I had repented ere I knew the emperor-
Athen. You find, perhaps, too late, that Athe-
nais,

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?

1

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

Than thou, in all thy heat of just revenge,

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

Vara. Yes, madam, I am going

Nay, 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 emp'ror'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 I 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!

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 menWhy 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:

O never better!

Athen. I doubt thee, dear Varanes; Yet, if thou dy'st, I shall not long be from thee. Once more farewell, and take these last embraces. Oh! I could crush him to my heart! Farewell; And as a dying pledge of my last love, Take this, which all thy prayers could never charm.[Embraces him. What have I done? Oh lead me, lead me, Delia! Ah, prince, farewell! angels protect and guard thee. Vara. Turn back, O Athenais, and behold me! Hear my last words, and then farewell for ever! Thou hast undone me more by this confession;

SCENE I,

You say, you swear, you love me more than ever;
Yet I must see you married to another :
Can there be any plague or hell like this!
O Athenais! whither shall I turn me?
You've brought me back to life; but, oh! what life?
To a life more terrible than a thousand deaths.
Like one that had been buried in a trance,
With racking starts he wakes, and gazes round,
Forc'd by despair his whirling limbs to wound,
And bellow like a spirit under ground;
Still urg'd by fate, to turn, to toss and rave,
Tormented, dash'd, and broken in the grave.
[Exeunt,

ATHENAIS, dressed in imperial Robes, and crowned; DELIA. A Table with a Bowl of Poison. Athen. A midnight marriage! Must I to the temple

Thus, at the murderer's hour? 'Tis wond'rous strange!

But so, thou say'st, my father has commanded, And that's almighty reason.

Delia. The emp'ror, in compassion to the
prince,

Who would perhaps fly to extravagance,
If he in public should resolve to espouse you,
Contriv'd by this close marriage to deceive him.
Athen. Go fetch thy lute, and sing those lines
I gave thee.
[Exit DEL,

So, now I am alone; yet my soul shakes;
For where this dreadful draught may carry me
The heavens can only tell; yet I am resolv'd
To drink it off in spite of consequence.
Whisper him, O some angel! what I'm doing;
By sympathy of soul let him too tremble

To hear my wond'rous faith, my wond'rous love,
Whose spirit, not content with an ovation
Of ling'ring fate, with triumph thus resolv'd,
Thus in the rapid chariot of the soul,
To mount and dare as never woman dar'd.
'Tis done-haste, Delia, haste!-come bring thy
lute,
[Drinks.

And sing my waftage to immortal joys.
Methinks I can but smile at my own bravery!
Thus from my lowest fortune rais'd to empire,
Crown'd and adorn'd, worship'd by half the earth,
While a young monarch dies for my embraces;
Yet now to wave the glories of the world-
O, my Varanes! though my birth's unequal,
My virtue sure has richly recompenc'd,
And quite outgone example!

SONG.

Ah, cruel bloody fate!

What canst thou now do more? Alas! 'tis all too late,

Philander to restore!

Why should the heavenly powers persuade
Poor mortals to believe

That they guard us here,
And reward us there,

Yet all our joys deceive?

Her poignard then she took,
And held it in her hand;
And with a dying look,
Cry'd, thus I fate command,
Philander, ah, my love, I come,
To meet thy shade below,
Ah, I come! she cry'd,
With a wound so wide,
There needs no second blow.

In purple waves her blood
Ran streaming down the floor
Unmov'd she saw the flood,
And blest her dying hour:
Philander! Ah, Philander! still
The bleeding Phillis cry'd;
She wept a while,
And forc'd a smile,

Then clos'd her eyes and died.

Enter PULCHERIA.

Pulch. How fares my dear Eudosia? Ha! thou look'st,

Or else the tapers cheat my sight, like one
That's fitter for thy tomb than Cæsar's bed:
A fatal sorrow dims thy shaded eyes,
And, in despite of all thy ornaments,
Thou seem'st to me the ghost of Athenais.
Athen. And what's the punishment, my dear
Pulcheria,

What torments are allotted those sad spirits,
Who, groaning with the burden of despair,
No longer will endure the cares of life,
But boldly set themselves at liberty,
Through the dark caves of death to wander on,
Like wilder'd travellers, without a guide,
Eternal rovers in the gloomy maze,

Where scarce the twilight of an infant moon,

By a faint glimmer checquering through the trees,
Reflects to dismal view the walking ghosts,
And never hope to reach the blessed fields?

