[]
CONSTANTINE: A TRAGEDY.
[Price One Shilling and Six-pence.]
[]
CONSTANTINE: A TRAGEDY. As it is ACTED at the THEATRE-ROYAL, IN COVENT-GARDEN.
LONDON: Printed for A. MILLAR, over-againſt Catherine-ſtreet, in the Strand. MDCCLIV.
To the RIGHT HONOURABLE The Earl of CHESTERFIELD.
[]My Lord,
I Did not dare, ſo coldly was this Play received by the Town, to aſk Leave, in the uſual Forms, to dedicate it to your Lordſhip. Its Fate was early determin⯑ed, and in ſuch a Manner, that I very lit⯑tle flatter myſelf, it can be worthy of your Lordſhip's Patronage, or may preſume to boaſt it was once honoured with your Ap⯑probation. But as I may, probably, never have another Opportunity, certainly not in this Kind of writing, of publicly profeſſing my Reſpect, my Eſteem, I had almoſt ſaid, my Affection for your Lordſhip, may I not be forgiven, if I thus dedicate, not the Play, but its Author; not his Poetry, but his Underſtanding and his Heart?
WITH Sentiments ſuch as theſe, I dare aſſure your Lordſhip, you ſhall not be in⯑ſulted with the uſual, too civil, Language of Dedications. Yet I confeſs, I would gladly recover the Name of Dedications to its an⯑tient Dignity, before they were proſtituted, moſt abſurdly proſtituted, by the Author of the Pharſalia, when he dedicated to a Tyrant a Poem in Defence of Liberty. I [] confeſs, I mean to praiſe; for honeſt Praiſe is not only one of the warmeſt Incitements to Virtue, but its moſt honourable Reward. Great Minds will receive it with their na⯑tural Greatneſs, and only little Spirits have an Affectation of refuſing it. The Taſk, I own, is not without Difficulty, but when the Original is marked with ſtrong and pleaſing Lines of Life, a meaner Hand may preſerve the Likeneſs. The Integrity of his Colouring, if I may be allowed the Ex⯑preſſion, is of more Conſequence, than the Glow and Richneſs of it. Dedications would then be like Pictures in Miniature, which the future Hiſtorian might draw out into larger Proportion, Grace, and Dig⯑nity.
LET me then have the Honour of in⯑forming your Lordſhip's Hiſtorian, that al⯑though your Youth perhaps was ſpent, a⯑mong Pleaſures, not ill-ſuited to that gay⯑er Seaſon of Life (neque tu choreas ſperne, puer) yet it was not loſt among its too fre⯑quent Diſſipations. Ancient and modern Languages, with an accurate and critical Knowledge of the Engliſh Tongue, its Har⯑mony, Copiouſneſs, and Variety of Expreſ⯑ſion, are not to be acquired without much Application. Nor could the greateſt natu⯑ral [] Abilities, not even your own, my Lord, have appeared in the moſt important De⯑bates of the Houſe of Lords, with ſuch ſuperior Strength of Reaſoning, with Elo⯑quence (in the true Character of Eloquence) at once pleaſing and powerful, had they not been improved by all Advantages of Education.
TO ſuch Abilities were intruſted the Ho⯑nour and Intereſt of the Nation in Embaſſies abroad, and the moſt important Employ⯑ments at Home. How happily for IRELAND was the Poſſeſſor of them ſent thither as Lord Lieutenant in that dangerous Criſis, the late Rebellion? One Part of the Na⯑tion, the natural Enemies of his Majeſty's Government, were to be awed by Power, tempered with Lenity; the other were to be reſtrained in their Zeal of Loyalty, which though ſometimes ſhewn, perhaps, with too much Warmth, hath ever been their Glory and their Boaſt. How happily the Goodneſs of your Lordſhip's Heart was mixed with the Wiſdom of your Councils, the Gratitude of the whole People will for ever acknowledge. Long may you enjoy their Wiſhes, their Prayers for your Hap⯑pineſs. Long may you enjoy the Con⯑ſciouſneſs of your own Integrity, that nobly [] refuſed a Vote of Credit, and an Offer of raiſing a Body of Forces, which you wiſely foreſaw would be an uſeleſs Expence to the Kingdom. What muſt be the Firmneſs, and Generoſity of that Spirit, which is not to be ſeduced by Gold, intimidated by Dan⯑ger, or corrupted by Views of enlarging its Power!
YOUR Lordſhip now ſeems determined (and ſurely the gallant Veteran deſerves his Diſmiſſion) to retire from all public Buſineſs. Permit, my Lord, this honeſt Dedication, for well you know that Flattery would not deſire it, to attend you to your Retreat, and with it be pleaſed to accept the ſincereſt Reſpect of
My LORD,
Your Lordſhip's moſt obliged and moſt obedient Servant, PHILIP FRANCIS.
THE PROLOGUE.
[]O'ER a ſoft Tale of well imagin'd Woes
The willing Tear with feeble Tranſport flows;
But when the Muſe in her own Griefs appears,
The ſtoried Sorrows of a thouſand Years;
A nobler Tribute, than our Tears we pay,
Our Paſſions hear her, and our Hearts obey.
Such Scenes to-night—Oh! for a Muſe of Fire,
Great Shakeſpear, thine, our Author to inſpire;
Then fierce Ambition, Guilt, Deſpair, and Rage,
And frantic Jealouſy ſhould ſhake the Stage;
Tyrants and Slaves her equal Wrath ſhould find,
Her Furies haunt them, and revenge Mankind.
But where's the modern Spirit can ſuſtain
The Weight of Greece, or draw the Roman Scene?
Their Heroes ſeem of ſome ſuperior State,
Great in their Virtues, in their Vices great;
Here wild Ambition Earth and Heaven defies,
And there—Oh! glorious Fate! the Patriot greatly dies.
Yet if, with modeſt Hope, our Author aim
At your Applauſe—for your Applauſe is Fame,
Let him, to-night, your wonted Candour find,
Oh! be the Critic's Eye a little blind;
And if to You, ye Fair, he pours his Heart,
To your Diſtreſſes gives his tendereſt Art,
To Beauty, Virtue, and to You he ſues,
As you inſpir'd—Oh! patronize his Muſe.
EPILOGUE.
[]Spoken by Miſs BELLAMY.
WELL! you expect—ſo ſays the Taſte in Vogue—
To theſe ſad Scenes a laughing Epilogue!
But I'm untaught in every comic Grace,
Wit's bolder Mirth, or Humour's various Face;
Nor ſhall I dare, with your lov'd, mimic, Art,
Take off the Cit—the Beau—the Blood—the Smart.
Shall I the dear Coquet's ſweet Trifling try?
Piſh—as I live—be quiet—let me die—
Then, melt a Look—deliciouſly explaining
The double—no, good Faith! the ſingle Meaning.
As for our Play—methinks, this tragic Plot
Might furniſh precious Hints, for you know what—
To leave an Empreſs—tho' ſo wondrous chaſte—
With a young Lover—two full Hours at leaſt—
In our frail Times, this dangerous tete a tete—
In the firſt Act—had made the Play complete.
And then the Moral—ye, whoſe happy Lives
Are bleſs'd with rare Diſcretion—in your Wives;
When Trifles—light as Air—ſhall turn your Heads,
Ah! ſhun that naughty Trick—of ſeparate Beds,
Beſides the midnight—reconciling Billing,
Ah! think, how near was CONSTANTINE to killing.
But huſh our Bard—
If ſhould he hear us laughing, wont he ſay,
Your flippant Mirth,—good Ma'am—may damn my Play.
Then for my Sake—but I'm in ſuch a Fright—
Well—I'll give out the Play—for Monday Night.
A New EPILOGUE.
[]Miſs BELLAMY's Illneſs prevented her ſpeaking it.
IN all this Scene of Treaſon, Swords and Death
My Fright has almoſt ta'en away my Breath;
And yet our Bard inſiſts, that I muſt ſay
Something for him, and ſomething for his Play.
Moſt of the Fair-ones ſure muſt be contented,
And muſt approve the Part I've repreſented,
Who think theſe Characters no Stain to Life,
The duteous Daughter, and the tender Wife,
Who taſte the higheſt Bleſſings, while they prove
The Huſband's Fondneſs, and the Parent's Love.
Tho' I confeſs, there are of our ſweet Sex,
Who, form'd to pleaſe, transform themſelves to vex;
Rebels to gentleſt Sway, Foes to Reſtriction,
Whoſe chiefeſt Bliſs is plac'd in Contradiction;
Who think Obedience to the milder Will
Of a kind Parent, ſmells of Childhood ſtill.
And that the Father ſhould not be obey'd—
Not half an Hour—after the Portion's paid.
To ſuch alone, whoſe virtuous Boſoms prove
Paternal Fondneſs, or connubial Love
Our Author freely offers up his Cauſe,
And let thoſe generous Paſſions ſtand for Laws;
By them he will be try'd; if they acquit,
He's ſafe; if they condemn, he muſt ſubmit.
Dramatis Perſonae.
[]- CONSTANTINE
- Mr. Barry.
- MAXIMIAN
- Mr. Sparks.
- AURELIAN
- Mr. Smith
- ALBINUS
- Mr. Ridout.
- MARCELLUS
- Mr. Stevens.
- FULVIA
- Miſs Bellamy.
- CORNELIA
- Mrs. Barrington.
Officers, Lictors, Guards, &c.
SCENE CONSTANTINE's Palace in Con⯑ſtantinople.
[] CONSTANTINE.
ACT I. SCENE I.
The EMPEROR's Palace.
AURELIAN and MARCELLUS meeting.
AURELIAN.
SPEAK; have I Leave to ſee her?
MARCELLUS.
Yes; my Lord.
AURELIAN.
But when? How ſoon? For did the Hour, Marcellus,
Ride on the Tempeſt's Wing, the Speed of Light,
Its Swiftneſs were too ſlow. Yet, yet ſhe comes not.
MARCELLUS.
What can theſe Tranſports mean? Are theſe Emotions
To tell the Empreſs, that her Lord returns
With Conqueſt to her Arms? Did Friendſhip ſend you
Its Meſſenger of Love? Did CONSTANTINE—
AURELIAN.
He ſent me not.
MARCELLUS.
[2]My Lord!
AURELIAN.
Nor do I come
A Meſſenger of Conqueſt, Joy, or Love.
MARCELLUS.
Then my worſt Fears are true. Th' impetuous Paſſion
Flames forth again; again MAXIMIAN's Daughter—
AURELIAN.
Is ſhe not all her Sex's Pride would aim at,
Their various Arts of charming?
MARCELLUS.
Dear my Lord,
Tho' ſhe were fairer, than th' ideal Beauty,
That warms the Lover's Hopes, or Poet's Fancy,
Yet ſhall the bright Temptation, (beſt Excuſe
For human Frailty) melt away all Faith,
Allegiance, Honour, Duty? Oh! remember—
AURELIAN.
What? That ſhe now is wedded to another?
Another breathes my Tranſports o'er her Boſom,
Sighs out my Love, and drinks, with raptur'd Ear,
The Vows, that once were mine? If thou couldſt charm
The Madman's Ravings; bid the Heart be ſtill,
When Paſſion ſhakes us; or with Words of Wiſdom
Pour on the feveriſh Senſe the Balm of Health,
I then might liſten to thee.
MARCELLUS.
Is this AURELIAN!
The Pride of Rome! Th' Example of her Youth!
But I confeſs, this Language well befits
Your Commerce with MAXIMIAN; a Spirit made of Fire,
Whoſe fierce Ambition, and whoſe fell Revenge,
(He knows no other Paſſions) vex his Soul,
As adverſe Winds, and meeting Tides at Sea
Roll the wild Waves on Heaps.
