SCENE III.

_Enter_ Maximus, _and_ Æcius.

_Max._ I cannot blame the Nations, noble friend, That they fall off so fast from this wild man, When (under our Allegiance be it spoken, And the most happy tye of our affectio[n]s) The worlds weight groans beneath him; Where lives vertue, Honour, discretion, wisdom? who are call'd And chosen to the steering of the Empire But Bawds, and singing Girls? O my _Æcius_ The glory of a Souldier, and the truth Of men made up for goodness sake, like shells Grow to the ragged walls for want of action; Only your happy self, and I that love you, Which is a larger means to me than favour.

_Æci._ No more, my worthy friend, though these be truths, And though these truths would ask a Reformation, At least a little squaring: yet remember, We are but Subjects, _Maximus_; obedience To what is done, and grief for what is ill done, Is all we can call ours: The hearts of Princes Are like the Temples of the gods; pure incense, Until unhallowed hands defile those offerings, Burns ever there; we must not put 'em out, Because the Priests that touch those sweets, are wicked; We dare not, dearest Friend, nay more, we cannot, While we consider who we are, and how, To what laws bound, much more to what Law-giver; Whilest Majesty is made to be obeyed, And not to be inquired into, whilst gods and angels Make but a rule as we do, though a stricter; Like desperate and unseason'd Fools let flye Our killing angers, and forsake our honours.

_Max._ My noble Friend, from whose instructions I never yet took surfeit, weigh but thus much, Nor think I speak it with ambition, For by the gods, I do not; why _Æcius_, Why are we thus, or how become thus wretched?

_Æcius._ You'll fall again into your fit.

_Max._ I will not; Or are we now no more the Sons of _Romans_, No more the followers of their happy fortunes, But conquer'd _Gauls_, or Quivers for the _Parthians_? Why, is this _Emperour_, this man we honour, This God that ought to be?

_Æcius._ You are too curious.

_Max._ Good, give me leave, why is this Author of us?

_Æcius._ I dare not hear ye speak thus.

_Max._ I'll be modest, Thus led away, thus vainly led away, And we Beholders? misconceive me not, I sow no danger in my words; But wherefore, And to what end, are we the Sons of Fathers Famous and fast to _Rome_? why are their Vertues Stampt in the dangers of a thousand Battels? For goodness sake, their honours, time outdaring? I think for our example.

_Æcius._ Ye speak nobly.

_Max._ Why are we seeds of these then, to shake hands With Bawds and base informers, kiss discredit, And court her like a Mistriss? 'pray, your leave yet; You'll say the _Emperour_ is young, and apt To take impression rather from his pleasures Than any constant worthiness, it may be, But why do these, the people call his pleasures, Exceed the moderation of a man? Nay to say justly, friend, why are they vices, And such as shake our worths with forreign Nations?

_Æcius._ You search the sore too deep, and I must tell ye, In any other man this had been boldness, And so rewarded; 'pray depress your spirit, For though I constantly believe you honest, Ye were no friend for me else, and what now Ye freely spake, but good you owe to th' Empire, Yet take heed, worthy _Maximus_, all ears Hear not with that distinction mine do, few You'll find admonishers, but urgers of your actions, And to the heaviest (friend;) and pray consider We are but shadows, motions others give us, And though our pities may become the times, Justly our powers cannot; make me worthy To be your friend ever in fair Allegiance, But not in force; For durst mine own soul urge me, (And by that Soul I speak my just affections) To turn my hand from Truth, which is obedience, And give the helm my Vertue holds, to Anger; Though I had both the Blessings of the _Bruti_, And both their instigations, though my Cause Carried a face of Justice beyond theirs, And as I am a servant to my fortunes, That daring soul, that first taught disobedience, Should feel the first example: say the Prince, As I may well believe, seems vicious, Who justly knows 'tis not to try our honours? Or say he be an ill Prince, are we therefore Fit fires to purge him? No, my dearest friend, The Elephant is never won with anger, Nor must that man that would reclaim a Lion, Take him by th' teeth.

_Max._ I pray mistake me not.

_Æcius._ Our honest actions, and the light that breaks Like morning from our service, chaste and blushing, Is that that pulls a Prince back; then he sees, And not till then truly repents his errours, When Subjects Crystal Souls are glasses to him.

_Max._ My ever honour'd friend, I'll take your counsel. The Emperour appears, I'll leave ye to him. And as we both affect him, may he flourish. [_Exit Max._

_Enter the Emperour, and_ Chilax.

_Emp._ Is that the best news?

_Chil._ Yet the best we know, Sir.

_Emp._ Bid _Maximus_ come to me, and be gone then; Mine own head be my helper, these are fools: How now _Æcius_, are the Souldiers quiet?

_Æcius._ Better I hope, Sir, than they were.

_Emp._ They are pleas'd, I hear, To censure me extreamly for my pleasures, Shortly they'll fight against me.

_Æcius._ Gods defend, Sir. And for their censures they are such shrew'd Judgers; A donative of ten Sestertias I'll undertake shall make 'em ring your praises More than they sang your pleasures.

