SCENE II.

Lyci. Sicker, and sicker Proculus? Pro. Oh Lycias, What shall become of us? would we had di'd With happy Chilax, or with Balbus, bedrid—

And made too lame for justice. Licinius. The soft Musick; And let one sing to fasten sleep upon him: Oh friends, the Emperour. Pro. What say the Doctors? Lici. For us a most sad saying, he is poyson'd, Beyond all cure too. L[y]ci. Who? Lici. The wretch Aretus, That most unhappy villain. L[y]ci. How do you know it? L[i]ci. He gave him drink last: let's disperse and find him; And since he has opened misery to all, Let it begin with him first: Softly he slumbers.

Musick and SONG. Care charming sleep, thou easer of all woes, Brother to death, sweetly thy self dispose On this afflicted Prince, fall like a Cloud In gentle showrs, give nothing that is lowd, Or painfull to his slumbers; easie, sweet, And as a purling stream, thou son of night, Pass by his troubled senses; sing his pain Like hollow murmuring wind, or silver Rain, Into this Prince gently, Oh gently slide, And kiss him into slumbers like a Bride. Emp. O gods, gods: drink, drink, colder, colder Than snow on Scythian Mountains: O my heart-strings. Eudo. How does your Grace? Phys. The Empress speaks Sir. Emp. Dying, Dying Eudoxia, dying. Phys. Good Sir patience. Eudo. What have ye given him? Phys. Pretious things dear Lady We hope shall comfort him. Emp. O flatter'd fool, See what thy god-head's come to: Oh Eudoxia. Eudo. O patience, patience Sir.