AURELIAN.
[3]Revenge! Ambition!
Whence can they riſe? What Motives to enflame them?
Does he not ſhare with our great Emperor
All but the Name of Empire, and its Cares?
What would a Father's Heart, howe'er ambitious,
More than to ſee the Homage of the Nations,
Paid to his Daughter's Virtues; to her Beauty?
MARCELLUS.
Her Greatneſs only brings to his Remembrance
His own was loſt, when our late Emperor
Forc'd him to give her Hand to CONSTANTINE,
And, happily for Europe, wreſted from him
Th' imperial Power. Since when, his Rage beholds
His Son, as the Uſurper of his Throne:
Then, in his Zeal for the old Gods of Rome,
He hates him as a Chriſtian. Should he tempt
Your Youth to join with his Deſpair, your Virtue,
I know the rich Reward.—
AURELIAN.
Look, where ſhe comes.
A rich Reward indeed. I pray you leave me,
And, at ſome better Leiſure, every Secret
Of Confidence and Friendſhip ſhall be yours.
[Exit MARCELLUS.
AURELIAN.
And is it mine,—ye Powers, why am I deſtin'd
To throw Diſorder o'er that lovelieſt Form,
To fill thoſe Eyes with weeping, and that Breaſt
With Anguiſh, beyond Thought?
Enter FULVIA.
FULVIA.
AURELIAN, welcome.
Say to my Heart, my CONSTANTINE is well.
Give me the ſtoried War, the Battle's Rage,
[4]Tho' my Soul tremble at it. Shew my Hero
In all the bleeding Pride of glorious Danger,
How terribly! adorn'd. But ah! my Fears!
You do not feel my Tranſports. Down-caſt Eyes!
Horror is in thy Face!
AURELIAN.
'Tis in my Heart.
FULVIA.
Where is my Lord, my Emperor? Oh! ſpeak.
Is he a Conqueror? Comes he Home in Triumph?
AURELIAN.
Fame, Honour, Conqueſt, bind their Wreaths of Glory
Around his ſacred Temples, and he comes
T' enjoy his Triumphs in his FULVIA's Arms.
FULVIA.
Why would you thus alarm me? I'm a Woman
In Tenderneſs and Love; in all Things elſe
A Roman Spirit, and MAXIMIAN's Daughter.
Still there's a Fear—(is it too big for Utterance?)
Heaves at your Heart. Such Silence ſpeaks all Fears.
AURELIAN.
Could my Deſpair, could my Diſtraction tell you,
What my Heart feels this Moment; how it bleeds;
Your Pity would forgive me, tho' I ſtain
Your Father's venerable Name with Blood;
Tho' I accuſe—No—Honour, Faith, and Loyalty,
They only ſhall accuſe him.
FULVIA.
Stop not thus.
Let not my Fears grow impious in their Wildneſs.
My Father—there th' alarming Tale began.
MAXIMIAN.—
AURELIAN.
Too impatient to reſume
Th' imperial Purple, he ſo late reſign'd,
[5]Thinking the little Fame, my Youth hath gain'd;
My Intereſt with the Legions; my Command
So near the Perſon of my royal Maſter,
Might aid his Purpoſe, with unbounded Hand
Threw out Ambition's Glories to my View,
With half the Throne of Univerſal Empire.—
FULVIA.
While CONSTANTINE, your Emperor—while he lives?
Where ſlept this fierce Deſire or Power ſo long?
What wakes it now to Madneſs?
AURELIAN.
When the Rage
Of Battle ceas'd, and Victory no longer
Stood hovering o'er us with uncertain Wing,
My Lord MAXIMIAN aſk'd,—almoſt demanded,
The Government of theſe new German Conqueſts,
For his once favourite Freedman, CAIUS LUCIUS.
FULVIA.
That gloomy Fierceneſs! that unpitying Soldier!
But then, my Lord—
AURELIAN.
Perhaps, with ſome Impatience,
Refus'd the warm Requeſt. Grief, Shame, and Anger,
The Conſciouſneſs of Greatneſs, and the Pride,
That ſaw the Soldiers mourn for his Diſgrace,
The Time, the Place, each Circumſtance, deep ſmote
Your Father's Heart, and wak'd Ambition's Fires,
Tho' long, but ill, ſuppreſs'd. Hence the Propoſal;
But when he ſaw my Soul ſtart back with Horror,
And ſicken at the Pomp of bad Ambition,
He ſhew'd me thee; that all-excelling Form;
Love threw his Colours o'er it (oh! forgive me)
To turn my Faith to Treaſon.
FULVIA.
[6]Hold, my Lord.
Such Inſolence of Language! Who am I?
AURELIAN.
The Empreſs of the World; the ſacred Awe
Of grateful Nations, of imperial Rome,
The Pride, the Joy—You are the Wife of CONSTANTINE.
Yet oh! remember, there was once a Time,
When other Loves approach'd you; when MAXIMIAN
Approv'd my Paſſion, authoris'd my Vows,
And gave my Wiſhes Leave to gaze upon you.
FULVIA.
No more. What Proofs of this black Deed? My Father!
Source of my Life.—'Tis Parricide to think it.
AURELIAN.
The Doubt becomes your Piety. Behold
This Sword! A fatal Witneſs.
FULVIA.
'Tis not that,
My Lord's firſt Gift; his bridal-morning Preſent:
I muſt not, dare not think it; or 'twas given you
For ſome bleſt Purpoſe; to protect my Lord,
When, Oh! too prodigal of Life, he thinks not,
That Life is Love's and mine.
AURELIAN.
With this he arm'd
My fearful Hand; with this he bad me ſtrike,
(How ſhall I ſay) the Heart your Love delights in.
Then loud he cried, poſſeſs my Daughter's Beauties,
And ſhare the World with me. I took it trembling,
Leſt he might find ſome Slave, ſo loſt to Honour,
As to obey his Guiltineſs.
FULVIA.
My Lord,
If I have wrong'd your Virtue by ſuſpecting—
[7]Yet Nature claims her Rights, and awful bids me
Not truſt too lightly to an Accuſation,
That brands a Father's ever-honour'd Name
With Perfidy and Treaſon. O, my CONSTANTINE,
Is this thy Day of Triumph? This Return
For all thy Toils to bleſs a thankleſs World?
How ſhall thy FULVIA meet thee? Shall her Heart
With other Pantings, than with thoſe of Love,
Receive its Lord, and tremble in his Arms?
AURELIAN.
Oh! ſtop theſe ſoft Complainings. Even this Hour,
(Death ſits upon its Wings, and fierce Revenge
Laſhes its Speed) this Moment muſt determine
A Father's Fate, or—
FULVIA.
Huſband's! How determine!
Am I the dire Reward, the Prize of Blood!
Horror on Horror! of my Huſband's Blood!
Ye Powers, who make this Trial of my Weakneſs—
But, oh! what Form of Prayer—Heaven muſt not hear me!
Daughter or Wife—in Love or Nature impious:
In either Name a Force that pulls my Heart-ſtrings.
AURELIAN.
Each Inſtant I expect him; for he comes
To regulate the Honours of the Day.
Meet him with Smiles, with unſuſpecting Looks;
Throw your Careſſes round him, and awake,
With Nature's Voice, th' Affections ſhe inſpires.
FULVIA.
Meet him with Smiles! Thou cruel, cold Adviſer!
No; with theſe Tears (for what can ſtop their flowing)
Or with the louder Sorrows of Diſtraction,
'Till Nature hear my Cries thro' all her Works.
AURELIAN.
Oh! yet with calmer Temper: Sooth him, melt him,
[8]With Prayers, with Tears; and when you urge him ſtrongeſt,
Seem moſt to doubt; to diſbelieve, to think
'Twas but a Start of Paſſion; of Ambition,
That Madneſs of the Brave. Let your Succeſs
Inſure the Peace of Nations; of the World;
And give you down to Fame a nobler Story,
Than yet your Sex can boaſt.
[Exit AURELIAN
FULVIA alone.
What Fame? What Story?
To violate th' eternal Laws of Nature,
Her deareſt, firſt Relations, Child and Parent;
To be myſelf th' Accuſer, or behold
My wedded Lord—Oh! yet forbid it, Love—
Stabb'd in my Arms, reproaching me in Death,
A perjur'd, faithleſs Wife. Diſtraction guide me,
Where the Heart cannot chuſe, and Reaſon dares not.
Enter a MESSENGER.
MESSENGER.
Madam, my Lord MAXIMIAN.
[Exit.
FULVIA alone.
Now, my Soul,
Meet this new Trial firmly; this Diſſembling,
That talks in Smiles, when the ſad Heart's in Tears.
Enter MAXIMIAN.
FULVIA, kneeling to him.
Witneſs this pious Tender of my Duty,
How gladly I behold my Father's Preſence!
Thus may I ever ſee the laurel'd Wreath
Circling his Brows with Glory. Sure, my Lord,
[She riſes.
(Ah! whence that Coldneſs, that averted Look!)
The fierce and hardy Germans are a Conqueſt
Worthy the ancient Majeſty of Rome.
MAXIMIAN.
How did they dare rebel? Ye Powers immortal,
[9]Who form'd th' imperial City to its Greatneſs,
How are we fall'n! The Majeſty of Rome!
Shall it be deem'd a Conqueſt, to have quell'd
A ſingle Nation? This Day's idle Pomp
Be number'd with the Triumphs we have ſeen,
When the World ſunk beneath us? But our Eagles,
That us'd to ſoar with Empire on their Wings,
Now bend their Flight, like Birds of meaner Plume,
To ſtoop at worthleſs Triumphs; while our Emperor—
FULVIA, aſide.
Now, now the Cloud is opening into Thunder!
MAXIMIAN.
His Thoughts are Heavenward!—In his holy Zeal
For this new Sect, this Chriſtian Superſtition,
He has transferr'd th' eternal Seat of Empire,
From where the Gods had fix'd it, to this City,
Now honour'd with his Name. All-ſovereign JOVE,
Where are the Thunders that aſſert thy Godhead!
The Temples, where we offer'd to thy Name
The Vows of human Kind, can'ſt thou behold them
Defil'd, polluted, and not pour thy Wrath
Upon his Head, this Emperor of Chriſtians?
FULVIA.
Oh! ſpare the dreadful Image. Gracious Heaven,
Throw your own Shield of Safety o'er his Life;
Protect him from the Schemes of fierce Ambition,
Unhallow'd Vengeance, and the midnight Treaſon,
That dares not riſe to the fair Face of Day.
MAXIMIAN.
What would our Empreſs mean?
FULVIA.
Oh! ſhall the Sword—
It was a Soldier's Preſent to a Soldier—
To Deeds of Honour was it ever ſacred;
Nor in the wild, tumultuous Hour of Fight
E'er ſtain'd its Luſtre with a Coward's Blood,
[10]But with diſtinguiſh'd Slaughter ſwept the Field;
And ſhall MAXIMIAN, for leſs noble Purpoſe,
Unſheath its Terrours? He, who oft hath led
The Roman War to Conqueſt! He, whoſe Life
Should guard the Life of Empire!—Shall my Father—
MAXIMIAN.
Coward AURELIAN! Baſe, betraying Chriſtian!
[Aſide.
Who dares accuſe me?
FULVIA.
Sir, your Daughter muſt not.
MAXIMIAN.
My Daughter? No, my Empreſs, as it ſeems,
The Wife of CONSTANTINE. Thou young Ingratitude—
Can'ſt thou forget—But I'll not bid the Gods,
Th' avenging Gods, remember how I've lov'd thee.