_Emp._ I believe thee; Art thou in love, _Æcius_, yet?

_Æcius._ O no Sir; I am too course for Ladies; my embraces, That only am acquainted with Alarms, Would break their tender Bodies.

_Emp._ Never fear it, They are stronger than ye think, they'll hold the Hammer. My Empress swears thou art a lusty Souldier, A good one I believe thee.

_Æcius._ All that goodness Is but your Graces Creature.

_Emp._ Tell me truly, For thou dar'st tell me.

_Æcius._ Any thing concerns ye, That's fit for me to speak and you to pardon.

_Emp._ What say the Souldiers of me, and the same words, Mince 'em not, good _Æcius_, but deliver The very forms and tongues they talk withal.

_Æcius._ I'll tell your Grace, but with this caution You be not stir'd, for should the gods live with us, Even those we certainly believe are righteous, Give 'em but drink, they would censure them too.

_Emp._ Forward.

_Æcius._ Then to begin, they say you sleep too much, By which they judge your Majesty too sensual, Apt to decline your strength to ease and pleasures, And when you do not sleep, you drink too much, From which they fear suspicions first, then ruines; And when ye neither drink nor sleep, ye wench much, Which they affirm first breaks your understanding, Then takes the edge of Honour, makes us seem, That are the ribs, and rampires of the Empire, Fencers, and beaten Fools, and so regarded; But I believe 'em not; for were these truths, Your vertue can correct them.

_Emp._ They speak plainly.

_Æc._ They say moreover (since your Grace will have it, For they will talk their freedoms, though the Sword Were in their throat) that of late time, like _Nero_, And with the same forgetfulness of glory, You have got a vein of fidling, so they term it.

_Emp._ Some drunken dreams, _Æcius_.

_Æcius._ So I hope, Sir: And that you rather study cruelty, And to be fear'd for blood, than lov'd for bounty, Which makes the Nations, as they say, despise ye, Telling your years and actions by their deaths, Whose truth and strength of duty made you _Cæsar_: They say besides you nourish strange devourers, Fed with the fat o'th' Empire, they call Bawds, Lazie and lustful Creatures that abuse ye, A People as they term 'em, made of paper, In which the secret sins of each man's monies Are seal'd and sent a working.

_Emp._ What sin's next? For I perceive they have no mind to spare me.

_Æcius._ Nor hurt you o' my soul, Sir; but such People (Nor can the power of man restrain it) When they are full of meat and ease, must prattle.

_Emp._ Forward.

_Æcius._ I have spoken too much, Sir.

_Emp._ I'll have all.

_Æcius._ It fits not Your ears should hear their Vanities; no profit Can justly rise to you from their behaviour, Unless ye were guilty of those crimes.

_Emp._ It may be I am so, therefore forward.

_Æcius._ I have ever Learn'd to obey, nor shall my life resist it.

_Emp._ No more Apologies.

_Æcius._ They grieve besides, Sir, To see the Nations, whom our ancient Vertue With many a weary march and hunger conquer'd, With loss of many a daring life subdu'd, Fall from their fair obedience, and even murmur To see the warlike Eagles mew their honours In obscure Towns, that wont to prey on Princes, They cry for Enemies, and tell the Captains The fruits of _Italy_ are luscious, give us _Egypt_, Or sandy _Africk_ to display our valours, There where our Swords may make us meat, and danger Digest our well got Vyands; here our weapons And bodies that were made for shining brass, Are both unedg'd and old with ease and women. And then they cry again, where are the _Germans_, Lin'd with hot _Spain_, or _Gallia_, bring 'em on, And let the Son of War, steel'd _Mithridates_, Lead up his winged _Parthians_ like a storm, Hiding the face of Heaven with showrs of Arrows? Yet we dare fight like _Romans_; then as Souldiers Tir'd with a weary march, they tell their wounds Even weeping ripe they were no more nor deeper, And glory in those scars that make them lovely, And sitting where a Camp was, like sad Pilgrims They reckon up the times, and living labours Of _Julius_ or _Germanicus_, and wonder That _Rome_, whose Turrets once were topt with Honours, Can now forget the Custom of her Conquests; And then they blame your Grace, and say Who leads us, Shall we stand here like Statues? were our Fathers The Sons of lazie Moors, our Princes _Persians_, Nothing but silks and softness? Curses on 'em That first taught _Nero_ wantonness and blood, _Tiberius_ doubts, _Caligula_ all vices; For from the spring of these, succeeding Princes-- Thus they talk, Sir.

_Emp._ Well, Why do you hear these things?

_Æcius._ Why do you do 'em? I take the gods to witness, with more sorrow, And more vexation do I hear these tainters Than were my life dropt from me through an hour-glass.

_Emp._ Belike then you believe 'em, or at least Are glad they should be so; take heed, you were better Build your own Tomb, and run into it living, Than dare a Princes anger.

