The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER
THE TRAGEDY OF VALENTINIAN
MONSIEUR THOMAS
THE CHANCES
THE BLOODY BROTHER
THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE

THE TEXT EDITED BY
A. R. WALLER, M.A.

Cambridge:
at the University Press
1906

CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS WAREHOUSE,

C.F. CLAY, Manager.

London: FETTER LANE, E.C.

Glasgow: 50, WELLINGTON STREET.

Leipzig: F.A. BROCKHAUS.

New York: G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS.

Bombay and Calcutta: MACMILLAN AND CO., Ltd.

[All Rights reserved.]

CONTENTS

[NOTE]
[THE TRAGEDY OF VALENTINIAN]
[MONSIEUR THOMAS.]
[THE CHANCES]
[THE BLOODY BROTHER; OR, ROLLO]
[THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE]
[APPENDIX]
[TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES]

[NOTE]

A few addenda to the textual notes on The Elder Brother, Wit without Money and The Faithful Shepherdess (Volume II), will be found in the Appendix, before the notes to the plays contained in the present volume. As the volume or volumes of explanatory notes on the plays, their literary and stage history and their language, will not appear until after the completion of the publication of the entire text, it seemed best to give these few additions here, rather than to wait for the appearance of those volumes.

It might be as well to mention here that differences have been found to exist in copies of the second folio all dated 1679. In order to check these as far as possible the text is set up from one copy of the folio and the proofs are read word for word with two additional copies, once by myself and once by Mrs Glover, who, since I took over the editorship, has also been so good as to continue her collations of a set of the quartos, as an additional check upon my own collations of them.

A. R. WALLER.
Cambridge,
3 September, 1906.

[THE]
TRAGEDY
OF
VALENTINIAN.

The Scene Rome.

The principal Actors were,

• Richard Burbadge.
• Henry Condel.
• John Lowin.
• William Ostler.
• John Underwood.

[Actus Primus. Scena Prima.]

Enter Balbus, Proculus, Chilax, Licinius.

Bal. I Never saw the like, she's no more stirr'd,
No more another Woman, no more alter'd
With any hopes or promises laid to her
(Let 'em be ne're so weighty, ne're so winning)
Than I am with the motion of mine own legs.

Pro. Chilax,
You are a stranger yet in these designs,
At least in Rome; tell me, and tell me truth,
Did you ere know in all your course of practice,
In all the wayes of Women you have run through
(For I presume you have been brought up Chilax,
As we to fetch and carry.)

Chi. True I have so.

Pro. Did you I say again in all this progress,
Ever discover such a piece of beauty,
Ever so rare a Creature, and no doubt
One that must know her worth too, and affect it,
I and be flatter'd, else 'tis none: and honest?
Honest against the tide of all temptations,
Honest to one man, to her Husband only,
And yet not eighteen, not of age to know
Why she is honest?

Chi. I confess it freely,
I never saw her fellow, nor e're shall,
For all our Grecian Dames, all I have tri'd,
(And sure I have tri'd a hundred, if I say two
I speak within my compass) all these beauties,
And all the constancy of all these faces,
Maids, Widows, Wives, of what degree or calling,
So they be Greeks, and fat, for there's my cunning,
I would undertake and not sweat for't, Proculus,
Were they to try again, say twice as many,
Under a thousand pound, to lay 'em bedrid;
But this Wench staggers me.

Lyc. Do you see these Jewels?
You would think these pretty baits; now I'le assure ye
Here's half the wealth of Asia.

Bal. These are nothing
To the full honours I propounded to her;
I bid her think, and be, and presently
What ever her ambition, what the Counsel
Of others would add to her, what her dreams
Could more enlarge, what any President
Of any Woman rising up to glory,
And standing certain there, and in the highest,
Could give her more, nay to be Empress.

Pro. And cold at all these offers?

Bal. Cold as Crystal,
Never to be thaw'd again.

Chi. I tri'd her further,
And so far, that I think she is no Woman,
At least as Women go now.

Lyc. Why what did you?

Chi. I offered that, that had she been but Mistris
Of as much spleen as Doves have, I had reach'd her;
A safe revenge of all that ever hates her,
The crying down for ever of all beauties
That may be thought come near her.