Go, Parricide, betray thy Father's Age
To Cruelty and Tortures. When my Heart
Shall burſt in Death, when my ſtrong Sinews crack
In agonizing Anguiſh, let your Eye
Delighted ſee my Torments, and your Ear
Enjoy my Groans.
FULVIA.
Oh! ſave me! ſave me, Nature,
From the dire Scene; from Horrors to diſtract me!
But I'll offend no more; for even my Grief,
Diſtraction and Deſpair, ſhall ſpeak the Language
Of Duty and of Love. Yet hear them ſpeak,
And then imagine, that laſt Night in Sleep
I ſaw my Father's Hand bath'd deep in Blood,
His Son's, his Emperor's Blood! How did I rend
The Air with Shrieks, and on his bleeding Corſe
Pour my diſtracted Sorrows! While my Tears
Flow'd faſt—(they flow'd in no unreal Streams)
Such as you ſee them now.
MAXIMIAN.
I ſee the Viſions
[11]Of a diſorder'd Fancy, that has form'd
Its own wild Images of Grief and Terrour.
If there be aught more real in thy Story,
Give me to know the Slave, who dares accuſe me.
FULVIA.
Accuſe! What Accuſation! Shall MAXIMIAN,
The Glory once, th' Example of the Brave,
Be in his Age accus'd, and, Oh! for ever
Be number'd with the Guilty, and their Crimes?
Better be loſt to Fame, for ever loſt!
No Eye to weep your Memory, not even mine!
Mine ſhall be clos'd in Death, or wildeſt Horrour
Sit gazing on its open Senſe for ever.
MAXIMIAN.
Wild as the Dreams of Madneſs! Tell me, Madam—
But I'll not chide you for th' unkind Suſpicions,
Theſe viſionary Terrours have inſpir'd:
They too ſhall paſs away in this Day's Triumph,
And Peace return to thy affrighted Spirit.
FULVIA.
Oh! never, never. Theſe imagin'd Terrors
To me are real Anguiſh and Deſpair.
Oh! hear me, Sir!
[Throwing herſelf on her Knees.]
Your Purpoſe—ſhould it proſper—What Horrors ſhall alarm your waking Senſe,
Dwell on your Sleep, and fright your Dreams to Madneſs!
The Tempeſts of the Night ſhall rage within you,
And, when you hear the Thunder, cold pale Fear
Shall ſit upon your Heart; ſhall ſtop its Beatings,
And freeze the Stream of Life! O CONSTANTINE!
[Riſing.
While we are meditating Death, your Love,
Perhaps, is forming ſome fond generous Scheme,
To make your FULVIA happy, and to crown
Her Father's Days with Glory.
MAXIMIAN.
[12]Ha! Can CONSTANTINE
Add to MAXIMIAN's Glory? Did there need
This ſecond Outrage? Are my old Years thus,
O Curſe of Age! inſulted by my Child?
FULVIA.
Am I your Child? Will you and Nature own me?
MAXIMIAN.
Wer't thou not every Joy to every Senſe,
That pours the Paſſions here? And now, Ungrateful—
Yet you can weep—Thoſe Tears—can they be falſe ones?
How gladly would thy Father's Love believe them?
How gladly think, thou Fondneſs of my Soul,
Some Villain's Arts have wrought upon thy Weakneſs
To do this Act of Outrage on my Heart?
FULVIA.
Have I then wrong'd you?—How my Soul rejoices
In the ſweet Hope! Theſe, theſe, the Tears of Joy,
They, they alone, ſhall witneſs for my Truth;
They only ſhall implore Forgiveneſs for me.
MAXIMIAN.
I do believe them; they are Nature's Truth,
And thou the pureſt Bliſs my Prayers e'er aſk'd,
Or Heaven's large Bounty gave me. Pray, retire:
Dry theſe ill-omen'd Tears. Rely upon me:
MAXIMIAN never can forget his Honour!
Never forget a Father's Tenderneſs!
[Leads her out, returns and ſpeaks.
Then all is loſt; Revenge, Ambition, Empire,
Or henceforth to be held by vile Dependance
On a weak Girl's Affection; by diſſembling.
He, who has led to War the Fate of Nations,
And ſway'd th' Imperial Sceptre!—O MAXIMIAN,
How are thy Glories wither'd! Is it Fear?
Let me not think it—Can the Love of Life,
[13]A poor, precarious, caſual Hour of Breathing,
Subdue me thus? No, 'tis ſome nobler Paſſion:
Unſated Rage, and Vengeance on the Slave,
Whoſe Chriſtian Fears betray'd me. If ALBINUS—
Should he betray me too, my Fame, my Life—
But that's a Trifle—my Revenge is loſt.
Enter ALBINUS.
MAXIMIAN, without looking back.
Who's there?
ALBINUS.
My ever-royal Lord—
MAXIMIAN, turning from ALBINUS.
ALBINUS!
Start at the Preſence of a Friend! What Power
Can thus controul the Senſes! My Confuſion!
It doubles on me—To be ſeen! ſurpriz'd,
Thus, in my Soul's Diſorder—in its Weakneſs!
ALBINUS.
I've ſtood thus long, my Lord, in ſilent Wonder—
MAXIMIAN.
There's an unſleeping Spirit here, ALBINUS,
That ceaſeleſs talks to Memory, and tells me
I was an Emperor once.
ALBINUS.
A truly great one.
MAXIMIAN.
'Tis in my Dreams! It lives among my Slumbers,
While Fancy, wild Creation's various Miſtreſs,
Forms my full Court, and bids them bend the Knee,
As if my Frowns were Death. The Lictors, Faſces,
Th' applauding Senate and Praetorian Guards,
Start at my Nod, to execute, to ſtrike
At my great Bidding. But the glorious Viſion,
Dazzling the Eye of Fancy, when I wake,
Melts into Air, and I'm again a Slave.
ALBINUS.
[14]What Power can ſhake that Temper, which unmov'd
Rul'd the fierce Hour of Fight; like Ocean's God,
Who ſits upon the Storm, and guides its Raging?
MAXIMIAN.
War is no more! O Rome, thy Arts are loſt!
The honour'd Name of Soldier, and his Glory,
To ſhine in Arms, to dare the Front of Danger,
And follow Fortune through the doubtful Field,
Our Emperor needs thee not: His holy Warfare,
To quell the Paſſions, and ſubdue the Heart,
His Triumphs need thee not.
ALBINUS.
Call back, my Lord,
Theſe Wanderings into Reaſon.
MAXIMIAN.
Why to Reaſon?
Will it not tell me I'm a Subject now?
To me as hateful as the Name of Slave.
Will it not tell me, that I dare not puniſh
A Villain who betrays me?
ALBINUS.
Sir! AURELIAN!
MAXIMIAN.
And ſhall the Gods of Rome behold me kneel
Beneath the Throne of CONSTANTINE? (his Name
Darts like a burning Fever thro' my Veins!)
And ſhall I enter into vile Debate
To clear my inſulted Honour! God of Vengeance,
Why did I truſt thy Cauſe—for it was thine—
To any other Hand? I ſhould myſelf
Have ſtruck the deſtin'd Sacrifice at thine
And great Ambition's Altar!
ALBINUS.
Hark! his Trumpets!
[15]He now is entering the triumphal Gate:
We muſt prepare to meet him.
MAXIMIAN.
Yes, and join
The univerſal Shout that calls him Lord,
Hail'd by his Chriſtian Prieſts, right holy Flatterers!
The Conqueror of the World: While I, O Torture!
Beneath whoſe Name in War he roſe to Empire,
Upon whoſe Ruins he has built his Fame,
Muſt wait upon his Fortune, and appear
To grace his Chariot-wheels, and ſwell his Triumphs!
ALBINUS.
Let us not loſe, my Lord, this noble Heat
In idle Threats and Raſhneſs. Yet ere Night
Something may be reſolv'd of glorious Danger,
Worthy MAXIMIAN, of his Fortune worthy!
When the ſame rapid Moment, in its Flight,
Shall form and execute—
MAXIMIAN.
Deſpair ſhall execute what Hope had form'd.
Fall ſwift, ye Shades of Night; and all ye Powers,
Who wing the midnight Darkneſs, whom the Sun
With this his gariſh Light rebukes, appals,
Inſpire our Councils, ſhed your Influence o'er them;
Then if I fall—let the Gods anſwer for it.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
[16]TRIUMPHAL PROCESSION.
SONG of TRIUMPH by Roman Soldiers.
God of Triumphs, God of War,
Wait on his victorious Car!
Crowns of Glory, Wreaths of Fame,
Ambition's Temples bind;
Tho' its impious Heroes aim
To conquer and enſlave Mankind.
CAESAR bids the World be free;
His Glories, Peace and Liberty.
God of Triumphs, God of War,
Wait on his victorious Car!
Lictors, Officers.
Firſt Lictor.
Led forward by the Hand of laurel'd Victory—
Second Lictor.
Crown'd with the Love of Nations, and their Praiſe-
Third Lictor.
The World's great Lord, the Lord of Empire comes.
Enter CONSTANTINE, AURELIAN, &c.
CONSTANTINE.
THUS far we thank your Love, our trueſt Glory,
Our faireſt Wreath of Fame. My nobleſt Triumph
(Oh! were it poſſible) ſhould bid the Nations
Unite in mutual Amity and Peace,
That all the Bleſſings bounteous Nature gives
To different Climes, as ſure her Wiſdom meant,
Should be enjoy'd by all. Take care, AURELIAN,
[17]That every Honour, due to great Deſervings,
Be paid theſe noble Priſoners. Tho' the Chance
Of War be fall'n upon them, yet like us
They fought their Country's Cauſe. Let us remember
How long their Valour held the doubtful Field,
And numbering o'er our Wounds, let them inſtruct us,
To reverence their Misfortunes.
AURELIAN.
Such a Conqueſt,
Where, nor the Vanquiſh'd mourn their Loſs of Honor,
Nor Kings their Sceptres, nor the World its Freedom,
Is worthy Caeſar's Fortune.
[Pointing to them.]
While the Nations,From fartheſt India to the weſtern Iſles,
Pour at your Feet the Homage of their Treaſures,
Rome ſends a nobler Tribute, Vows and Praiſe,
Omens of glorious Hope, in which ſhe ſees
Her once victorious Ardor riſe renew'd,
Thro' many a diſtant Age, from this Day's Triumph.
CONSTANTINE.
Too long, my Friend, has the wild Waſte of War
Rag'd o'er the Earth: Oh! were the ſcept'red War⯑riors,
Whoſe Luſt of Empire ſets the World in Arms,
Were they to ſee the Widow's keen Affliction,
Or hear the Mother's Shrieks in her Deſpair,
What could Ambition anſwer? But in Peace—
See, where its faireſt Image comes to meet us,
[ſeeing the Empreſs.]
With all its Bleſſings round her.
Enter FULVIA, MAXIMIAN, ALBINUS.
O my FULVIA,
Next to my People's Happineſs and Glory,
Thou art my Wreath of Victory, the Crown
Of all my Triumphs. Honour, Fame, and War,
[18]Shall witneſs for my Heart, its tendereſt Joys
Dwell in thy Arms; thou pureſt Bliſs of Love.
FULVIA.
My Lord, my Emperor—all other Words
Wrong my full Joy; my Love.
CONSTANTINE.
'Tis Eloquence
Beyond all Power of Words. It is the Language
My Heart beſt underſtands, and talks to thine.
Now, by the dear Delight of gazing on thee,
I ſwear, the Rage of War, its wildeſt Tumults,
Have but endear'd this ſoft Return of Love,
This Meeting of our Hearts. But ah! my FULVIA,
Whence is that Air of Sadneſs! Fear and Sorrow
Are pale upon thy Cheek! And now a Tear
Stands trembling on the Luſtre of thy Eye!
FULVIA.
Amidſt the general Joy, to pour my Soul,
To call you mine; the World's great Maſter mine;
His Conqueſts, Triumphs mine; nay more, his Love,
Is ſuch Exceſs of Bliſs—yet, oh! forgive me,
(Thou Lord of all my Thoughts) if aught ill-omen'd
Fancy or Fear, a Woman's weaker Paſſions,
Should mix themſelves with thee.
CONSTANTINE.
But that I know,
Thou Softneſs of thy Sex, thy gentle Spirit,
What might I think? What Terrors muſt alarm me?
Yet tell me, tell th' Impatience, throbbing here,
Is it within the wide Command of Empire
To calm theſe tender Fears? For what is Empire,
Why have I conquer'd, why this Day of Triumph,
But that my FULVIA may accept its Glories,
Laid at her Feet, in Homage to her Beauties?
FULVIA.
[19]Her matron Virtue, rather, and her Love;
They may accept; may feel the Joys of Greatneſs,
Becauſe the Gift is yours. Yet, midſt its Glories,
Can I be perfect happy, while I ſee
Your cold Looks there?
[Pointing to MAXIMIAN.]
While my divided Heart,
Divided between Tenderneſs and Duty,
Trembles for both.
MAXIMIAN aſide to ALBINUS.
Ay; now ſhe tells him all;
Now ſhe deſcribes (O well-diſſembled Terrors!)
The fearful Deed; now ſhe proteſts her Love,
And now with pious Seemings (Goddeſs Nature,
Dares ſhe profane thy Name, and call me Father?)
Pleads for my Life—O young Hypocriſy—
CONSTANTINE to FULVIA.
With what Delight
Has my Soul liſten'd to thy pious Sorrows?
Nor ſhall they plead in vain. My Lord MAXIMIAN,
What can I pay you back, in rich Return,
For Tranſports ſuch as theſe? You gave her to me,
You made her Beauties, made her Virtues mine,
And bleſs'd my Soul with Love. If large Ambition,
Its ſcept'red Honours, its imperial Sway,
Can ſpeak me grateful; take, divide them with me:
Beſides th' unhappy Gift I late denied you,
Reſume the ſacred Purple; let the World,
Rul'd by your Wiſdom, learn the Arts of Peace,
Or conquer'd by your War, make Rome immortal.
MAXIMIAN.
There was a Time, my Lord, I thought Ambition
The Spirit of the Gods, the Soul of Heroes;
But theſe white Years, which Time hath pour'd upon me,
[20]Have quench'd its Ardors. Theſe war-wearied Limbs
Wiſh for Repoſe; to lay their feeble Strength
Beneath the peaceful Shade, which this Day's Triumph
Spreads o'er the Earth; there, in an old Man's Warfare,
To talk of freezing Nights, and burning Days,
The Toils of Glory, Sieges, Marches, Battles,
And animate our Youth to Deeds of Honour,
Be now my ſole Ambition.
FULVIA to CONSTANTINE.
Tell my Heart,
How to expreſs theſe Tranſports; or let Love,
In its own Language, thus; in this Embrace
Pour forth, at once, its Gratitude and Joy.
CONSTANTINE.
With equal Rapture, equal Joy inſpir'd,
My Soul meets thine. Thus could I hold thee ever,
Tranſported thus, and gazing o'er thy Beauties,
With Wonder, as with Love. But let us not
With impious Careleſſneſs forget his Praiſe,
By whoſe right Arm we conquer'd. In his Temple,
The only God of Victory, we'll offer
The banner'd Trophy, and the Spoils of War,
In monumental Praiſe. Then turn to Earth
Our future Cares, with Liberty and Peace,
(Beſt Uſe of ſovereign Power) to bleſs Mankind.
[Exit CONSTANTINE, FULVIA, AURELIAN.
MAXIMIAN. ALBINUS.
MAXIMIAN.
Was it of ſuch ſlight Moment to provoke me?
Did he ſo little dread MAXIMIAN's Anger,
That he has granted to a Woman's Tear,
What he denied to me? For this the Legions,
Whom I had led to Conqueſt, ſaw me bend
My Spirit to the Earth, confeſs his Power—
Saw me refus'd a light, unvalued Trifle,
Scarce worth a Woman's Tears.
ALBINUS.
[21]But now in Recompence
He offers half his Empire.
MAXIMIAN.
No; 'twas Inſult;
(You ſaw it plain) contemptuous, purpos'd Inſult;
His Inſolence of Triumph, that his Courtiers,
His Chriſtians, might enjoy their Maſter's Pride,
And my Diſhonour. But, it ſeems, in Recompence
He offers half his Empire. Could his Word
Make me deſpotick Monarch of Creation,
His Gift, I would diſdain it. My Ambition—
Shall it from him receive its ſullied Honours?
ALBINUS.
This talking Heat, this looſe Intemperance,
Is this MAXIMIAN's Vengeance? But be ſure,
Suſpicion is abroad; it marks your Steps.
Would you inſure theſe Threats, which now are Air,
Keep your Eye conſtant; let no Paſſion ſhake it,
No Colour change your Cheek; open your Face
In Smiles, and let your Tongue flow looſe in Flattery;
Go to their Chriſtian Temple—
MAXIMIAN.
What! to hear
Their ſainted Hymns, in pious Harmony,
Thrill'd thro' a Eunuch's Throat? Their holy Min⯑ſtrelſy
Suits not my Taſte. Give me a Soldier's Muſick,
Sung by the Voice of War, with Diſcords in it.
Or muſt I hear our Roman Jove blaſphem'd,
His Godhead ridicul'd in cold Harangues,
That talk, I know not what, of holy Patience,
That muſt forgive the Man, who dares to wrong me.
Doctrines for Slaves and Cowards.
ALBINUS.
[22]Yet, my Lord,
What if the Empreſs (we may well expect it)
Or ſhould AURELIAN tell this fatal Secret,
We muſt with Boldneſs meet the Accuſation,
And throw it back upon them. If, my Lord,
You would have Vengeance—
MAXIMIAN.
If!—I will, ALBINUS.
This Chriſtian Emperor, and his favourite Slave—
Shall he enjoy his Perfidy in Safety?
ALBINUS.
Yet would you kill him, where he feels moſt ſenſibly,
Beyond the Pains of his own fancied Hell,
Strike at his Friendſhip, his high-boaſted Loyalty:
Make CONSTANTINE ſuſpect him, nay, believe him
A Villain and a Traytor. There are Witneſſes,
There are, my Lord, for Things impoſſible.
What think you of MARCELLUS?
MAXIMIAN.
What? His Friend!
ALBINUS.
His Friend. And, then, who better can betray him?
Who better be ſuppos'd to know his Heart?
Not to amuſe you longer—This, his Friend,
And ſome of higher Note, bold, Roman Spirits,
Fond of the ancient Privilege of Triumphs,
And high in Mirth, which I had rais'd with Wine,
With laviſh Wit condemn'd the Emperor's Conduct
In the late War, and ridicul'd his Conqueſts.
I had them ſeiz'd, confin'd them, told the Emperor,
With ſome Expreſſions, ſome looſe Hints of Treaſon,
Which Men in Wine might poſſibly forget.
MAXIMIAN.
Methinks, I ſee your Purpoſe, and it charms me.
ALBINUS.
[23]I ſhall, by CONSTANTINE's Command, examine them.
If fair and friendly Methods fail to win them,
Tortures ſhall make them ſpeak, as I ſhall prompt them.
Then with ſome well-wrought Circumſtance of Jea⯑louſy—
MAXIMIAN.
Of Jealouſy!
ALBINUS.
What other Power can make him
Suſpect the Man he loves? Or will he liſten
To other Crimes? Ambition ſhall be Virtue,
And Treaſon ſeem Ambition. Then, my Lord,
All other Paſſions have their Hours of Thinking,
And hear the Voice of Reaſon. This alone
Breaks, at the firſt Suſpicion, into Frenzy,
And ſweeps the Soul in Tempeſts.
MAXIMIAN.
But its Pangs—
Thoſe you forget—Do they not rend the Heart?
Shall I not hear him groan?
ALBINUS.
You ſhall, my Lord,
For all its fiery Seeds are in his Temper.
When Honour, Juſtice, Reaſon, bid him act,
No Being firmer; but in all his Paſſions,
The Whirlwind's Wildneſs is not more inconſtant.
When he (you muſt remember) and AURELIAN,
This boaſted Friend, were Rivals for your Daughter,
Friendſhip, Eſteem, and often-vow'd Affection,
In the firſt Start of Jealouſy were loſt.
Will he rage leſs, when the imperial Greatneſs
Shall add its Pride; when the wrong'd Huſband's Ho⯑nour
Brings all its nice Suſpicions to enflame him.
MAXIMIAN.
[24]And when my Eye, when my Revenge, is ſated
With gazing on his Pangs; when his full Senſe
Can entertain no more of Pain and Anguiſh;
Then, in the Triumph of my Soul, to tell him,
His Wife was innocent—Ah! Who was innocent?
ALBINUS.
Is this MAXIMIAN? This th' unſhaken Spirit?
Let not the Soldier ſee it; let not Rome,
Who thinks you, like her Gods, above all Weakneſs.
MAXIMIAN.
Yet tell me, can I ſay to my Revenge,
Be thou my Daughter? To this fierce Ambition
Bequeath my Power, or bid it to inherit
My Name and Honours? Can his deepeſt Groans
Charm my tranſported Soul, like thoſe ſweet Sounds,
That call'd me Father? She is all my Children.
ALBINUS.
You are, my Lord, the Maſter of your Fate.
It was not mine, th' Ambition or the Vengeance,
That prompted this great Deed; not mine the Glory,
Had it ſucceeded, to reſtore, O Jove,
Thy violated Shrines, and to Mankind
The Worſhip of their Reaſon; uncontroul'd
By ſlaviſh Fears, and ill-imagin'd Terrors.
Nor mine the Danger, if this much-lov'd Daughter—
MAXIMIAN.
All that is left me of the Name of Father!
ALBINUS.
In ſome looſe Houſe of Dalliance ſhould betray you.
I am not known thus honour'd with your Friendſhip;
I pay to CONSTANTINE a Courtier's Flattery;
Am thought a Favourite; and Oh! profeſs,
Forgive me, Gods, a Worſhip I deteſt.
I ſhall not, trembling, kneel before his Throne,
[25]And live with Infamy, or die a Traytor.
MAXIMIAN.
Firſt periſh all Affections; every Inſtinct,
That breathes theſe Feelings thro' the Parent's Heart.
'Tis paſt; the Conflict's over, and Ambition—
Methinks, I ſee the radiant Goddeſs come,
And, like a Soldier's Miſtreſs, to my Arms,
Painted with Blood; how fiercely ſweet her Beauties!
This Night, ALBINUS, you command the Palace,
And when he ſleeps—Oh! ſhall MAXIMIAN kill
A ſleeping Enemy! Is this the Soldier?
Is this th' Ambition, that would rule the World?
Oh! Shame, Shame, Shame! What End, however glorious,
Can juſtify ſuch Means? But not my Cauſe—
'Tis thine, O Rome, thy ever-living Fame,
The Capitol, and all its throned Gods,
They ſtrike the Blow; they bid the Victim bleed.
[Exeunt.
ACT III.
[26]FULVIA.
WITH what paternal Tenderneſs he ſooth'd me!
With every dear Aſſurance, that his Heart
Abhorr'd ſuch Cruelty. Then earneſt preſs'd me
To aſk the Emperor to make AURELIAN
Commander of his Guards. Now, now, my Soul,
Whence are the ceaſeleſs Fears that ſhake thee thus?
Whence are theſe ſtrange Forebodings?
Enter CONSTANTINE.
CONSTANTINE.
Why, my FULVIA,
While the full Voice of Triumph, o'er thy Name,
Swells higher into Rapture; while the Bowl
Pours forth its purple Spirits to thy Beauties,
Why ſeek this Solitude? Why ſhun the Joys,
That you alone inſpire? How has my Love
Unwittingly offended? Does MAXIMIAN,
(Why ſtartled at his Name?) Does he believe
My Friendſhip inſincere? Why does your Eye
Gaze with ſo ſoft an Earneſtneſs upon me?
And now it melts into a mingled Stream
Of Tenderneſs and Sorrow!
FULVIA.
'Tis becauſe
This is, perhaps, my laſt, laſt Look of Tenderneſs,
And all the reſt is Sorrow.
CONSTANTINE.
[27]By our Friendſhip,
Its mutual Truſt and Confidence of Heart—
Or ſhall I urge the Huſband's ſacred Rights?
No; I diſclaim all Rights, but thoſe of Love:
Then, in the Name of all its chaſte Endearments,
Its holy Raptures, its myſterious Joys,
Tell me thy Fears; tell me thy Sorrows, FULVIA:
I have a Right of Love to ſhare them with you.
FULVIA.
Why did I move you thus? O Sir, forgive me!
It may be, 'tis the Weakneſs of my Sex.
But they, who hate our Faith, revile its Worſhip,
And treat its pure Simplicity with Scorn,
Are they fit Guardians of your ſacred Perſon,
The Lord of our Religion? When I ſee
Theſe Worſhippers of Jove, whoſe dire Example
Can juſtify even Treaſon, can my Heart,
Even in thy Arms, in your's and Love's Protection,
Can it ſpeak Peace and Safety to its Fears?
CONSTANTINE.
How amiable thoſe Fears! Tho' form'd by Fancy,
Their Colouring is of Love! Yet are they not,
[Turning to her.
(Whate'er their Gods) the nobleſt Worth of Rome,
And in their Breaſts that great Divinity,
Their Country's Love?
FULVIA.
Let them enjoy your Bounty:
Let every Honour their Ambition aims at,
Reward their Worth. But not to them alone
Your Life's expos'd: This ever-open Palace,
Even to the meaneſt, boldeſt of Mankind,
Unfolds its Gates!
CONSTANTINE.
[28]Are they not all my Subjects?
What have I done? What Acts of Tyranny,
What violated Laws, what bold Oppreſſions
Invade their Rights, that I ſhould fear their Preſence?
O Miſery of Princes, when they dread
Whom moſt they ought to love! You know, my FULVIA,
You know your Power is Sovereign o'er my Will;
Yet, pr'ythee, do not make a Coward of me.—
Oh! ſpare my Fame, nor brand it with Ingratitude
To them, by whom that Fame may be immortal!
FULVIA.
Yes, thou Unkind, theſe Tears—I will obey you—
Shall flow no more! My Heart ſhall beat no more!
I will repreſs theſe Terrors; will not ſtart
Even at the Shrieks of Murder—Oh, my Brain!
See there, my Lord! It hovers o'er your Head!
A Poniard ſtreaming Blood! The goary Drops
Glare thro' the midnight Darkneſs! Earth and Heaven!
That Hand!—O Nature, univerſal Parent,
Whoſe is that Hand? Does Mercy dwell in Heaven!
I'll gaze no more—Oh! hide me in thy Boſom,
Leſt my Brain turn, and I run mad for ever.
CONSTANTINE aſide.
Sure this is more than Fancy; more than Fear!
They are the Words of Fate! Awake; look up▪
All ſhall be well. But theſe, the Sons of Riot,
Whoſe bold Intemperance hath alarm'd you thus,
Shall they not feel my Rage?—Be ſure ye ſhall—
The Vengeance of my Love.
[Turning back, as if ſpeaking to them.
FULVIA.
And can their Groans,
When Life is on the Rack, and ſtretch'd with Pain,
[29]Their Tortures eaſe my Heart? Think you, theſe Tears
(I would reſtrain them) flow for their Intemperance?
Does not this Wildneſs, this Diſtraction tell you,
What my Tongue cannot utter?
CONSTANTINE.
If the Danger
Be mine alone, and aim not at my Love,
Let it deſcend in Thunders on my Head;
Let it appear in any other Form,
Than in thy Griefs!—There my Soul ſinks in Weak⯑neſs—
And in thy Fears I feel my Heart a Coward.
FULVIA.
And yet, a little longer, hear! Oh! hear me!
Is there not one among our Chriſtian Chiefs,
Loyal as brave; the riſing Hope of Rome;
The Glory of the War, the Soldier's Praiſe,
The Soul of all their Actions? Would you give them
A General worthy of them; or in War
To lead them on to Conqueſt, or in Peace
With liberal Spirit to reward their Toils,
Give the Command of the Praetorian Cohorts
To your AURELIAN, and in him alone
You place a Guard of Virtues round your Perſon.
CONSTANTINE.
Oh! why thoſe Tears? You do not need their Aid
To bid my Heart obey you. Could you doubt,
(I muſt reproach you) could you doubt your Power,
And did you doubt my Love? But the Requeſt
Is due to my AURELIAN, and to Friendſhip.
Enter MAXIMIAN.
MAXIMIAN.
Friendſhip! A Commerce between Fools and Knaves
Of ſordid Flattery, and weak Believing.
[30]Had not the gracious Gods in Mercy ſav'd you—
[To CONSTANTINE.
FULVIA.
Sav'd him! From what?
MAXIMIAN.
His Friends: From the dire Schemes
Of deepeſt Hell; for where, where elſe can Treaſon,
That aims its Dagger at the Life of Princes,
Where elſe can it inhabit?
FULVIA.
Sir! of Treaſon!
That aims its Dagger at the Life of Princes!
CONSTANTINE.
Why do you thus oppreſs her Sex's Weakneſs?
You fright her gentle Spirit into Frenzy.
FULVIA to CONSTANTINE.
Now let me claim your Promiſe. Let AURELIAN
Command the Palace-guards: Let him aſſemble
All who are firm to Honour and Allegiance,
All who are true to Loyalty.
MAXIMIAN.
AURELIAN!
Command the Palace-guards!
FULVIA.
Is he not honeſt?
Why do you ſtart? Is he not true to Honour?
Does he not love my Lord? Is he not loyal?
MAXIMIAN.
So I once thought MARCELLUS. He ſeem'd honeſt:
Of Honour much he talk'd; of Friendſhip much;
(He was AURELIAN's Friend) and much of Loyalty.
O CONSTANTINE, thy Clemency of Temper—
How has it been abus'd! Now, Sir, let Juſtice
Aſſume a firmer Spirit. As for me,
[31]Tho' my own Blood were tainted; tho' the Child
Of all my Love—ſhould ſhe fall off from Goodneſs,
In ſpite of Nature's powerful Throbbings here,
This Hand ſhould vindicate thy Wrongs and mine.
CONSTANTINE.
What ſtrange Inſinuation! Can a Father
Delighted view ſuch Images of Horrour?
No more, my Lord, of this myſterious Language—
Enter ALBINUS.
Or you, ALBINUS, give me all the Story;
Its every Circumſtance, its deepeſt Guilt.
ALBINUS.
My Lord MAXIMIAN—
CONSTANTINE.
Why do'ſt look at him?
Why with that Air of Anger and Reproach?
ALBINUS.
Becauſe it better had become his Wiſdom,
To thank high Heaven in Silence for your Safety,
Than thus to rend your Heart, where it muſt feel,
Moſt ſenſibly, the Pangs of Love and Friendſhip.
CONSTANTINE.
Friendſhip and Love! Why are they nam'd with Traytors?
In my AURELIAN's Friendſhip for MARCELLUS,
I feel for his Diſtreſs. But why my Love?
They did not dare—'tis impious to believe it—
They did not dare to violate that Temple,
Where Virtue dwells with Beauty. But MARCELLUS—
What had his Age, his Wiſdom with ſuch Crimes!
Could his Ambition?—No, ſome ſecret Villain
Of bolder Hopes—By Heaven, that Look confirms it!
Oh! give him to my Rage, my Vengeance give him;
The Juſtice of my Love.
Fulvia aſide.
[32]Alas! my Father!
CONSTANTINE to FULVIA.
Why do you tremble thus? Why does your Eye
Melt into Tears? Thy Huſband's Love is round thee;
His Arms thy ſoft Security. ALBINUS,
Give me his Name; nor let me aſk again.
ALBINUS.
There is, my Lord—Why is it mine to name him?—
In horrid Violation of all Faith,
Allegiance, Gratitude—
FULVIA to ALBINUS.
ALBINUS, ſtop
This dreadful Preparation. Hear him not;
[To CONSTANTINE.
Or, ere you hear, reſolve no Act of Blood
Shall ſtain this Day of Triumph. Oh! let Mercy
Add to its pious Joys an holier Sacrifice,
Than could we ſet Arabia's Hills on Fire,
And waſt their mingled Odours up to Heaven.
CONSTANTINE.
Each Moment that delays my juſt Reſentment,
Is a new Wrong, an Injury to thee.
[Turning to ALBINUS.
ALBINUS.
My Lord—
CONSTANTINE.
No more; nor trifle with my Anger.
ALBINUS.
Then hear—O Virtue, Honour, hear it not!—
This Traytor's Name—this Traytor is—AURELIAN.
CONSTANTINE.
Ye ſacred Powers of Friendſhip, hover o'er me!
MAXIMIAN, ſpeak to my aſtoniſh'd Spirit!
My FULVIA, tell me 'tis impoſſible:
[33]Or ſay, what Crimes, what Horrors I've committed,
That Honour, Wiſdom, Virtue (ſure AURELIAN
Poſſeſs'd them all) ſhould arm themſelves againſt me!
But ſhall the Oaths of Traytors; they, who own'd
The purpos'd Guilt of Murder; ſhall their Oaths
Weigh down a Life of Friendſhip? Tell me, Sir,
(For I will know) what Hell-invented Arts
Thus wrong the Man I love?
ALBINUS.
What Arts, my Lord!
I hope, my Honeſty is unſuſpected.
CONSTANTINE.
Who ſhall be unſuſpected? Who is honeſt,
If my AURELIAN's falſe?
MAXIMIAN.
Here, CONSTANTINE,
Thy guardian Genius cries aloud, beware:
No farther tempt your Fate; inquire no more:
This is the utmoſt Limit of your Happineſs:
Here you may ſtop with Honour; all beyond
Is Miſery and Shame.
[CONSTANTINE looks at ALBINUS, as com⯑manding him to ſpeak.
ALBINUS.
Sir, I obey you;
But 'tis a Tale ſo full of Fear and Wonder,
Perhaps, of Falſhood too, that I could wiſh
No other Ear might hear it.
CONSTANTINE to MAXIMIAN.
Good my Lord,
Leave us alone. My FULVIA's gentle Spirit
Will gladly quit the Scene. One little Hour,
[Turning to the Empreſs.
[34]How ſadly due to Juſtice, and to Friendſhip)
And all the reſt is yours; is Love's and yours.
[He leads her out.
MAXIMIAN aſide.
'Tis now your Cauſe, ye Gods, and ſee it proſpers.
[As MAXIMIAN is going out, he ſeems ſtrongly agitated, gazing earneſtly after his Daughter.
CONSTANTINE, obſerving it.
