SCENE I.

Enter PULCHERIA, JULIA, Attendants.

Pulch. These packets for the emperor Honorius;
Be swift, let the agent haste to Rome,-
I hear, my Julia, that our general

Is from the Goths returned with conquest home.
Jul. He is; to-day I saw him in the presence,
Sharp to the courtiers, as he ever was
Because they went not with him to the wars.
To you he bows, and sues to kiss your hand.
Pulch. He shall, my dearest Julia; oft I have
told thee

The secret of my soul: If e'er I marry,
Marcian's my husband; he is a man, my Julia,
Whom I have studied long, and found him perfect:
Old Rome at every glance looks through his eyes,
And kindles the beholders: Some sharp atoms
Run through his frame, which I could wish were
out.

He sickens at the softness of the emperor,
And speaks too freely of our female court;
Then sighs, comparing it with what Rome was.

Enter MARCIAN and LUCIUS.

Pulch. Ha! who are these that dare prophane this place

With more than barb'rous insolence?

Marc. At your feet,

Behold I cast the scourge of these offenders,
And kneel to kiss your hand.

Pulch. Put up your sword,

And ere I bid you welcome from the wars,

Be sure you clear your honour of this rudeness, Or, Marcian, leave the court.

Marc. Thus then, madam.

The emperor receiv'd me with affection,
Embrac'd me for my conquests, and retir'd;
When on a sudden all the gilded flies,
That buzabout the court, came fluttering round me:
This, with affected cringes, and minc'd words,
Begs me to tell my tale of victories;
Which done, hethanks me, slips behind his fellow,
Whispers him in the ear, then smiles and lis-

tens,

While I relate my story once again:
Á third comes in, and asks me the same favour;
Whereon they laugh, while I, still ignorant,
Go on; but one behind, more impudent,
Strikes on my shoulder; then they laugh outright.
But the, I, guessing the abuse too late,
Return'd my knight behind a box o'th' ear;
Then drew, and briefly told them they were rascals.
They, laughing still, cry'd out the general's musty;'
Whereon I drove 'em, madam, as you saw.
This is, in short, the truth, I leave the judgment
To your own justice; if I have done ill,
Sentence me, and I'll leave the court for ever.
Pulch. First, you are welcome, Marcian, from
the wars;

And still, when e'er occasion calls for arms,
Heav'n send the emperor a general
Renown'd as Marcian; as to what is past,
I think the world will rather praise than censure
Pulcheria, when she pardons you the action.
Marc. Gods! gods! and thou, great founder
of old Rome!

What is become of all that mighty spirit,
That rais'd our empire to a pitch so high?
Where is it pent? What but almighty power
Could thus confine it, that but ome few atoms
Now run through all the east and occident?
Pulch. Speak calmly, Marcian.
Marc. Who can be temperate,
That thinks as I do, madam! Why here's a fellow,
I have seen him fight against a troop of Vandals
In your defence, as if he lov'd to biced :-
Come to my arms, my dear! Thou canst not talk,
But hast a soul above the proudest of 'em.-
O, madam, when he has been all o'er blood,
And hack'd with wounds that seem'd to mouth
his praises,

I've seen him smile still as he push'd death, from him,

And with his actions rally distant fate.
Pulch. He has a noble form.
Marc. Yet even this man,

That fought so bravely in his country's cause,
This excellent man, this morning in the presence,
Did I see wrong'd before the emperor,

Scorn'd and despis'd because he could not cringe,
Nor plant his feet as some of them could do.
One said his clothes were not well made, and
damn'd

His taylor-Another said, he look'd
As if he had not lost his maidenhead.
If things are suffer'd to be thus, down all
Authority, pre-eminence, degree and virtue;
Let Rome be never mention'd; no, in the name
Of all the gods, be she forgotten ever.
Effeminate Persians, and the Lydian softness,
Make all your fights; Marcian shall out no more:
For, by my arms, it makes a woman of me,
And my swoln eyes run o'er to think this worth,
This fuller honour than the whole court holds,
Should be ridiculous to knaves and fools;
Should starve for want of what is necessary
To life's convenience, when luxurious bawds
Are so o'er grown with fat, and cramm'd withriot,
That they can hardly walk without an engine.
Pulch. Why did you not inform the emperor?
Marc. Because he will not hear me. Alas,

good man!

He flies from this bad world, and still, when wars
And dangers come, he runs to his devotions,
To your new thing, I know not what you call it,
Which Constantine began.

Pulch. How, Marcian! are not you of that Religion which the emperor owns?

Marc, No, madam; if you'll see my naked thought,

I am not of their principle, that take
A wrong; so far from bearing with a foe,
I would strike first : like old Rome, 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 stary'd

Pulch. Your pity, too, in mournful fellowship,

No doubt might sooth their murmurs?

Marc. Yes, it did.

That I might put 'em once again in heart,
I said 'twas true, the emperor was to blame,
Who dealt too coldly with his faithful servants,
And paid their great arrears by second hand:
I promis'd, too, when we returned to court,
Things should be mended-

But how!-oh gods, forgive my blood this transport!

To the cternal 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.
Murc. 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;

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

prince

Impious and base; while I take Heav'n to wit

ness,

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,
Since 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.

[Exit LEON.

Enter VARANES and ARANTHES.

Vara. To fix her on the throne, to me, seems
little;

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

To all the Persian greatness! 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--

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 !