Pro. That was pretty.

Chi. I never knew that way fail, yet I'le tell ye
I offer'd her a gift beyond all yours,
That, that had made a Saint start, well consider'd,
The Law to be her creature, she to make it,
Her mouth to give it, every creature living
From her aspect, to draw their good or evil
Fix'd in 'em spight of Fortune; a new Nature
She should be called, and Mother of all ages,
Time should be hers, and what she did, lame vertue
Should bless to all posterities: her Air
Should give us life, her earth and water feed us.
And last, to none but to the Emperour,
(And then but when she pleas'd to have it so)
She should be held for mortal.

Lyc. And she heard you?

Chi. Yes, as a Sick man hears a noise, or he
That stands condemn'd his judgment, let me perish,
But if there can be vertue, if that name
Be any thing but name and empty title,
If it be so as fools have been pleas'd to feign it,
A power that can preserve us after ashes,
And make the names of men out-reckon ages,
This Woman has a God of vertue in her.

Bal. I would the Emperor were that God.

Chi. She has in her
All the contempt of glory and vain seeming
Of all the Stoicks, all the truth of Christians,
And all their Constancy: Modesty was made
When she was first intended: when she blushes
It is the holiest thing to look upon;
The purest temple of her sect, that ever
Made Nature a blest Founder.

Pro. Is there no way
To take this Phenix?

Lyc. None but in her ashes.

Chi. If she were fat, or any way inclining
To ease or pleasure, or affected glory,
Proud to be seen and worship'd, 'twere a venture;
But on my soul she is chaster than cold Camphire.

Bal. I think so too; for all the waies of Woman,
Like a full sail she bears against: I askt her
After my many offers walking with her,
And her as many down-denyals, how
If the Emperour grown mad with love should force her;
She pointed to a Lucrece, that hung by,
And with an angry look, that from her eyes
Shot Vestal fire against me, she departed.

Pro. This is the first wench I was ever pos'd in,
Yet I have brought young loving things together
This two and thirty years.

Chi. I find by this wench
The calling of a Bawd to be a strange,
A wise, and subtile calling; and for none
But staid, discreet, and understanding people:
And as the Tutor to great Alexander,
Would say, a young man should not dare to read
His moral books, till after five and twenty;
So must that he or she, that will be bawdy,
(I mean discreetly bawdy, and be trusted)
If they will rise, and gain experience,
Well steept in years, and discipline, begin it,
I take it 'tis no Boys play.

Bal. Well, what's thought of?

Pro. The Emperour must know it.

Lyc. If the woman should chance to fail too.

Chi. As 'tis ten to one.

Pro. Why what remains, but new nets for the purchase?

Chi. Let's go consider then: and if all fail,
This is the first quick Eele, that sav'd her tail. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter Lucina, Ardelia and Phorba.

Ardel. You still insist upon that Idol, Honour,
Can it renew your youth, can it add wealth,
That takes off wrinkles: can it draw mens eyes,
To gaze upon you in your age? can honour,
That truly is a Saint to none but Souldiers,
And look'd into, bears no reward but danger,
Leave you the most respected person living?
Or can the common kisses of a Husband,
(Which to a sprightly Lady is a labour)
Make ye almost Immortal? ye are cozen'd,
The honour of a woman is her praises;
The way to get these, to be seen, and sought too,
And not to bury such a happy sweetness
Under a smoaky roof.

Luci. I'le hear no more.

Phor. That white, and red, and all that blessed beauty,
Kept from the eyes, that make it so, is nothing;
Then you are rarely fair, when men proclaim it;
The Phenix, were she never seen, were doubted;
That most unvalued Horn the Unicorn
Bears to oppose the Huntsman, were it nothing
But tale, and meer tradition, would help no man;
But when the vertue's known, the honour's doubled:
Vertue is either lame, or not at all,
And love a Sacriledge, and not a Saint,
When it bars up the way to mens Petitions.

Ard. Nay ye shall love your Husband too; we come not
To make a Monster of ye.

Luc. Are ye women?

Ard. You'll find us so, and women you shall thank too,
If you have grace to make your use.

Luc. Fye on ye.

Phor. Alas poor bashful Lady, by my soul,
Had ye no other vertue, but your blushes,
And I a man, I should run mad for those:
How daintily they set her off, how sweetly!

Ard. Come Goddess, come, you move too near the earth,
It must not be, a better Orb stayes for you:
Here: be a Maid, and take 'em.

Luc. Pray leave me.

Phor. That were a sin sweet Lady, and a way
To make us guilty of your melancholy:
You must not be alone; in conversation
Doubts are resolv'd, and what sticks near the conscience
Made easie, and allowable.

Luc. Ye are Devils.

Ard. That you may one day bless for your damnation.

Luc. I charge ye in the name of Chastity,
Tempt me no more; how ugly ye seem to me?
There is no wonder men defame our Sex,
And lay the vices of all ages on us,
When such as you shall bear the names of women;
If ye had eyes to see your selves, or sence
Above the base rewards ye play the bawds for:
If ever in your lives ye heard of goodness,
(Though many Regions off, as men hear Thunder)
If ever ye had Mothers, and they souls:
If ever Fathers, and not such as you are;
If ever any thing were constant in you,
Besides your sins, or coming, but your courses;
If ever any of your Ancestors
Dyed worth a noble deed, that would be cherish'd;
Soul-frighted with this black infection,
You would run from one another, to repentance,
And from your guilty eyes drop out those sins,
That made ye blind, and beasts.

Phor. Ye speak well, Lady;
A sign of fruitful education,
If your religious zeal had wisdom with it.

Ard. This Lady was ordain'd to bless the Empire,
And we may all give thanks for't.

Phor. I believe ye.

Ard. If any thing redeem the Emperour
From his wild flying courses, this is she;
She can instruct him if ye mark; she is wise too.

Phor. Exceeding wise, which is a wonder in her,
And so religious, that I well believe,
Though she would sin she cannot.

Ard. And besides,
She has the Empires cause in hand, not loves;
There lies the main consideration,
For which she is chiefly born.

Phor. She finds that point
Stronger than we can tell her, and believe it
I look by her means for a reformation,
And such a one, and such a rare way carried
That all the world shall wonder at.

Ard. 'Tis true;
I never thought the Emperor had wisdom,
Pity, or fair affection to his Country,
Till he profest this love: gods give 'em Children,
Such as her vertues merit, and his zeal.
I look to see a Numa from this Lady,
Or greater than Octavius.

Phor. Do you mark too,
Which is a Noble vertue, how she blushes,
And what a flowing modesty runs through her,
When we but name the Emperour?

Ard. But mark it,
Yes, and admire it too, for she considers,
Though she be fair as Heaven, and vertuous
As holy truth, yet to the Emperour
She is a kind of nothing but her service,
Which she is bound to offer, and she'll do it,
And when her Countries cause commands affection,
She knows obedience is the key of vertues,
Then flye the blushes out like Cupid's arrows,
And though the tye of Marriage to her Lord
Would fain cry, stay Lucina, yet the cause
And general wisdom of the Princes love,
Makes her find surer ends and happier,
And if the first were chaste, this is twice doubled.

Phor. Her tartness unto us too.

Ard. That's a wise one.

Phor. I rarely like, it shews a rising wisdom,
That chides all common fools as dare enquire
What Princes would have private.

Ard. What a Lady
Shall we be blest to serve?

Luc. Go get ye from me:
Ye are your purses Agents, not the Princes:
Is this the vertuous Lore ye train'd me out to?
Am I a woman fit to imp your vices?
But that I had a Mother, and a woman
Whose ever living fame turns all it touches,
Into the good it self is, I should now
Even doubt my self, I have been search't so near
The very soul of honour: why should you two,
That happily have been as chaste as I am,
Fairer, I think, by much, for yet your faces,
Like ancient well built piles, shew worthy ruins,
After that Angel age, turn mortal Devils?
For shame, for woman-hood, for what ye have been,
For rotten Cedars have born goodly branches,
If ye have hope of any Heaven, but Court,
Which like a Dream, you'l find hereafter vanish,
Or at the best but subject to repentance,
Study no more to be ill spoken of;
Let women live themselves, if they must fall,
Their own destruction find 'em, not your Fevours.