Starting! confus'd! The ſtern MAXIMIAN tremble!
While from the fiery Fierceneſs of his Eye
A Look of wild Compaſſion at the Empreſs
Shot forth its Softneſs.
ALBINUS.
Tho' MAXIMIAN's Manners
Are of the ſterner Kind, he has an Heart—
No Father ſofter. To behold his Daughter
In ſuch unwonted Agonies of Sorrow—
CONSTANTINE.
Oh! ſhe is all her Sex's Tenderneſs!
I've known her weep to hear a well-feign'd Tale
Of one, who fell from Honour. If AURELIAN—
If he's a Traytor, are they not moſt lovely,
Theſe pious Sorrows of Eſteem and Friendſhip?
ALBINUS.
Friendſhip, Eſteem, I thought were manly Virtues,
Too firm for Woman's wayward, wandering Spirit.
But if the Empreſs, Sir.—
CONSTANTINE.
The Empreſs, Sir!
Why is ſhe nam'd? Why theſe licentious Hints
Againſt her Sex? Say, wherefore is her Name
Inſulted with their Weakneſs, with their Frailties?
ALBINUS.
Inſulted, Sir! Long may you think her virtuous;
Long may ſhe live untainted, unſuſpected.
CONSTANTINE.
[35]Untainted! Unſuſpected! Think her virtuous!
Roman, take heed. Tho' I believe thee honeſt,
And love that Soldier's Plainneſs in thy Manners,
Yet dare not, for thy Life—By my juſt Rage,
Thy Life ſhall anſwer for a Thought, that wrongs her.
ALBINUS.
Sir, I obey you gladly; for I know not
A greater Curſe to any honeſt Heart,
Than to think ill of others.
CONSTANTINE.
Ill of whom?
Not of my Wife? my FULVIA? Is ſhe not
A noble Proof, where Men may ſee, and wonder
At Woman's perfect Worth? Still, ſtill thy Looks
Are darken'd o'er with ſome myſterious Miſchief!
You are a Chriſtian; Truth is your Religion;
You are a Soldier; Honour's your Profeſſion:
You were my Father's Friend; he lov'd, eſteem'd you:
By his great Name, by every ſacred Power,
(If aught be ſacred now) Allegiance, Honour,
Let me conjure thee, tell me thy worſt Meanings.
ALBINUS.
It was my Senſe of Honour and Allegiance,
That prompted me thus far. Were I a Courtier,
I might have learn'd (not thus abrupt and bold)
With ſilken Language to have cloth'd my Purpoſe.
But, Sir, I am a Soldier, rough, and ſimple,
And now in plain, blunt Honeſty muſt tell you—
Yet if the diſtant Fear can ſhake you thus,
Will not the glaring Certainty of Shame—
CONSTANTINE.
[36]What uninvented, unimagin'd Tortures
Have I to dread? My Heart is on the Rack▪
ALBINUS.
Would I could give it Eaſe. Alas! my Lord,
You ſaw MAXIMIAN; ſaw the Agitation,
That ſhook his Frame. It was the Father's Fondneſs
Labouring to diſbelieve againſt Conviction.
But ſuch the Proofs—ſure they were ſtrong indeed,
If he condemn'd; if he could think her guilty.
And yet a moment's Pauſe. There is a Circumſtance,
That throws its Light—its Light of Hope around us.
Did ſhe this Morning, Sir, the Empreſs aſk you
To make AURELIAN Captain of your Guards?
CONSTANTINE.
She did.
ALBINUS.
Your Wife! your Empreſs, Sir? your FULVIA!
CONSTANTINE.
What means this paſſion'd Repetition? She;
FULVIA; my Wife.
ALBINUS.
To place him near your Perſon!
Sure, not with much Intreaties?
CONSTANTINE.
Yes; moſt earneſt.
ALBINUS.
Then Hell's Intelligence is true.
CONSTANTINE.
Now, tell me,
Why did you aſk?
ALBINUS.
What did I aſk, my Lord?
In this Confuſion Memory no longer
Holds its firm Seat.
CONSTANTINE.
[37]I'll tell you then. You aſk'd me,
Whether my Wife with ſtrong Intreaties preſs'd me
To make AURELIAN Captain of my Guards.
ALBINUS.
Oh! my dear Lord forget it, leſt th' Idea
Murder your ſweeteſt Slumbers, and unfix
The ſeated Throne of Reaſon; for they ſwore,
(When ſure the Soul ſpeaks Truth) in Death's laſt Pangs,
When wide Eternity was opening on them—
They ſwore your Wife had promis'd, even with Tears,
With every Art, and Subtlety of Woman,
To make the bold Requeſt.
CONSTANTINE.
Why? wherefore bold?
ALBINUS.
I cannot—muſt not tell you—Sir, they ſwore,
That his Attendance on your ſacred Perſon
Might with more Eaſe; more frequent Opportunity—
CONSTANTINE.
Ha! dare not for thy Soul. One added Thought
Carries ſuch Ruin, ſuch Perdition with it—
ALBINUS.
And yet what Harm, my Lord? Their frequent Meet⯑ings,
No Doubt, were pious ones: to give Succeſs
To our new Faith, and propagate its Doctrines.
Such as this Morn—but that, perhaps, was Zeal;
'Twas Friendſhip's Warmth; to tell of your Return.
CONSTANTINE.
What of this Morning? Where? What frequent Meetings?
ALBINUS.
[38]Here in the Palace, two full Hours, at leaſt,
The Empreſs was in private with AURELIAN.
Jocund he ſeem'd, as one, who gain'd ſome Point
Of higheſt Moment. Doubtleſs, then he urg'd
Th' unwary Princeſs to this bold Requeſt;
And ſuch his Form; ſuch Shews of manly Virtue—
CONSTANTINE.
His Form! Why that deceive her? But this Morn⯑ing—
See her in private, two long Hours, and more!
Leave his Command; leave that officious Zeal,
With which he ever waited on our Perſon?
Leave them? for what? For a religious Council?
For holy, pious Meetings?
ALBINUS.
Dear my Lord—
CONSTANTINE.
She was moſt juſt; moſt faithful to her Promiſe.
With more than Woman's Arts; with Tears, Diſtrac⯑tion;
With frenzy'd Terrors, with the Shrieks of Murder;
With fancy'd Viſions—All ye Powers of Hell,
Where could ſhe learn? Where was ſhe practis'd thus?
ALBINUS.
In Truth, 'tis ſomewhat ſtrange. Yet ſtill, my Lord,
Appearances, moſt probable, are oft
Moſt falſe. Truth is of ſimpler Kind.
And unperplex'd with Circumſtance. AURELIAN
Has every Shew of Worth; is brave and wiſe,
And tho' he lov'd the Empreſs, 'twas before,
That Marriage made her yours.
CONSTANTINE.
Oh! well remember'd.
Yes; we were Rivals once, and ſure his Paſſion
[39]Flam'd high as mine; impetuous even to Madneſs.
He lov'd to Madneſs—for he lov'd like me.
Fool that I was; dull Fool. I thought his Friendſhip
Conquer'd his Love; but, oh! that Thought how vain
My own Heart proves. Amidſt theſe wildeſt Tranſports
My Reaſon hates; my Glory ſickens at her,
Yet ſtill my Soul's in Love. With laviſh Tongue
She dwelt upon his Praiſe—"The Soldier's Pride;
" The riſing Hope of Rome"—O bluſhleſs Wanton!
Thy Tears, thy Terrours now want no explaining,
Nor thoſe ſtrong Cries for Mercy.
ALBINUS.
Moſt amazing!
Is't poſſible! Theſe Tranſports for a Woman?
A falſe one too! To ſee you thus afflicted
O'ercomes thy Soldier's Firmneſs.
CONSTANTINE.
What Affliction?
Thou ſee'ſt it not. 'Tis in my Heart? my Head;
'Tis in my Brain. Thro' every beating Pulſe
It drinks my vital Blood. Thro' every Senſe
It pours the guſhing Sorrow faſt upon me.
ALBINUS.
Had I ſuſpected you could feel it thus,
Were it not better have conceal'd her Riots?
Her looſeſt, moſt luxurious—
CONSTANTINE.
Villain, hold,
Is this a Scene, and for an Huſband's Eye?
By Hell, thou doſt inſult me. Hence; begone.
Yet ſtay; thy natural Fierceneſs may aſſiſt me.
If thou did'ſt ever know an Art of Cruelty;
Or if, from Nature, thou abhor'ſt all Mercy,
Aid my Revenge▪ and let AURELIAN feel—
[40]Arreſt him, ſeize him, drag him to his Fate,
That he may feel, if poſſible, the Pangs,
That rend my Heart. And thou, O Jealouſy,
Invok'd, ariſe from thy profoundeſt Hell,
(To no mean Scenes of Horrour art thou call'd)
Ariſe, and with thee bring thy kindred Fiends.
Revenge and Murder. I'll employ them all.
Vengeance and Blood! O Woman! Woman! Ven⯑geance!
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
[41]MAXIMIAN. ALBINUS.
ALBINUS.
AND yet ſuch Horrors I have fill'd his Heart with,
Methinks, even I could pity him. See him ſtart;
Diſtraction in his Look, and wildeſt Rage—
Even when he weeps, for ſtill he weeps her Name,
His ſofteſt Tranſport's Madneſs. Then he ſwears,
As with a Moment's Interval of Reaſon,
'Tis all a Lie, and with a Lover's Rapture
Talks o'er her Form, her Beauties, and her Virtue.
MAXIMIAN.
Theſe Intervals of Reaſon may be dangerous.
ALBINUS.
Rather, like Lightnings flaſhing o'er a Storm,
They ſhew the Danger, and inſure its Terrours.
His Jealouſy, ſagacious Self-Tormentor,
Prevents all farther Witneſs. Every Look,
Each trivial Circumſtance of Joy, or Sadneſs,
That careleſs Innocence throws off the Heart,
Are now, by painful Memory, treaſur'd up,
And brought in Proof with Shadows, with Suſpicions,
Light as a Madman's Dreamings.
MAXIMIAN.
But AURELIAN—
How does he brook his Priſon?
ALBINUS.
[42]Struck with Wonder,
He ſaw th' imperial Order to arreſt him;
Then cried—"O CONSTANTINE, moſt gracious Maſter,
" The Hand of Blood is on thee, and AURELIAN—
" It was my Guilt conceal'd the fatal Secret;
" I am indeed thy Murderer." While the Soldiers
Stood wondering round; I took him at his Word,
And call'd him Murderer; with a choſen Party
Then dragg'd him to his Dungeon.
MAXIMIAN.
There to lie,
Where never Sun-beam pierc'd the ſolid Gloom,
Where rattling Chains, and Doors, that grind the Hinge
To let in new Diſtreſs, make hideous Concert.
There let my Vengeance find him. But ALBINUS,
The Emperor muſt not ſee his Wife.
ALBINUS.
He ſhall not.
We will not truſt his Weakneſs, or her Power.
MAXIMIAN.
I will not truſt his Rage. Do not his Paſſions
Start from his Soul in Tempeſts? Should he kill her—
ALBINUS.
My Lord, he dares not ſee her. Look, he comes.
Deſpair, and Grief, and Shame—No deeper Darkneſs
Dwells on the Face of Night, than on his Heart.
Stand and obſerve him: here.
Enter CONSTANTINE.
CONSTANTINE.
Is there no Cure
For Ills like theſe? No wond'rous Art to heal
Theſe Agonies of Senſe? To endleſs Ages
Mark'd out a Thing of Vileneſs—Oh! my Heart!—
I muſt not dare to name? Shall all my Glories—
[43]They are already loſt—My Honours, Triumphs,
Loſt by a Woman's Falſhood. I, who thought her
The Excellence of Virtue, as of Beauty;
That no unhallow'd Thought—O Woman! Woman!
