SCENE VI.

_Enter, in Triumph with_ Roman _Ensigns_, _Guard,_ Dioclesian, Charinus, Aurelia, Maximinian, Niger, Geta, Cosroe, Cassana, _Persians, as Prisoners_; Delphia, _and_ Drusilla, _privately_.

_Dio._ I am rewarded in the Act; your freedome To me's ten thousand Triumphs; You Sir, share, In all my glories. And unkind _Aurelia_, From being a Captive, still command the Victor. Nephew, remember by whose gift you are free; You I afford my pity; baser minds Insult on the afflicted, you shall know, Vertue and Courage are admir'd and lov'd In Enemies; but more of that hereafter. Thanks to your valour; to your Swords I owe This Wreath triumphant. Nor be thou forgot My first poor Bondman, _Geta_, I am glad Thou art turn'd a fighter.

_Get._ 'Twas against my will; But now I am content with't.

_Char._ But imagine What honours can be done to you beyond these, Transcending all example; 'tis in you To will, in us to serve it.

_Nig._ We will have His Statue of pure gold set in the Capitol, And he that bows not to it as a god, Makes forfeit of his head.

_Max._ I burst with envy; And yet these honours, which conferr'd on me, Would make me pace on air, seem not to move him.

_Dio._ Suppose this done, or were it possible I could rise higher still, I am a man, And all these glories, Empires heap'd upon me, Confirm'd by constant friends, and faithful Guards, Cannot defend me from a shaking Feaver, Or bribe the uncorrupted Dart of Death To spare me one short minute. Thus adorn'd In these triumphant Robes, my body yields not A greater shadow, than it did when I Liv'd both poor and obscure; a Swords sharp point Enters my flesh as far; dreams break my sleep As when I was a private man; my passions Are stronger tyrants on me; nor is Greatness A saving Antidote to keep me from A Traytors poyson. Shall I praise my fortune, Or raise the building of my happiness On her uncertain favour? or presume She is mine own, and sure, that yet was never Constant to any? Should my reason fail me (As flattery oft corrupts it) here's an example, To speak how far her smiles are to be trusted; The rising Sun, this morning, saw this man The _Persian_ Monarch, and those Subjects proud That had the honour but to kiss his feet; And yet e're his diurnal progress ends, He is the scorn of Fortune: but you'll say, That she forsook him for his want of courage, But never leaves the bold. Now by my hopes Of peace and quiet here, I never met A braver Enemy; and to make it good, _Cosroe_, _Cassana_ and the rest, be free, And ransomless return.

_Cos._ To see this vertue Is more to me than Empire; and to be O'rcome by you, a glorious victory.

_Max._ What o' Devil means he next?

_Dio._ I know that glory Is like _Alcides_'s Shirt, if it stay on us Till pride hath mixt it with our blood; nor can we Part with it at pleasure: when we would uncase, It brings along with it both flesh and sinews, And leaves us living Monsters.

_Max._ Would it were come To my turn to put it on: I'd run the hazard.

_Dio._ No, I will not be pluck'd out by the ears Out of this glorious Castle; uncompell'd I will surrender rather; Let it suffice I have toucht the height of humane happiness, And here I fix _nil ultra_. Hitherto I have liv'd a servant to ambitious thoughts, And fading glories; what remains of life, I dedicate to Vertue; and to keep My faith untainted, farewel Pride and Pomp, And circumstance of glorious Majestie, Farewel for ever. Nephew, I have noted, That you have long with sore eyes look'd upon My flourishing Fortune; you shall have possession Of my felicity; I deliver up My Empire, and this gem I priz'd above it, And all things else that made me worth your envy, Freely unto you. Gentle Sir, your suffrage, To strengthen this; the Souldiers love I doubt not; His valour, Gentlemen, will deserve your favours, Which let my prayers further. All is yours; But I have been too liberal, and giv'n that I must beg back again.

_Max._ What am I faln from!

_Dio._ Nay, start not; it is only the poor Grange, The Patrimony which my father left me, I would be Tenant to.

_Max._ Sir, I am yours; I will attend you there.

_Dio._ No, keep the Court; Seek you in _Rome_ for honour: I will labour To find content elswhere. Disswade me not, By ----, I am resolv'd. And now _Drusilla_, Being as poor as when I vow'd to make thee My wife, if thy love since hath felt no change, I am ready to perform it.

_Dru._ I still lov'd Your Person, not your fortunes: in a cottage, Being yours, I am an Empress.

_Del._ And I'le make The change most happy.

_Dio._ Do me then the honour, To see my vow perform'd. You but attend My Glories to the urn; where be it ashes, Welcom my mean estate: and as a due, Wish rest to me, I honour unto you. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Quintus. Scena Prima._

Enter _CHORUS_.

Cho. _The War with glory ended; and_ Cosroe (_Acknowledging his fealtie to_ Charinus) _Dismiss'd in peace, returns to Persia:_ _The rest, arriving safely unto Rome,_ _Are entertained with triumphs_: Maximinian, _By the grace and intercession of his Uncle,_ _Saluted_ Cæsar: _but good_ Dioclesian, _Weary of Pomp and State, retires himself_ _With a small Train, to a most private Grange_ _In_ Lombardie; _where the glad Countrey strives_ _With Rural Sports to give him entertainment:_ _With which delighted, he with ease forgets_ _All specious trifles, and securely tastes_ _The certain pleasures of a private life._ _But oh Ambition, that eats into_ _With venom'd teeth, true thankfulness, and honour,_ _And to support her greatness, fashions fears,_ _Doubts, and preventions to decline all dangers,_ _Which in the place of safetie, prove her ruine:_ _All which be pleas'd to see in_ Maximinian, _To whom, his confer'd Sovera[ignt]y was like_ _A large sail fill'd full with a fore-right wind,_ _That drowns a smaller Bark: and he once faln_ _Into ingratitude, makes no stop in mischief,_ _But violently runs on. Allow_ Maximinian _all,_ _Honour, and Empire, absolute command;_ _Yet being ill, long great he cannot stand_. [Exit.