Emp. Danubius I'le have brought through my body. Eudo. Gods give comfort. Emp. And Volga, on whose face the North wind freezes, I find an hundred hells, a hundred Piles Already to my Funerals are flaming, Shall I not drink? Phys. You must not Sir. Emp. By Heaven I'le let my breath out that shall burn ye all If ye deny me longer: tempests blow me, And inundations that have drunk up Kingdoms Flow over me, and quench me: where's the villain? Am I immortal now ye slaves? by Numa If he do scape: Oh, oh. Eudo. Dear Sir. Emp. Like Nero, But far more terrible, and full of slaughter, I'th' midst of all my flames I'le fire the Empire: A thousand fans, a thousand fans to cool me: Invite the gentle winds Eudoxia. Eudo. Sir. Emp. Oh do not flatter me, I am but flesh, A man, a mortal man: drink, drink, ye dunces; What can your doses now do, and your scrapings, Your oyles, and Mithridates? if I do die, You only words of health, and names of sickness Finding no true disease in man but mony, That talk your selves into Revenues, oh And e're ye kill your patients, begger 'em, I'le have ye flead, and dri'd. Pro. The Villain Sir; The most accursed wretch. Emp. Be gone my Queen, This is no sight for thee: goe to the Vestals, Cast holy incense in the fire, and offer One powerfull sacrifice to free thy Cæsar. Pro. Goe goe and be happy. [Exit Eudox[i]a. Aret. Goe, but give no ease, The Gods have set thy last hour Valentinian, Thou art but man, a bad man too, a beast, And like a sensuall bloudy thing thou diest. Pro. Oh Traitor. Aret. Curse your selves ye flatterers, And howle your miseries to come ye wretches, You taught him to be poyson'd. Emp. Yet no comfort? Aret. Be not abus'd with Priests, nor Pothecaries, They cannot help thee; Thou hast now to live A short half hour, no more, and I ten minutes: I gave thee poyson for Aecius sake, Such a destroying poyson would kill nature; And, for thou shalt not die alone, I took it. If mankind had been in thee at this murder, No more to people earth again, the wings Of old time clipt for ever, reason lost, In what I had attempted, yet O Cæsar To purchase fair revenge, I had poyson'd them too. Emp. O villain: I grow hotter, hotter. Are. Yes; But not near my heat yet; what thou feel'st now, Mark me with horror Cæsar, are but Embers Of lust and leachery thou hast committed: But there be flames of murder. Emp. Fetch out tortures. Are. Do, and I'le flatter thee, nay more I'll love thee: Thy tortures to what now I suffer Cæsar, At which thou must arrive too, e're thou dy'st, Are lighter, and more full of mirth and laughter. Emp. Let 'em alone: I must drink. Are. Now be mad, But not near me yet. Emp. Hold me, hold me, hold me, Hold me; or I shall burst else. Are. See me Cæsar, And see to what thou must come for thy murder; Millions of womens labours, all diseases. Emp. Oh my afflicted soul too. Are. Womens fears, horrors, Despairs, and all the Plagues the hot Sun breeds.— Emp. Æcius, O Aecius: O Lucina. Are. Are but my torments shadows? Emp. Hide me mountains; The gods have found my sins: Now break. Are. Not yet Sir; Thou hast a pull beyond all these. Emp. Oh Hell, Oh villain, cursed villain. Are. O brave villain, My poyson dances in me at this deed: Now Cæsar, now behold me, this is torment, And this is thine before thou diest, I am wildfire: The brazen Bull of Phalaris was feign'd, The miseries of souls despising Heaven But Emblems of my torments. Emp. Oh quench me, quench me, quench me. Are. Fire, a flattery; And all the Poets tales of sad Avernus, To my pains less than fictions: Yet to shew thee What constant love I bore my murdred master; Like a Southwind, I have sung through all these tempests My heart, my wither'd heart, fear, fear thou Monster, Fear the just gods, I have my peace.— [He dies. Emp. More drink, A thousand April showres fall in my bosom: How dare ye let me be tormented thus? Away with that prodigious body, gods, Gods, let me ask ye what I am, ye lay All your inflictions on me, hear me, hear me; I do confess I am a ravisher, A murderer, a hated Cæsar; oh, Are there not vows enough, and flaming altars, The fat of all the world for sacrifice, And where that fails, the blood of thousand captives To purge those sins? but I must make the incense? I do despise ye all, ye have no mercy, And wanting that, ye are no Gods, your paroll Is only preach'd abroad to make Fools fearfull, And women made of awe, believe your heaven: Oh torments, torments, torments, pains above pains, If ye be any thing but dreams, and ghosts, And truly hold the guidance of things mortal; Have in your selves times past, to come, and present, Fashion the souls of men, and make flesh for 'em, Weighing our fates, and fortunes beyond reason, Be more than all the Gods, great in forgiveness, Break not the goodly frame ye build in anger; For you are things men teach us, without passions, Give me an hour to know ye in: Oh save me But so much perfect time ye make a soul in, Take this destruction from me; no, ye cannot, The more I would believe ye, more I suffer, My brains are ashes, now my heart, my eyes friends; I goe, I goe, more air, more air; I am mortal.— [He dyes. Pro. Take in the body: oh Licinius, The misery that we are left to suffer; No pity shall find us. Lici. Our lives deserve none: Would I were chain'd again to slavery, With any hope of life. Pro. A quiet grave, Or a consumption now Licinius, That we might be too poor to kill, were something. Lici. Let's make our best use, we have mony Proculus, And if that cannot save us, we have swords. Pro. Yes, but we dare not dye. Lici. I had forgot that: There's other countries then. Pro. But the same hate still, Of what we are. Lici. Think any thing, I'le follow—

Pro. How now, what news? Mess. Shift for your selves, ye are lost else: The Souldier is in arms for great Aecius, And their Lieutenant general that stopt 'em, Cut in a thousand pieces: they march hither: Beside, the women of the Town have murder'd Phorba, and loose Ardelia, Cæsar's she-Bawds. Lici. Then here's no staying Proculus? Pro. O Cæsar, That we had never known thy lusts: Let's fly, And where we find no womans man let's dye.—