SCENE III.

_Enter_ Diocles, Maximinian, Geta, _with a Boar_.

_Dio._ Lay down the Boar.

_Get._ With all my heart; I am weary on't; I shall turn Jew if I carry many such burthens: Do you think, Master, to be Emperour With killing Swine? you may be an honest Butcher, Or allied to a seemly family of sowse-wives. Can you be such an Ass, my Reverend Master, To think these springs of Pork will shoot up _Cæsars_?

_Max._ The fool says true.

_Dio._ Come, leave your fooling, Sirrah, And think of what thou shalt be when I am Emperour.

_Get._ Would it would come with thinking, for then o' my conscience, I should be at least a Senator.

_Max._ A Sowter; For that's a place more fitted to thy nature, If there could be such an expectation; Or say, the Devil could perform this wonder; Can such a Rascal as thou art, hope for honour? Such a log-carrying Lowt?

_Get._ Yes, and bear it too, And bear it swimmingly. I am not the first Ass, Sir, Has born good office, and perform'd it reverendly.

_Dio._ Thou being the Son of a Tiler, canst thou hope to be a Senator?

_Get._ Thou being the Son of a Tanner, canst thou hope to be an Emperor?

_Dio._ Thou sayst true, _Geta_, there's a stop indeed; But yet the bold and vertuous--

_Get._ Ye are right, Master, Right as a Gun; For we the vertuous, Though we be Kennel-rakers, Scabs, and Scoundrels, We the discreet and bold; and yet, now I remember it, We Tilers may deserve to be Senators; And there we step before you thick-skin'd Tanners, For we are born three stories high; no base ones, None of your groundlings, master.

_Dio._ I like thee well, Thou hast a good mind, as I have, to this Honour.

_Get._ As good a mind, Sir, of a simple plaisterer-- And when I come to execute my office, Then you shall see.

_Max._ What?

_Get._ An Officer in fury; An Officer as he ought to be; do you laugh at it? Is a Senator (in hope) worth no more reverence? By these hands I'll clap you by th' heels the first hour of it.

_Max._ O' my Conscience, the fellow believes.

_Dio._ I, do, do, _Geta_, For if I once be Emperour--

_Get._ Then will I (For wise men must be had to prop the Republick) Not bate ye a single ace of a sound Senator.

_Dio._ But what shall we do the whilst?

_Get._ Kill Swine, and sowse 'em, And eat 'em when we have bread.

_Max._ Why didst thou run away When the Boar made toward thee? art thou not valiant?

_Get._ No indeed am I not; and 'tis for mine honour too; I took a Tree, 'tis true, gave way to the Monster; Hark what discretion says, let fury pass; From the tooth of a mad Beast, and the tongue of a Slanderer Preserve thine honour.

_Dio._ He talks like a full Senator: Go, take it up, and carry it in, 'tis a huge one, We never kill'd so large a Swine, so fierce too, I never met with yet.

_Max._ Take heed, it stirs again; How nimbly the Rogue runs up! he climbs like a Squirrel.

_Dio._ Come down, ye Dunce, is it not dead?

_Get._ I know not.

_Dio._ His throat is cut, and his bowels out.

_Get._ That's all one, _I_ am sure his teeth are in; and for any thing I know, He may have Pigs of his own nature in's Belly.

_Dio._ Come, take him up I say, and see him drest, He is fat, and will be lusty meat: away with him, And get some of him ready for our Dinner.

_Get._ Shall he be roasted whole, And serv'd up in a souce-tub? a portly service, I'll run i'th' wheel my self.

_Max._ Sirrah, leave your prating, And get some piece of him ready presently, We are weary both, and hungry.

_Get._ I'll about it. What an inundation of Brewiss shall I swim in! [_Exit._

_Dio._ Thou art ever dull and melancholy, Cousin, Distrustful of my hopes.

_Max._ Why, can you blame me? Do men give credit to a Jugler?

_Dio._ Thou knowst she is a Prophetess.

_Max._ A small one, And as small profit to be hop'd for by her.

_Dio._ Thou art the strangest man; how does thy hurt? The Boar came near you, Sir.

_Max._ A scratch, a scratch.

_Dio._ It akes and troubles thee, and that makes thee angry.

_Max._ Not at the pain, but at the practice, Uncle, The butcherly, base custom of our lives now; Had a brave enemies Sword drawn so much from me, Or danger met me in the head o'th' Army, To have blush'd thus in my blood, had been mine honour. But to live base, like Swine-herds, and believe too, To be fool'd out with tales, and old wives dreams, Dreams, when they are drunk.

_Dio._ Certain you much mistake her.

