and religion are profess'd :
This city will not harbour infidels,
Traitors to chastity, licentious princes.
Begone, I say; thou canst not here be safe;
Fly to imperial libertines abroad;

In foreign courts thou'lt find a thousand beauties

That will comply for gold-for gold they'll weep,
For gold be fond as Athenais was,

And charm thee still as if they lov'd indeed.
Thou'lt find enough companions too for riot,
Luxuriant all, and royal as thyself,
Though thy loud vices should resound to heav'n.
Art thou not gone yet?

Vara. No, I am charm'd to hear you:

O from my soul, I do confess myself
The very blot of honour-I am more black
han thou, in all thy heat of just revenge,

With all thy glorious eloquence, canst make me.
Athen. Away, Varanes.

Vara. Yes, madam, I am goingNay, by the gods, I do not ask thee pardon, Nor while I live will I implore thy mercy; But when I am dead, if, as thou dost return With happy Theodosius from the temple— If, as thou go'st in triumph through the streets, Thou chance to meet the cold Varanes there, Borne by his friends to his eternal home, Stop then, O Athenais! and behold me; Say, as thou hang'st about the empʼror's neck, Alas! my lord! this sight is worth our pity. If to those pitying words you add a tear, Or give one parting groan-If possible, If the good gods will grant my soul the freedom,

I'll leave my shroud, and wake from death to thank thee.

Athen. He shakes my resolution from the bot

tom:

My bleeding heart too speaks in his behalf,
And says my virtue has been too severe.

Vara. Farewell, O empress! No Athenais

now;

I will not call thee by that tender name,
Since cold despair begins to freeze my bosom,
And all my pow'rs are now resolv'd on death.
'Tis said, that from my youth I have been rash,
Choleric, and hot; but let the gods now judge
By my last wish, if ever patient man

Did calmly bear so great a loss as mine;
Since 'tis so doom'd by fate you must be wedded,
For your own peace, when am laid in earth,
Forget that e'er Varanes had a being;
Turn all your soul to Theodosius' bosom :-
Continue, gods, their days, and make 'em long:
Lucina wait upon their fruitful Hymen,
And many children, beauteous as the mother,
And pious as the father, make 'em smile!
Athen. O heav'ns!

Vara. Farewell-I'll trouble you no more:
The malady that's lodg'd within grows stronger;
I feel the shock of my approaching fate:
My heart too trembles at his distant march;
Nor can I utter more, if you should ask me.
Thy arm, Aranthes!-O farewell for ever!

Athen. Varanes, stay; and ere you go for ever, Let me unfold my heart.

Vara. O Athenais!

What further cruelty hast thou in store
To add to what I suffer?

Athen. Since it is doom'd

That we must part, let's part as lovers should, As those that have lov'd long, and lov'd well.

Vara. Art thou so good? O Athenais, oh! Athen. First, from my soul I pity and forgive you;

I pardon you that little hasty error,
Which yet has been the cause of both our ruins:
And let this sorrow witness for my heart
How eagerly I wish it had not been;
And since I cannot keep it, take it all,

Take all the love, O prince! I ever bore you:
Or, if 'tis possible, I'll give you more;

Your noble carriage forces this confession : rage, I burn, I bleed, I die for love!

I

I am distracted with this world of passion. Vara. Gods! cruel gods! take notice I for

give you.

Athen. Alas! my lord, my weaker tender sex Has not your manly patience, cannot curb This fury in; therefore I let it loose; Spite of my rigid duty, I will speak With all the dearness of a dying lover. Farewell, most lovely, and most lov'd of men Why comes this dying paleness o'er thy face? Why wander thus thy eyes? Why dost thou bend As if the fatal weight of death were on thee?

Vara. Speak yet a little more; for, by the gods, And as I prize those blessed happy moments, I swear, O Athenais! all is well: