SCENE II.

_Enter_ Aper, Camurius, _Guard, a Litter covered_.

_Aper._ Your care of your sick Emperour, fellow-souldiers, In colours to the life, doth shew your love, And zealous duty: O continue in it. And though I know you long to see and hear him, Impute it not to pride, or Melancholy, That keeps you from your wishes: such State-vices (Too too familiar with great Princes) are Strangers to all the actions of the life Of good _Numerianus_: Let your patience Be the Physitian to his wounded eyes, (Wounded with pious sorrow for his Father) Which time and your strong Patience will recover, Provided it prove constant.

_1 Guard._ If he counterfeit, I will hereafter trust a prodigal heir, When he weeps at his Fathers Funeral.

_2 Guard._ Or a young widow following a bed-rid husband, (After a three years groaning) to the Fire.

_3 Guard._ Note his humility, and with what soft murmurs He does enquire his pleasures.

_1 Guard._ And how soon He is instructed.

_2 Guard._ How he bows again too.

_Aper._ All your commands (dread _Cæsar_) I'll impart To your most ready Souldier, to obey them; So take your rest in peace. It is the pleasure Of mighty _Cæsar_ (his thanks still remembred For your long patience, which a donative, Fitting his State to give, shall quickly follow) That you continue a strict Guard upon His sacred person, and admit no stranger Of any other Legion, to come near him; You being most trusted by him. I receive Your answer in your silence. Now, _Camurius_, Speak without flattery; Hath thy _Aper_ acted This passion to the life?

_Cam._ I would applaud him, Were he saluted _Cæsar_: but I fear These long protracted counsels will undo us; And 'tis beyond my reason, he being dead, You should conceal your self, or hope it can Continue undiscover'd.

_Aper._ That I have kill'd him, Yet feed these ignorant fools with hopes he lives, Has a main end in't. The _Pannonian_ Cohorts (That are my own, and sure) are not come up, The _German_ Legions waver, and _Charinus_ (Brother to this dead dog) (hells plagues on _Niger_) Is jealous of the murther; and, I hear, Is marching up against me. 'Tis not safe, Till I have power, to justifie the Act, To shew my self the authour: be therefore careful For an hour or two (till I have fully sounded How the Tribunes and Centurio[n]s stand affected) That none come near the Litter. If I find them Firm on my part, I dare profess my self, And then live _Aper_'s equal.

_Cam._ Does not the body Begin to putrifie?

_Aper._ That exacts my haste: When, but even now, I feign'd obedience to it, As I had some great business to impart, The scent had almost choak'd me: be therefore curious: All keep at distance. [_Exit._

_Cam._ I am taught my part; Haste you to perfect yours.

_1 Guard._ I had rather meet An enemy in the field, than stand thus nodding Like to a rug-gown'd Watch-man.

_Enter_ Diocles, Maximinian, Geta.

_Geta._ The Watch at noon? This is a new device.

_Cam._ Stand.

_Dio._ I am arm'd Against all danger.

_Max._ If I fear to follow, A Cowards name pursue me.

_Dio._ Now my Fate Guide and direct me.

_Cam._ You are rude and sawcy, With your forbidden feet to touch this ground, Sacred to _Cæsar_ only, and to these That do attend his person; Speak, what are you?

_Dio._ What thou, nor any of thy faction are, Nor ever were: Souldiers, and honest men.

_Cam._ So blunt?

_Geta._ Nay, you shall find he's good at the sharp too.

_Dio._ No instruments of craft: engines of murther, That serve the Emperour only with oil'd tongues, Sooth and applaud his vices, play the Bauds To all his appetites; and when you have wrought So far upon his weakness, that he's grown Odious to the subject and himself, And can no further help your wicked ends, You rid him out of the way.

_Cam._ Treason?

_Dio._ 'Tis truth, And I will make it good.

_Cam._ Lay hands upon 'em, Or kill them suddenly.

_Geta._ I am out at that; I do not like the sport.

_Dio._ What's he that is Owner of any vertue worth a _Roman_, Or does retain the memory of the Oath He made to _Cæsar_, that dares lift his Sword Against the man that (careless of his life) Comes to discover such a horrid Treason, As when you hear't, and understand how long Y'ave been abus'd, will run you mad with fury? I am no stranger, but (like you) a Souldier, Train'd up one from my youth: and there are some With whom I have serv'd, and (not to praise my self) Must needs confess they have seen _Diocles_ In the late _Britain_ wars, both dare and do Beyond a common man.

_1 Guard. Diocles?_

_2 Guard._ I know him, The bravest Souldier of the Empire.

_Cam._ Stand: If thou advance an inch, thou art dead. [Dio. _kills_ Camu.

_Dio._ Die thou, That durst oppose thy self against a truth That will break out, though mountains cover it.

_Get._ I fear this is a sucking Pig; no Boar, He falls so easie.

_Dio._ Hear me, fellow Souldiers; And if I make it not apparent to you This is an act of Justice, and no Murther, Cut me in pieces; I'le disperse the cloud That hath so long obscur'd a bloody act Ne'r equall'd yet: you all knew with what favours The good _Numerianus_ ever grac't The Provost _Aper_?

_Guard._ True.

_Dio._ And that those bounties Should have contain'd him (if he e're had learn'd The Elements of honesty and truth) In loyal duty: But ambition never Looks backward on desert, but with blind haste Boldly runs on. But I lose time. You are here Commanded by this _Aper_ to attend The Emperours person; to admit no stranger To have access to him, or come near his Litter, Under pretence (forsooth) his eyes are sore, And his minde troubled: no, my friends, you are cozen'd; The good _Numerianus_ now is past The sense of wrong or injury.

_Guard._ How, dead?

_Dio._ Let your own eyes inform you.

_Get._ An Emperours Cabinet? Fough, I have known a Charnel-house smell sweeter. If Emperours flesh have this savour, what will mine do, When I am rotten?

_1 Guard._ Most unheard of villany.

_2 Guard._ And with all cruelty to be reveng'd.

_3 Guard._ Who is the murtherer? name him, that we may Punish it in his family.

_Dio._ Who but _Aper_? The barbarous and most ingrateful _Aper_, His desperate Poniard printed on his breast This deadly wound: hate to vow'd enemies Finds a full satisfaction in death; And Tyrants seek no farther. He (a Subject, And bound by all the Ties of love and duty) Ended not so; but does deny his Prince (Whose ghost forbad passage to his rest, Mourns by the _Stygian_ shore) his Funeral-Rites. Nay, weep not; let your loves speak in your anger; And, to confirm you gave no suffrage to The damned Plot, lend me your helping hands To wreak the Parricide: and if you find That there is worth in _Diocles_ to deserve it, Make him your leader.

_Guard._ A _Diocles_, a _Diocles_.

_Dio._ We'll force him from his Guards. And now, my Stars, If you have any good for me in store, Shew it, when I have slain this fatal Boar. [_Exeunt._