But see, he waits thee from the emperor;

Thy father too attends.

Enter LEONTINE, ATTICUS, &c.

go;

Nor shall I need a violence to wound,
The storm is here that drives me on the ground;
Sure means to make the soul and body part,
A burning fever, and a broken heart.

tears?

O fall of honour! but no more, I charge thee, I charge thee, as thou ever hop'st my blessing, Or fear'st my curse, to banish from thy soul All thoughts, if possible, the memory

Of that ungrateful prince that has undone thee. Attend me to the temple on this instant,

To make the emp'ror thine, this night to wed him,

And lie within his arms.

Athen. Yes, sir, I'll go;

Let me but dry my eyes, and I will go:
Eudosia, this unhappy bride, shall go :
Thus like a victim crown'd and doom'd to bleed,
I'll wait you to the altar, wed the emp❜ror,
And, if he pleases, lie within his arms.

Leont. Thou art my child again.

Athen. But do not, sir, imagine that any charms
Or threat'nings shall compel me
Never to think of poor Varanes more:
No, my Varanes! no-

While I have breath, I will remember thee;
To thee alone I will my thoughts confine,
And all my meditations shall be thine:
The image of thy woes my soul shall fill,
Fate and my end, and thy remembrance still.
As in some pop'lar shade the nightingale,
With piercing moans, does her lost young bewail,
Which the rough hind, observing as they lay
Warm in their downy nest, had stolen away;
But she in mournful sounds does still complain,
Sings all the night, though all her songs are vain,
And still renews her miserable strain:
So, my Varanes, 'till my death comes on,
Shall sad Eudosia thy dear loss bemoan.

SCENE II.

Enter VARANES.

[Exeunt.

Enter ARANTHES.

I sent thee to the apartment of Athenais;
I sent thee, did I not, to be admitted?
Aran. You did, my lord; but, oh!
I fear to give you an account.
Vara. Alas,

Aranthes, I am got on the other side
Of this bad world, and now am past all fear.
O ye avenging gods! is there a plague
Among your hoarded bolts and heaps of vengeance
Beyond the mighty loss of Athenais?

'Tis contradiction-Speak, then speak, Aranthes;
For all misfortunes, if compar'd with that,
Will make Varanes smile.

Aran. My lord, the empress, Crown'd and adorn'd with the imperial robes, At this dead time of night, with silent pomp, As they design'd from all to keep it secret, But chiefly sure from you; I say, the empress Is now conducted by the general, Atticus, and her father, to the temple, There to espouse the emperor Theodosius. Vara. Say'st thou? Is't certain? ha!

Aran. Most certain, sir. I saw 'em in proces

Stir not against my purpose, as thou fear'st
My anger and disdain; nor dare t' oppose me
With troublesome unnecessary formal reasons;

ture lies

So fast, as if she never were to rise;

No breath of wind now whispers through the trees,

No noise at land, nor murmur in the seas;
Lean wolves forget to howl at night's pale noon,
No wakeful dogs bark at the silent moon,
Nor bay the ghosts that glide with horror by,
To view the caverns where their bodies lie;
The ravens perch, and no presages give,
Nor to the windows of the dying cleave;
The owls forget to scream; no midnight sound
Calls drowsy Echo from the hollow ground;
In vaults the walking fires extinguish'd lie;
The stars, heav'n's sentries, wink and seem to die:
Such universal silence spreads below,

seal.

I charge thee hold it stedfast to my heart,
Fix'd as the fate that throws me on the point.
Though I have liv'd a Persian, I will fall
As fair, as fearless, and as full resolv'd,
As any Greek or Roman of 'em all.

Aran. What you command is terrible but sacred;

And to atone for this too cruel duty,
My lord, I'll follow you.

Vara. I charge thee, not;

But when I am dead, take the attending slaves,
And bear me, with my blood distilling down,
Straight to the temple; lay me, O Aranthes!
Lay my cold corse at Athenais' feet,
And say,-O why! why, do my eyes run o'er?-

SCENE IV.-The Temple.

THEODOSIUS, ATHENAIS; ATTICUS joining their hands-MARCIAN, PULCHERIA, LUCIUS, JULIA, DELIA, and LEONTINE.

Attic. The more than gordian-knot is ty'd,
Which Death's strong arm shall ne'er divide;
For when to bliss ye wafted are,
Your spirits shall be wedded there:
Waters are lost, and fires will die,
But love alone can fate defy.

Enter ARANTHES with the Body of VARANES.
Arant. Where is the empress? Where shall
I find Eudosia?

By fate I'm sent to tell that cruel beauty,
She has robb'd the world of fame; her eyes have
given

A blast to the big blossom of the war.
Behold him there nipp'd in his flow'ry morn,
Compell❜d to break his promise of a day;

A day that conquest would have made her boast;
Behold her laurel wither'd to the root,
Canker'd and kill'd by Athenais' scorn.
Athen. Dead, dead, Varanes!
Theo. O ye eternal pow'rs

That guide the world! why do you shock our

reason

With acts like these, that lay our thoughts in dust?

Forgive me, heaven, this start, or elevate
Imagination more, and make it nothing.
Alas! alas, Varanes! But speak, Aranthes,
The manner of his fate-Groans choke my words,
But speak, and we will answer thee with tears.
Aran. His fever would, no doubt, by this have
done

What some few minutes past his sword perform'd.
He heard from me your progress to the temple,
How you design'd at midnight to deceive him,
By a clandestine marriage: But, my lord,
Had you beheld his racks at my relation;
Or had your empress seen him in those torments,
When from his dying eyes, swol'n to the brim,
The big round drops roll'd down his manly face;
When from his hallowed breast a murmuring
crowd

Of groans rush'd forth, and echo'd all is well:
Then had you seen him, O ye cruel gods!
Rush on the sword I held against his breast,
And dye it to the hilt, with these last words-
Bear me to Athenais-

Athen. Give me way, my lord;

I have most strictly kept my promise with you:
I am your bride, and you can ask no more,
Or, if you did, I'm past the power to give;
But here! O here! on his cold bloody breast,
Thus let me breathe my last.

Theo. O, empress! what, what can this trans-
port mean?

Are these our nuptials? These my promis'd joys?
Athen. Forgive me, sir, this last respect I pay
These sad remains-And oh, thou mighty spirit!
If yet thou art not mingled with the stars,
Look down and hear the wretched Athenais !
When thou shalt know, before I gave consent
To this indecent marriage, I had taken
Into my veins a cold and deadly draught,
Which soon would render me, alas! unfit
For the warm joys of an imperial lover,
And make me ever thine, yet keep my word
With Theodosius, wilt thou not forgive me?

Theo. Poison'd to free thee from the emperor!
Oh, Athenais! thou hast done a deed
That tears my heart! What have I done against
thee,

That thou should'st brand me thus with infamy
And everlasting shame? Thou might'st have made
Thy choice without this cruel act of death;
I left thee to thy will, and in requital
Thou hast murder'd all my fame!-
Athen. O pardon me!

I lay my dying body at your feet,

And beg, my lord, with my last sighs intreat you,
To impute the fault, if 'tis a fault, to love,
And the ingratitude of Athenais,

To her too cruel stars. Remember, too,
I beg'd you would not let me see the prince,
Presaging what has happen'd; yet my word,
As to our nuptials, was inviolable.

Theo. Ha! she is going!-see her languishing

eyes

Draw in their beams; the sleep of death is on her.

Athen. Farewell, my lord! Alas, alas, Varanes! To embrace thee now is not immodesty; Or, if it were, I think my bleeding heart Would make me criminal in death to clasp thee, Break all the tender niceties of honour, To fold thee thus, and warm thee into life; For oh what man, like him, could woman move! O prince belov❜d! O spirit most divine! Thus, by my death, I give thee all my love, And seal my soul and body ever thine.- [Dies Theo. O Marcian! O Pulcheria! did not the

power

Whom we adore, plant all his thunderbolts
Against self-murderers, I would perish too;
But as I am, I swear to leave the empire.
To thee, my sister, I bequeath the world,
And, yet a gift more great, the gallant Marcian.
On then, my friend, now shew thy Roman spirit!
As to her sex fair Athenais was,

Be thou to thine a pattern of true honour;
Thus we'll atone for all the present crimes,
That yet it may be said in after-times,
No age with such examples could compare,
So great, so good, so virtuous, and so fair!
[Exeunt omnes