_Æcius._ I am old, Sir, And ten years more addition, is but nothing; Now if my life be pleasing to ye, take it, Upon my knees, if ever any service, (As let me brag some have been worthy notice) If ever any worth, or trust ye gave me Deserv'd a fair respect, if all my actions, The hazards of my youth, colds, burnings, wants, For you, and for the Empire, be not vices; By that stile ye have stampt upon me, Souldier, Let me not fall into the hands of Wretches.

_Emp._ I understand you not.

_Æcius._ Let not this body That has look'd bravely in his blood for _Cæsar_, And covetous of wounds, and for your safety, After the 'scape of Swords, Spears, Slings, and Arrows, 'Gainst which my beaten body was mine armour, The Seas and thirsty Desarts now be purchase For Slaves, and base Informers; I see anger, And death look through your Eyes; I am markt for slaughter, And know the telling of this truth has made me A man clean lost to this World; I embrace it; Only my last Petition, sacred _Cæsar_, Is, I may dye a _Roman_.

_Emp._ Rise, my friend still, And worthy of my love, reclaim the Souldier, I'll study to do so upon my self too, Go, keep your Command, and prosper.

_Æcius._ Life to _Cæsar_-- [_Exit_ Æcius.

_Enter_ Chilax.

_Chi._ Lord _Maximus_ attends your Grace.

_Emp._ Go tell him I'll meet him in the Gallery: The honesty of this _Æcius_, Who is indeed the Bull-wark of the Empire, Has div'd so deep into me, that of all The sins I covet, but this Womans beauty, With much repentance now I could be quit of; But she is such a pleasure, being good, That though I were a god, she'd fire my blood.

[_Exeunt._

_Actus Secundus. Scena Prima._

_Enter the Emperour_, Maximus, Licinius, Proculus, Chilax, _as at Dice_.

_Emp._ Nay ye shall set my hand out, 'tis not just I should neglect my fortune now 'tis prosperous.

_Lic._ If I have any thing to set your Grace, But Cloaths or good conditions, let me perish. You have all my money, Sir.

_Pro._ And mine.

_Chi._ And mine too.

_Max._ Unless your Grace will credit us.

_Emp._ No bare board.

_Lic._ Then at my Garden-House.

_Emp._ The Orchard too.

_Lic._ And't please your Grace.

_Emp._ Have at 'em.

_Pro._ They are lost.

_Lic._ Why, farewel Fig-trees.

_Emp._ Who sets more?

_Chil._ At my horse, Sir.

_Emp._ The dapl'd _Spaniard_?

_Chil._ He.

_Emp._ He's mine.

_Chil._ He is so.

_Max._ Your short horse is soon curried.

_Chil._ So it seems, Sir, So may your Mare be too, if luck serve.

_Max._ Ha?

_Chil._ Nothing my Lord, but grieving at my fortune.

_Emp._ Come _Maximus_, you were not wont to flinch thus.

_Max._ I have lost all.

_Emp._ There's a Ring yet.

_Max._ This was not made to lose, Sir.

_Emp._ Some love token; Set it I say.

_Max._ I do beseech your Grace, Rather name any house I have.

_Emp._ How strange And curious you are grown of toys! redeem't If so I win it, when you please, to morrow, Or next day, as you will, I care not, But only for my lucks sake; 'tis not Rings Can make me richer.

_Max._ Will you throw, Sir? there 'tis.

_Emp._ Why, then have at it fairly, mine.

_Max._ Your Grace Is only ever fortunate; to morrow, And't be your pleasure, Sir, I'll pay the price on't.

_Emp._ To morrow you shall have it withou[t] price, Sir, But this day 'tis my Victory; good _Maximus_, Now I bethink my self, go to _Æcius_, And bid him muster all the Cohorts presently; They mutiny for pay I hear, and be you Assistant to him; when you know their numbers, Ye shall have monies for 'em, and above, Something to stop their tongues withal.

_Max._ I will Sir, And gods preserve you in this mind still.

_Emp._ Shortly I'll see 'em march my self.

_Max._ Gods ever keep ye-- [_Exit_ Maximus.

_Emp._ To what end do you think this Ring shall serve now? For ye are Fellows only know by rote, As Birds record their lessons.

_Chil._ For the Lady.

_Emp._ But how for her?

_Chil._ That I confess I know not.

_Emp._ Then pray for him that does: fetch me an Eunuch That never saw her yet; and you two see The Court made like a Paradise. [_Exit_ Chilax.

_Lic._ We will, Sir.

_Emp._ Full of fair shews and Musicks; all your arts (As I shall give instructions) screw to th' highest, For my main piece is now a doing; and for fear You should not take, I'll have another Engine, Such as if vertue be not only in her, She shall not chuse but lean to, let the Women Put on a graver shew of welcome.

_Pro._ Well Sir.

_Emp._ They are a thought too eager.

_Enter_ Chilax, _and_ Lycias _the Eunuch_.

_Chi._ Here's the Eunuch.

_Eun._ Long life to _Cæsar_.

_Emp._ I must use you, _Lycias_: Come, let's walk in, and then I'll shew ye all, If women may be frail, this wench shall fall. [_Exeunt._