_Max._ Mistake her? hang her; to be made her Purveyors, To feed her old Chaps; to provide her daily, And bring in Feasts while she sits farting at us, And blowing out her Prophecies at both ends.

_Dio._ Prithee be wise; Dost thou think, _Maximinian_, So great a reverence, and so stai'd a knowledge--

_Max._ Sur-reverence, you would say; what truth? what knowledg? What any thing but eating is good in her? 'Twould make a fool prophesie to be fed continually; What do you get? your labour and your danger; Whilst she sits bathing in her larded fury, Inspir'd with full deep Cups, who cannot prophesie? A Tinker, out of Ale, will give Predictions; But who believes?

_Dio._ She is a holy _Druid_, A woman noted for that faith, that piety, Belov'd of Heaven.

_Max._ Heaven knows, I do not believe it: Indeed I must confess they are excellent Juglers; Their age upon some fools too flings a confidence: But what grounds have they? what elements to work on: Show me but that; the Sieve, and Sheers? a learned one, I have no patience to dispute this Question, 'Tis so ridiculous; I think the Devil does help 'em, Or (rather mark me well) abuse 'em, Uncle; For they are as fit to deal with him; these old women, They are as jump, and squar'd out to his nature--

_Dio._ Thou hast a perfect malice.

_Max._ So I would have Against these purblind Prophets; for look ye, Sir, Old women will lie monstrously; so will the Devil, Or else he has had much wrong; upon my knowledge, Old women are malicious; so is he; They are proud and covetous, revengeful, lecherous; All which are excellent attributes of the Devil; They would at least seem holy; so would he; And to vail over these villainies, they would prophesie; He gives them leave now and then to use their cunnings, Which is, to kill a Cow, or blast a Harvest, Make young Pigs pipe themselves to death, choak poultry, And chase a dairy-wench into a feaver With pumping for her butter. But when he makes these Agents to raise Emperours, When he disposes Fortune as his Servant, And tyes her to old wives tails--

_Dio._ Go thy ways, Thou art a learned Scholar, against credit, You hear the Prophecie?

_Max._ Yes, and I laugh at it; And so will any man can tell but twenty, That is not blind, as you are blind and ignorant: Do you think she knows your fortune?

_Dio._ I do think it.

_Max._ I know she has the name of a rare Sooth-sayer; But do you in your Conscience believe her holy? Inspir'd with such prophetick Fire?

_Dio._ Yes, in my conscience.

_Max._ And that you must upon necessity, From her words, be a _Cæsar_?

_Dio._ If I live.

_Max._ There's one stop yet.

_Dio._ And follow her directions.

_Max._ But do not juggle with me.

_Dio._ In faith, Cousin, So full a truth hangs ever on her Prophecies, That how I should think otherwise.

_Max._ Very well, Sir; You then believe (for methinks 'tis most necessary) She knows her own Fate?

_Dio._ I believe it certain.

_Max._ Dare you but be so wise to let me try it, For I stand doubtful.

_Dio._ How?

_Max._ Come nearer to me, Because her cunning Devil shall not prevent me; Close, close, and hear; If she can turn this destiny, I'll be of your faith too.

_Dio._ Forward, I fear not; For if she knows not this, sure she knows nothing;

_Enter_ Delphia.

I am so confident--

_Max._ 'Faith, so am I too, That I shall make her Devils sides hum.

_Dio._ She comes here; Go take your stand.

_Max._ Now holly, or you howl for't. [_Exit._

_Dio._ 'Tis pity this young man should be so stubborn. Valiant he is, and to his valour temperate, Only distrustful of delays in Fortune; I love him dearly well.

_Del._ Now, my Son _Diocles_, Are ye not weary of your game to day? And are ye well?

_Dio._ Yes, Mother, well and lusty, Only ye make me hunt for empty shadows.

_Del._ You must have patience, Rome _was not built in one day_: And he that hopes, must give his hopes their Currents. You have kill'd a mighty Boar.

_Dio._ But I am no Emperour: Why do you fool me thus, and make me follow Your flattering expectation hour by hour? Rise early, and sleep late? to feed your appetites, Forget my Trade, my Arms? forsake mine honour, Labour and sweat to arrive at a base memory? Oppose my self to hazards of all sorts, Only to win the barbarous name of Butcher?

_Del._ Son, you are wise.