Ard. Madam, ye are so excellent in all,
And I must tell it you with admiration,
So true a joy ye have, so sweet a fear,
And when ye come to anger, 'tis so noble,
That for mine own part, I could still offend,
To hear you angry; women that want that,
And your way guided (else I count it nothing)
Are either Fools, or Cowards.

Phor. She were a Mistris for no private greatness,
Could she not frown a ravish'd kiss from anger,
And such an anger as this Lady learns us,
Stuck with such pleasing dangers. Gods (I ask ye)
Which of ye all could hold from?

Luc. I perceive ye,
Your own dark sins dwell with ye, and that price
You sell the chastity of modest wives at
Runs to diseases with your bones: I scorn ye,
And all the nets ye've pitcht to catch my vertues
Like Spiders Webs, I sweep away before me.
Go tell the Emperour, ye have met a woman,
That neither his own person, which is God-like,
The world he rules, nor what that world can purchase,
Nor all the glories subject to a Cæsar,
The honours that he offers for my body,
The hopes, gifts, everlasting flatteries,
Nor any thing that's his, and apt to tempt me,
No not to be the Mother of the Empire,
And Queen of all the holy fires he worships,
Can make a Whore of.

Ard. You mistake us Lady.

Luc. Yet tell him this has thus much weaken'd me,
That I have heard his Knaves, and you his Matrons,
Fit Nurses for his sins, which gods forgive me;
But ever to be leaning to his folly,
Or to be brought to love his lust, assure him,
And from her mouth, whose life shall make it certain,
I never can: I have a noble Husband,
Pray tell him that too, yet a noble name,
A Noble Family, and last a Conscience:
Thus much for your answer: For your selves,
Ye have liv'd the shame of women, dye the better. [Exit Luc.

Phor. What's now to do?

Ard. Ev'n as she said, to dye,
For there's no living here, and women thus,
I am sure for us two.

Phor. Nothing stick upon her?

Ard. We have lost a mass of mony; well Dame Vertue,
Yet ye may halt if good luck serve.

Phor. Worms take her,
She has almost spoil'd our trade.

Ard. So godly;
This is ill breeding, Phorba.

Phor. If the women
Should have a longing now to see this Monster,
And she convert 'em all.

Ard. That may be, Phorba,
But if it be, I'll have the young men gelded;
Come, let's go think, she must not 'scape us thus;
There is a certain season, if we hit,
That women may be rid without a Bit. [Exeunt.

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.

SCENE II.

Enter Claudia, and Marcellina.

Claud. Sirrah, what ails my Lady that of late
She never cares for Company?

Mar. I know not,
Unless it be that Company causes Cuckolds.

Claud. That were a childish fear.

Mar. What were those Ladies,
Came to her lately
From the Court?

Claud. The same wench,
Some grave instructors on my life, they look
For all the world like old hatcht hilts.

Mar. 'Tis true, Wench,
For here and there, and yet they painted well too,
One might discover where the Gold was worn,
Their iron ages.

Claud. If my judgement fail not,
They have been sheathed like rotten Ships.

Mar. It may be.

Claud. For if you mark their rudders, they hang weakly.

Mar. They have past the line belike; wouldst live Claudia
Till thou wert such as they are?

Claud. Chimney pieces:
Now heaven have mercy upon me, and young men,
I had rather make a drallery till thirty,
While I am able to endure a tempest,
And bear my fights out bravely, till my tackle
Whistl'd i'th' Wind, and held against all weathers,
While I were able to bear with my tyres,
And so discharge 'em, I would willingly
Live, Marcellina, not till barnacles
Bred in my sides.

Mar. Thou art i'th' right, Wench;
For who would live whom pleasures had forsaken,
To stand at mark, and cry a Bow short, Seigneur?
Were there not men came hither too?

Claud. Brave fellows:
I fear me Bawds of five i'th' Pound.

Mar. How know you?

Claud. They gave me great lights to it.

Mar. Take heed, Claudia.

Clau. Let them take heed, the spring comes on.