Tainted her Breaſt—to me ſo icy chaſte,
My Love's pure Kiſs was cold upon her Lip;
Even then her hot Imagination glow'd
With lewd, luxurious Wiſhes. Hell and Devils!
MAXIMIAN.
If Duty, Sir, and Friendſhip may approach you—
CONSTANTINE talking to himſelf.
Her Death—What can her Death! Oh! poor At⯑tonement
For what I feel—a thouſand Deaths at once.
Seeing MAXIMIAN.
Where is my Wife? my Wife! O Memory,
Reflexion, Reaſon; ye were given to heal
The wounded Spirit, not increaſe its Anguiſh.
But tell me, how ſhe looks. Her faded Cheek—
Has it not loſt that holieſt Bluſh of Innocence?
Bear with my Weakneſs—There was once a Time,
Had Virtue worn the perfect Form of Beauty,
Or cloath'd it in an Angel's Robe of Radiance,
It would have look'd like her. Is ſhe not chang'd?
Is ſhe not alter'd much? Haſte, bring her hither.
[To ALBINUS.
I will myſelf, mark the firſt Starts of Shame;
The guilty Colours, that muſt taint her Cheek.
ALBINUS aſide.
Oh! would he ſtab her now, and give our Cauſe,
With ſomewhat better Grace, to call him Tyrant.
[Exit.
CONSTANTINE to MAXIMIAN, as he is going out.
Come back, my Lord, you ſhall yourſelf be Witneſs,
Tho' my firm Nerves will tremble when I ſee her,
[44]And my Eye ſtart with Horrour, yet unheard
She ſhall not be condemn'd.
MAXIMIAN.
Has a Father's Love
Condemn'd his Child, and were the Proofs ſo weak
To need a ſecond Trial? Then, my Lord,
Is your Heart firm? Its Beatings all ſecur'd?
Her Eye ſtill holds its Luſtre; Beauty ſtill
Grows freſh upon her Cheek. When ſhe ſhall weep,
When ſhe ſhall wind her Sorrows round your Heart,
When Love's ſoft Language, melting from her Lip,
Charms you to hear, to pity, to believe her,
Your Soul may in its Rage reproach, upbraid her,
And in its Rage forgive her.
CONSTANTINE.
Ha! Forgive her!
The very Thought is Inſult. Oh! ſhould Mercy,
Faireſt of heavenly Beings, deſcend to Earth,
Such as, when offering to the Throne of Grace,
The Sins of Human-kind, ſhe weeps their Pardon,
Here ſhe ſhould weep in vain.
MAXIMIAN aſide.
This only Means,—
Ye Powers, inſtruct, aſſiſt me to preſerve her,
Your own, beſt Gift. But, Sir, her Fate is mine,
And ſhould ſhe die by any other Hand,
My great Revenge were loſt. Could a Plebeian
Aſſume a Nobleneſs, his Birth denied him,
And kill his only Child, his lov'd VIRGINIA,
To ſave the humble Honours of his Houſe?
And ſhall MAXIMIAN's Name be ſtain'd with Vileneſs,
Thro' Ages tainted with a Wanton's Frailty,
And ſhall he truſt his Vengeance to another?
CONSTANTINE.
There is a ſavage Juſtice in thy Purpoſe
Horridly pleaſing. I allow your Claim,
[45]But will you, Sir, be faithful to your Truſt?
Search deep into the boſom'd Seats of Pain,
Where Life reſides? Wilt thou, when Art grows tir'd,
Renew its languid Rage? When the keen Senſe
Grows dull with ſuffering, wilt thou wake its Feelings
Thro' every trembling Nerve? Wilt thou do this?
MAXIMIAN aſide.
My Lord, I will. Dear Nature, hear it not,
Or ſee the pious Meaning of my Vow.
CONSTANTINE.
Then take her to your Wrath; enjoy her Pangs,
And charm me with the Story. If the Story
(Return, my Lord) can charm me, ſure the Sight
Will give a fierce Delight, a gloomy Tranſport.
I will aſſiſt you, Sir. Our mutual Wrongs
Shall animate, inſpire, relieve each other,
Vary her Pains, and draw them ſlowly out.
Then both together ſtrike one Roman Blow,
And both run mad for ever.
MAXIMIAN kneeling to CONSTANTINE.
Here, my Lord,
Behold me kneel; this Knee, that never bow'd
But to imperial JOVE, ſupreme of Gods,
And him, the fire-ey'd Power of War, Oh! hear me.
CONSTANTINE.
No; every Moment, that hath ſeen her wrong me,
Impatient waits for Vengeance.
Enter FULVIA behind.
FULVIA.
Ha! for Vengeance!
My Father on his Knee! Then all's diſcover'd.
Now to preſerve him, or to ſhare his Fate.
She kneels on the other Side of CONSTANTINE.
MAXIMIAN ſtarts and riſes.
FULVIA.
[46]Mercy—not Juſtice, is the Throne of Princes;
For what is Power, tho' boundleſs and almighty?
A Deity of Awefulneſs and Fear.
But in the Whirlwind of its Wrath, when flies
The burning Shaft, if Mercy's ſaving Hand
Arreſt its Flight; then, then we kneel and worſhip,
And mix our Praiſe with Gratitude and Love.
CONSTANTINE to MAXIMIAN.
Did ſhe not talk of Heaven, and heavenly Beings!
FULVIA.
Not hear! Not look upon me! What's my Crime?
To aſk his Life? The Author of my Being?
Is this a Fault? Then why, great Parent Nature,
Why haſt thou pour'd, with ſuch abundant Hand,
Thy filial Inſtincts thro' the Vaſt of Air,
The howling Deſart, and the Ocean Stream?
Is he not ſtill my Father? tho' his Crimes
Be ſuch as CONSTANTINE alone can pardon;
For CONSTANTINE is ſure the Prince of Mercy.
CONSTANTINE.
Is it in all the Stories of her Sex
To make this poſſible! Accuſe her Father!
Add Parricide to Shame!
MAXIMIAN.
She has diſcover'd,
By ſome dark Means, that all her Guilt is known,
And conſcious, that in me ſhe muſt expect
A Roman Father's Wrath, ſhe would deſtroy
The Object of her Fears. Then boldly hopes
To win the Heart of Love to hear her Vows,
To doubt, believe, forgive.
FULVIA.
Oh! Sir!
MAXIMIAN.
[47]Away.
My Soul diſclaims; thy Father knows thee not.
FULVIA.
Take; take my Life; 'tis yours; I here reſign
Th' unhappy Gift; but, Oh! in Pity ſpare
My Innocence; my yet untainted Name.
Let not our holy Matrons hate my Memory,
Or the light Wanton dare, by my Example,
Indulge her Wanderings. By my Mother's Virtue—
She was her Sex's Chaſtity and Honour—
Will ſhe not riſe in Horrour from her Tomb,
Fill the wild Air with ſhrieking, and demand
Her much-wrong'd Daughter's Fame?
CONSTANTINE to MAXIMIAN.
Bid them drag forth
Ling'ring in Death, freſh-bleeding from the Rack;
Then fitted for the Arms, the baſe AURELIAN
[Exit MAXIMIAN.
Oh! all ye Powers immortal, ſee ſhe ſtarts
At Mention of his Name. Spite of her Art,
Spite of the deſperate Spirit of her Sex,
When firſt ſurpriz'd in Guilt, th' unwilling Bluſh
Glows on her Cheek, and flaſhes from her Heart.
FULVIA.
No more of Tears; no more of Woman's Weakneſs.
In her own Strength my Soul ſhall take her Flight
Above my Sex's Weakneſs. True, I ſtarted
At Mention of his Name, for then I ſaw,
Firſt ſaw, the dreadful Train of Death and Treaſon,
That ſpreads around your Life, your Fame, your Empire.
CONSTANTINE.
For me thy Fears? My Danger? For my Fame?
Swear it—Oh! could'ſt thou ſwear, 'till I believ'd thee!
FULVIA.
[48]Oaths would debaſe the Dignity of Virtue,
Elſe I could ſwear by Him, the Power, who cloth'd
The Sun with Light, and gave yon ſtarry Hoſt
Their chaſte, unſullied Luſtre; by the Fire,
Which burns unceaſing on that ſacred Altar,
Where firſt—O Memory—our Loves were plighted—
CONSTANTINE.
If you have aught to plead but Oaths and Tears,
Let me not kill thee uncondemn'd, unheard.
Anſwer me: Speak; unheſitating ſpeak—
How his Name trembles on my Tongue—AURELIAN—
When did you ſee him laſt?
FULVIA.
This Morning, Sir;
Some Hours ere your Return.
CONSTANTINE.
Why? Wherefore ſee him?
What! for ſome holy, ſome religious Purpoſe!
Or was it to rejoice for my Return?
FULVIA.
No, thou Inſulter, no. For thy Return!
What has it brought me home, but Wrongs and Outrage?
Yet for AURELIAN's Sake—
CONSTANTINE.
Ha! For his Sake!
FULVIA.
Sure not for thine, who dare inſult me thus,
I condeſcend to tell you, that he came
In Loyalty—in Friendſhip, to inform me
Of ſuch intended Horrors—that the Sword,
Which ten ſucceſſive Emperors had worn—
Our firſt great CAESAR wore it, and with Glory;
For with it Honour, Victory, and Fame
Were girded on his Thigh—
CONSTANTINE.
[49]You do not mean
The Sword I gave MAXIMIAN! Did I not—
Tho' then I mark'd it not, yet ſure I ſaw
AURELIAN wear it. Was it not a Pledge
Of Friendſhip to your Father? Did he give it—
Why? For what Purpoſe, give it to AURELIAN?
FULVIA.
O dire Neceſſity! But I muſt tell you.
Fierce in Reſentment of your late Refuſal,
And burning to reſume th' Imperial Throne,
Unwillingly reſign'd—O, tell me, Nature,
How to proceed—may I invoke thy Name,
And call my Father Murderer? Shall his Child
Open the bloody Volume of the Law,
Her Voice call forth the Miniſters of Juſtice?
CONSTANTINE, aſide.
MAXIMIAN's Plots were ever ſtain'd with Blood.
His deſperate Ambition, his Reſentment—
But to accuſe his Daughter! Can her Shame—
For it muſt break my Heart—not torture his?
FULVIA.
Look thro' my Life; is there a Witneſs there,
To vouch this Guilt againſt me? Or can Nature
At once ſtart forward to th' Extremes of Vice?
Look thro' the Days; thro' every tender Hour,
Since firſt our Loves began; did not my Heart
Number with thine its Beatings? All its Joys
I ſhar'd with you; its Sorrows were my own.
Are theſe the Proofs of Falſhood? Even in Juſtice
Reflect upon AURELIAN's early Worth—
CONSTANTINE.
Take heed; be cautious; for you tread on Fires.
FULVIA.
[50]Is not his Life a Copy, drawn from yours,
By Friendſhip's warmeſt Hand? You were his Fame,
His Glory, his Ambition, even his Virtue.
When late the Sword of War, with ſwift Deſcent,
Was falling on your Life, did not AURELIAN
Oppoſe his Boſom to the Stroke? Is this,
Is this to be a Traitor? This his Crime?
CONSTANTINE.
'Tis ſacred Reaſon all, and heavenly Truth.