_Dio._ But you are cunning, Mother; And with that Cunning, and the faith I give you, Ye lead me blindly to no end, no honour: You find ye are daily fed, you take no labour; Your family at ease, they know no market, And therefore to maintain this, you speak darkly, As darkly still ye nourish it, whilst I, Being a credulous and obsequious Coxcomb, Hunt daily, and sweat hourly, to find out To clear your mystery; kill Boar on Boar, And make your Spits and Pots bow with my Bounties; Yet I still poorer, further still--

_Del._ Be provident, And tempt not the gods dooms; stop not the glory They are ready to fix on ye. Ye are a fool then; Chearful and grateful takers, the gods love, And such as wait their pleasures with full hopes; The doubtful and distrustful man Heaven frowns at. What I have told you by my inspiration, I tell ye once again, must, and shall find ye.

_Dio._ But when? or how?

_Del. Cum Aprum interfeceris._

_Dio._ I have kill'd many.

_Del._ Not the Boar they point ye; Nor must I reveal further, till you clear it. The lots of glorious men are wrapt in mysteries, And so deliver'd; common and slight Creatures, That have their ends as open as their actions, Easie and open fortunes follow.

_Max._ I shall try How deep your inspiration lies hid in ye, And whether your brave spirit have a buckler To keep this arrow off, I'll make you smoke else.

_Dio._ Knowing my fortune so precisely, punctually, And that it must fall without contradiction, Being a stranger, of no tye unto ye, Methinks you should be studied in your own, In your own destiny, methinks, most perfect, And every hour, and every minute, Mother, So great a care should Heaven have of her Ministers; Methinks your fortunes both ways should appear to ye, Both to avoid and take. Can the Stars now, And all those influences you receive into you, Or secret inspirations ye make shew of, If an hard fortune hung, and were now ready To pour it self upon your life, deliver ye? Can they now say, take heed?

_Del._ Ha? pray ye come hither.

_Max._ I would know that; I fear your Devil will cozen ye, And stand as close as ye can, I shall be with ye.

_Del._ I find a present ill.

_Dio._ How?

_Del._ But I scorn it.

_Max._ Do ye so? do ye so?

_Del._ Yes, and laugh at it, _Diocles_. Is it not strange these wild and foolish men Should dare to oppose the power of Destiny? That power the gods shake at? Look yonder, Son.

_Max._ Have ye spy'd me? then have at ye.

_Del._ Do, shoot boldly, Hit me, and spare not, if thou canst.

_Dio._ Shoot, Cousin.

_Max._ I cannot; mine arm's dead, I have no feeling; Or if I could shoot, so strong is her arm'd Vertue, She would catch the arrow flying.

_Del._ Poor doubtful people, I pity your weak faiths.

_Dio._ Your mercy, Mother, And from this hour a Deity I crown ye.

_Del._ No more of that.

_Max._ O let my Prayers prevail too, Here like a tree, I dwell else; free me, Mother, And greater than great Fortune, I'll adore thee.

_Del._ Be free again, and have more pure thoughts in ye.

_Dio._ Now I believe your words most constantly, And when I have that power ye have promis'd to me.

_Del._ Remember then your Vow, my Niece _Drusilla_, I mean to marry her, and then ye prosper.

_Dio._ I shall forget my life else.

_Del._ I am a poor weak woman, to me no worship.

_Enter_ Niger, Geta, _and Souldiers_.

_Get._ And shall he have as you say, that kills this _Aper_?

_Del._ Now mark and understand.

_Nig._ The Proscription's up I'th' Market place, 'tis up, there ye may read it, He shall have half the Empire.

_Get._ A pretty farm i' faith.

_Nig._ And the Emperours Sister, bright _Aurelia_, Her to his wife.

_Get._ Ye say well, Friend, but hark ye, Who shall do this?

_Nig._ You, if you dare.

_Get._ I think so; Yet I could poyson him in a Pot of Perry, He loves that veng'ancely; But when I have done this, May I lye with the Gentlewoman?

_Nig._ Lye with her? what else, man?

_Get._ Yes, man, I have known a man married that never lay with his Wife: Those dancing days are done.

_Nig._ These are old Souldiers, And poor it seems, I'll try their appetites. 'Save ye, brave Souldiers.

_Max._ Sir, ye talkt of Proscriptions?

_Nig._ 'Tis true, there is one set up from the Emperour Against _Volutius Aper_.

_Dio. Aper_?

_Del._ Now; Now have you found the Boar?

_Dio._ I have the meaning; And blessed Mother--

_Nig._ He has scorn'd his Master, And bloodily cut off by treachery The noble Brother to him.

_Dio._ He lives here, Sir, Sickly and weak.

_Nig._ Did you see him?

_Max._ No.

_Nig._ He is murthered; So ye shall find it mentioned from the Emperour; And honest faithful Souldiers, but believe it; For, by the gods, ye will find it so, he is murthered, The manner how, read in the large Proscription.