Mar. To me now
They seem'd as noble Visitants.

Claud. To me now
Nothing less, Marcellina, for I markt 'em,
And by this honest light, for yet 'tis morning,
Saving the reverence of their gilded doublets,
And Millan skins.

Mar. Thou art a strange Wench, Claudia.

Claud. Ye are deceiv'd, they shew'd to me directly
Court Crabs that creep a side-way for their living,
I know 'em by the Breeches that they beg'd last.

Mar. Peace, my Lady comes; what may that be?

Enter Lucina, and Lycias, the Eunuch.

Clau. A Sumner
That cites her to appear.

Mar. No more of that wench.

Eun. Madam, what answer to your Lord?

Luci. Pray tell him, I am subject to his will.

Eun. Why weep you Madam?
Excellent Lady, there are none will hurt you.

Luci. I do beseech you tell me Sir.

Eun. What, Lady?

Luci. Serve ye the Emperor?

Eun. I do.

Luci. In what place?

Eun. In's chamber Madam.

Luci. Do ye serve his will too?

Eun. In fair and just commands.

Luci. Are ye a Roman?

Eun. Yes noble Lady, and a Mantuan.

Luci. What office bore your parents?

Eun. One was Pretor.

Luci. Take heed then how you stain his reputation.

Eun. Why worthy Lady?

Luci. If ye know, I charge ye,
Ought in this Message, but what honesty,
The trust and fair obedience of a servant
May well deliver, yet take heed, and help me.

Eun. Madam, I am no Broker.

Claud. I'le be hang'd then.

Eun. Nor base procurer of mens lusts; Your husband,
Pray'd me to do this office, I have done it,
It rests in you to come, or no.

Luci. I will Sir.

Eun. If ye mistrust me, do not.

Luci. Ye appear so worthy,
And to all my sense so honest,
And this is such a certain sign ye have brought me,
That I believe.

Eun. Why should I cozen you?
Or were I brib'd to do this villany,
Can mony prosper, or the fool that takes it,
When such a vertue falls?

Luci. Ye speak well Sir;
Would all the rest that serve the Emperour,
Had but your way.

Claud. And so they have ad unguem.

Luci. Pray tell my Lord, I have receiv'd his Token,
And will not fail to meet him; yet good Sir, thus much
Before you goe, I do beseech ye too,
As little notice as ye can, deliver
Of my appearance there.

Eun. It shall be Madam,
And so I wish you happiness.

Luci. I thank you— [Exeunt.

SCENE [III]. [Tumult & noise within.

Enter Æcius, pursuing Pontius, the Captain, and Maximus, following.

Max. Temper your self Æcius.

Pon. Hold my Lord,
I am a Roman, and a Souldier.

Max. Pray Sir.

Æci. Thou art a lying Villain, and a Traytor;
Give me my self, or by the Gods my friend
You'l make me dangerous; how dar'st thou pluck
The Souldiers to sedition, and I living,
And sow Rebellion in 'em, and even then
When I am drawing out to action?

Pon. Hear me.

Max. Are ye a man?

Æci. I am a true hearted, Maximus,
And if the Villain live, we are dishonour'd.

Max. But hear him what he can say.

Æci. That's the way,
To pardon him; I am so easie natur'd,
That if he speak but humbly I forgive him.

Pon. I do beseech ye noble General.

Æci. Has found the way already, give me room,
One stroak, and if he scape me then h'as mercy.

Pon. I do not call ye noble, that I fear ye,
I never car'd for death; if ye will kill me,
Consider first for what, not what you can do;
'Tis true, I know ye for my General,
And by that great Prerogative may kill:
But do it justly then.

Æci. He argues with me,
A made up Rebel.

Max. Pray consider,
What certain grounds ye have for this.

Æci. What grounds?
Did I not take him preaching to the Souldier
How lazily they liv'd, and what dishonours
It was to serve a Prince so full of woman?
Those were his very words, friend.

Max. These, Æcius,
Though they were rashly spoke, which was an errour
(A great one Pontius) yet from him that hungers
For wars, and brave imployment, might be pardon'd.
The heart, and harbour'd thoughts of ill, make Traytors,
Not spleeny speeches.