_Del._ It is most true, Son; and he cozens ye, _Aper_'s a Villain false.

_Dio._ I thank ye, Mother, And dare believe ye; hark ye, Sir, the recompence? As ye related.

_Nig._ Is as firm as faith, Sir; Bring him alive or dead.

_Max._ You took a fit time, The General being out o' th' Town; for though we love him not, Yet had he known this first, you had paid for't dearly.

_Dio._ 'Tis _Niger_, now I know him; honest _Niger_, A true sound man, and I believe him constantly; Your business may be done, make no great hurry For your own safety.

_Nig._ No, I am gone; I thank ye. [_Exit._

_Dio._ Pray, _Maximinian_, pray.

_Max._ I'll pray, and work too.

_Dio._ I'll to the Market-place, and read the offer, And now I have found the Boar.

_Del._ Find your own faith too, And remem[b]er what ye have vow'd.

_Dio._ O Mother.

_Del._ Prosper.

_Get._ If my master and I do this, there's two Emperours, And what a show will that make! how we shall bounce it! [_Exeunt._

_Actus Secundus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Drusilla, _and_ Delphia.

_Dru._ Leave us, and not vouchsafe a parting kiss To her that in his hopes of greatness lives, And goes along with him in all his dangers?

_Del._ I grant 'twas most inhumane.

_Dru._ O, you give it Too mild a name; 'twas more than barbarous, And you a Partner in't.

_Del._ I, _Drusilla_?

_Dru._ Yes, You have blown his swoln Pride to that vastness, As he believes the Earth is in his fathom, This makes him quite forget his humble Being; And can I hope that he, that only fed With the imagin'd food of future Empire, Disdains even those that gave him means and life To nourish such desires, when he's possess'd Of his ambitious ends (which must fall on him, Or your Predictions are false) will ever Descend to look on me!

_Del._ Were his intents Perfidious as the Seas or Winds, his heart Compos'd of falshood; yet the benefit, The greatness of the good he has from you, (For what I have confer'd, is thine, _Drusilla_) Must make him firm, and thankful; But if all Remembrance of the debts he stands engag'd for, Find a quick Grave in his Ingratitude, My powerful Art, that guides him to this height Shall make him curse the hour he e'r was rais'd, Or sink him to the Centre.

_Dru._ I had rather Your Art could force him to return that ardour To me, I bear to him; or give me power To moderate my passions; yet I know not, I should repent your grant, though you had sign'd it, (So well I find he's worthy of all service) But to believe that any check to him In his main hopes, could yield content to me, Were treason to true love, that knows no pleasure, The object that it dotes on ill affected.

_Del._ Pretty simplicity; I love thee for't, And will not sit an idle looker on, And see it cozen'd; dry thy innocent eyes, And cast off jealous fears, (yet promises Are but lip comfort) and but fancy ought That's possible in Nature, or in Art, That may advance thy comfort, and be bold To tell thy Soul 'tis thine; therefore speak freely.

_Dru._ You new create me. To conceal from you My virgin-fondness, were to hide my sickness From my Physician. O dear Aunt, I languish For want of _Diocles_'s sight; he is the Sun That keeps my blood in a perpetual Spring; But in his absence, cold benumming Winter Seizes on all my faculties. Would you bind me (That am your Slave already) in more fetters, And (in the place of service) to adore you? O bear me then (but 'tis impossible, I fear to be effected) where I may See how my _Diocles_ breaks thorow his dangers, And in what heaps his honours flow upon him, That I may meet him, in the height and pride Of all his glories, and there (as your gift) Challenge him as mine own.

_Del._ Enjoy thy wishes; This is an easie Boon, which at thy years, I could have given to any; but now grown Perfect in all the hidden mysteries Of that inimitable Art, which makes us Equal even to the gods, and Natures wonders, It shall be done, as fits my skill and glory: To break thorow bolts, and locks, a Scholars prize For Thieves, and Pick-locks: to pass thorow an Army Cover'd with night, or some disguise, the practice Of poor and needy Spies: No, my _Drusilla_, From _Ceres_ I will force her winged Dragons, And in the air hung over the Tribunal; (The Musick of the Spheres attending on us.) There, as his good Star, thou shalt shine upon him, If he prove true, and as his Angel guard him. But if he dare be false, I, in a moment Will put that glorious light out, with such horrour, As if the eternal Night had seiz'd the Sun, Or all things were return'd to the first Chaos, And then appear like Furies.

_Dru._ I will do What e're you shall command.

_Del._ Rest then assur'd, I am the Mistris of my Art, and fear not. [_Exeunt._

[_Soft Musick._