If ſhe be falſe—how innocent ſhe looks!—
The Sun is made of Darkneſs, and the Stars,
Are rayleſs as the Duſt. If ſhe be falſe,
Then Heaven, that pour'd theſe thouſand Graces round her,
Marrs its own lovelieſt Work, and mocks all Truth.
Oh! FULVIA, whither has my Heart been wandering
From Love and Friendſhip; Happineſs and Thee?
But Love, impatient to reſume his Bliſs,
[Embracing her.
Ruſhes, with wonted Tranſports, to thy Arms,
Nor will he coldly wait to aſk Forgiveneſs;
But in the calmer Temper of my Joys,
I will implore, and kneel, and weep for Pardon,
Swearing by Beauty's Power, no Thought hereafter,
Of curſed Jealouſy, or baſe Suſpicion,
Shall ſtain thy brighteſt Image in my Heart.
FULVIA.
Again I melt to Tears; the guſhing Rapture,
Unutterable elſe, breaks forth in weeping.
Be theſe Embraces—Oh! believe them chaſte ones—
My worſt Reſentments; theſe the only Marks
I e'er ſhall think, my Lord was once unkind.
CONSTANTINE.
[51]Thou Wonder of all Goodneſs, as of Beauty!
But now, even now, perhaps, my beſt AURELIAN—
O Tyrant, ſavage CONSTANTINE—thy Friend
Expiring lies in Death. ALBINUS,
Enter ALBINUS.
Haſte;
Fly; bring him to my Arms; tho' Shame, Confuſion.
And fearful Friendſhip dare not hope for Pardon,
My FULVIA—She ſhall aſk Forgiveneſs for me.
ALBINUS.
Whom ſhall I bring, my Lord?
CONSTANTINE.
Whom thou haſt wrong'd;
Whom I have injur'd. Him, to whom I owe
My Life, my Love. Why need I name AURELIAN?
ALBINUS.
My Lord, AURELIAN's fled—
CONSTANTINE.
Ha! fled!
ALBINUS.
This Morning,
'Tis thought to ITALY; ſoon as he heard
MARCELLUS, by your Orders, was arreſted.
FULVIA.
'Tis falſe; he is not fled. Why ſhould he fly?
His Innocence—
CONSTANTINE.
Oh! FULVIA, was he innocent?
Whence then his Flight?
ALBINUS.
My Lord, we found this Paper
In his Apartment. Seeing the Addreſs,
We did not dare to open it.
CONSTANTINE.
[52]"To the Empreſs."
Why ſhould he write to Her? What direful Omen,
What Preſage this, that on my trembling Limbs
Hangs theſe cold, fearful Drops!—
[Reads, then lets the Paper drop.
FULVIA.
What Paſſion thus
Shakes your firm Frame? Your Eye, now fix'd in Horror,
Stands motionleſs; and now its ſtraining Senſe
Starts into Wildneſs! Whence that rending Sigh
Of vehement Diſtreſs!
CONSTANTINE.
Away; begone.
There's Magic in thy Touch.
FULVIA.
My Lord! my CONSTANTINE!
CONSTANTINE, to ALBINUS.
Tear off her Hold; my Senſes cannot bear her.
Th' Infection—now—it riſes to my Brain!
Charms, Poiſons, Incantations are about her,
The Sorceries of Beauty.
[Exit.
FULVIA.
[Taking it up.
Ha! This Paper—
Now your Decrees, ye Fates; then learn to bear them.
Reads.
" It is reſolv'd. No human Aid can ſave him.
" And CONSTANTINE muſt die. This Night he dies."
[Throws away the Paper.
Ye Powers, ſhall this Intelligence be loſt?
Angels, and Ye, who guard the Throne of Princes,
This Night, be watchful o'er your ſacred Charge;
This Night, with ſtronger Pinions hover o'er him.
Let not Ambition, or Revenge approach him.
Now, now, they enter; now they ruſh upon him.
[53]Ye conſcious Stars, that view the impious Scene,
Dart all your baleful Influence, and blaſt
Yon lifted Arm. But, oh! the conſcious Stars,
The ſmiling Fiends, and weeping Angels ſee it—
The Lord of Empire dies.
[Falls into the Arms of her Attendants, and is carried out.
ALBINUS, aſide.
Now, by the God,
Who thus inſpires her, 'tis a glorious Viſion,
Methinks, I ſee it too.
Enter MAXIMIAN.
MAXIMIAN.
Where is the Emperor?
Retir'd to his Apartment?
ALBINUS.
Yes, my Lord.
MAXIMIAN.
Retir'd? alone? What hinders then, ALBINUS,
But that I ruſh upon him, and at once
Strike for Revenge and Empire? How th' Idea
Glows thro' my Blood. My Rage already ſtabs him.
ALBINUS.
My Lord, another Hour—
MAXIMIAN.
Another Hour!
What! To behold my Daughter at my Feet,
Imploring me to ſave her Fame, her Innocence!
Thou canſt not judge of Nature's Workings here.
Thou haſt no Child. Shame, Indignation, Pity—
But they ſhall now be ſatisfied with Vengeance.
[Going out to CONSTANTINE's Apartment.
ALBINUS.
[54]Who waits there?
Enter Officers, &c.
[Guards arreſt the Prince MAXIMIAN.
MAXIMIAN.
Arreſt me, Villain! Ha! Thou double Traytor!
Soldiers, I charge you, bear me to the Emperor.
ALBINUS.
Behold th' Imperial Signet, and obey it,
Or Woe upon your Lives. This Inſtant bear him
To his Apartment.
[The Guards carry off MAXIMIAN.
This the only Means
To ſave him from himſelf; his own wild Temper.
I now am equal Maſter of the Fate
Of both theſe Princes. If th' Imperial Throne—
Suppoſe it vacant—ROME hath ſeen her Emperors,
And of no Godlike Strain. O Fortune, Fortune!
If I durſt follow, where thy Favour leads—
Down, down, thou ſwelling Spirit, proud Ambition,
Nor let thy wandering Fires miſlead my Reaſon.
[Exit.
FIFTH ACT.
[]MAXIMIAN, and ALBINUS.
ALBINUS.
YOU ſee the ſtrong Neceſſity.
MAXIMIAN.
I do,
And thank thy friendly Care.
ALBINUS.
That Moment's Raſhneſs—
It was not-leſs, my Lord—with ſure Deſtruction
Had blaſted all our Hopes. But now your Fortune
Comes ſmiling forward. All your Friends engag'd
To catch th' Alarm, and ſpread its Terrors round.
I have diſpatch'd MARCELLUS to the Legions,
To hold them firm, and promiſe them ſuch Preſents—
MAXIMIAN.
Larger than NERO gave; with the rich Plunder
Of this new Town, its Temples, Shrines, and Saints,
And all their Worſhippers. But why MARCELLUS?
A Truſt of ſuch Importance!—Why a Chriſtian?
A Traitor to his Country, and its Gods.
ALBINUS.
You know, my Lord, how numerous theſe Enthuſiaſts
Thro' all our Troops; you know his Influence o'er them.
My Life upon his Truth; or were he falſe,
He could not hurt us now. The Palace ours,
Its ſleeping CONSTANTINE, and—hark, my Lord,
[It thunders.
[56]Are not the Gods, who roll theſe awful Sounds,
Are they not ours?
MAXIMIAN.
Yes; 'Tis the Voice of JOVE,
Speaking his own Omnipotence. Again
That Peal of Glory! Theſe well-omen'd Thunders,
Like Drums and Trumpets in the Day of Battle,
Shall drown the Cries of Death.
ALBINUS.
Seize the glad Omen.
There lies your Way to Empire, and to Fame.
Go; and return an Emperor.
MAXIMIAN.
An Emperor!
Oh! for a Moment, to enjoy th' Idea.
To ſee the Roman Senate, once the Dread,
The Gods, of Earth; to ſee the haughty Flatterers.
As inſolent, as abject, kneel before me;
Then, with a Look to kill; like CAIUS MARIUS,
To nod a Senator to Death, or Exile—
AURELIAN, then thy Perfidy—
ALBINUS.
My Lord—
MAXIMIAN.
I thank thee, Friend; it was an idle Rapture,
But yet tranſporting too. Now, fare thee well.
Tho' my Heart's high in Hope, yet ſhould I fail,
Be this our laſt Embrace—
ALBINUS.
My Lord; my Sovereign—
MAXIMIAN.
Of Friendſhip and Eſteem. This pealing Thunder
Calls me again. Yes, CONSTANTINE, I go
To prove whoſe Gods are mightier, yours or mine.
[57]Your newly fabled Race, or thoſe, who rais'd
Old Rome to Glory. Ha! Look there ALBINUS.
Do my Eyes dazzle, and my old Brain turn?
A ſtream of ſulphur'd Fire—See, where it rolls!
And now, 'tis daſh'd by a ſtrong Wave of Blood!
Spectres, and hideous Fiends, and ſhapeleſs Forms
With ghaſtly Smiles invite me to go on.
And now they dart their Hiſſings thro' my Brain.
ALBINUS.
Your agitated Fancy—'tis no more.
Perhaps, ſome wandering Phantoms of the Night.
MAXIMIAN.
How little do they know MAXIMIAN's Soul!
Were all the Crimes of Human-Kind upon it,
Thus would I plunge into the burning Wave,
And breaſt the fiery Surge, to ſeize my Vengeance.
[Exit as to CONSTANTINE's Apartment.
ALBINUS.
What could it mean! Such ſtrongly imag'd Terrors?
More than Imagination ſhook his Brain.
But all is ſilent yet. Ye rapid Moments,
That carry Doubt and Fear upon your Flight,
How ſlowly do ye move! What Noiſe was that!
[MAXIMIAN returns.
MAXIMIAN.
Is there Light i'th' Chamber?
ALBINUS.
No, my Lord.
He bad me leave him to his Shame, and Darkneſs.
[Exit MAXIMIAN.
ALBINUS.
Why this Return? Was it not moſt ill-omen'd!
Why did I truſt his old, unſinewed Arm?
I ought myſelf—it is not yet too late—
[58]Should he awake—the double Noiſe may wake him—
By all the Gods MAXIMIAN's Voice, and loud—
MAXIMIAN behind the Scenes.
This for Ambition; this for my Revenge;
This for my Daughter's Wrongs.
ALBINUS.
O glorious Sounds!
Worthy the Voice of Jove!
Enter MAXIMIAN, his Sword bloody.
MAXIMIAN.
'Tis done. Behold
The Blood, that ere theſe humbler, Chriſtian Doctrines,
Drew its rich Stream from Jove.
ALBINUS.
All hail, MAXIMIAN,
Maſter of human Kind!
MAXIMIAN.
He ſtruggled ſtrongly!
For thrice he roſe, when this old, faithful Arm,
Not yet by Years, nor Idleneſs enfeebled,
Thrice ſtruck my Victim down; as in the Field,
When younger Spirits filled my glowing Veins,
I ſmote the Gaul, who with gigantick Strength,
Defied the Tents of Rome.
ALBINUS.
An Act of Glory,
Rome's Annals make immortal. But that Sword,
AURELIAN gave you in Exchange for yours,
Left in the Bed, beyond a thouſand Witneſſes
Will prove the Deed upon him; then, at Leiſure,
Under the legal Forms of Public Juſtice,
You may command his Death.
MAXIMIAN.
[59]I'll leave it there.
I brought it forth, to ſee what richer Drops
Fed the proud Heart, whoſe Inſolence once aw'd me,
Whoſe Spirit tow'r'd above me. Oh! ALBINUS,
I am almoſt aſham'd, even yet, to tell you,
How oft, as if in ſome ſuperior Preſence,
My Soul hath bow'd before him, and my Blood
Run aw-ſtruck to my Heart.
ALBINUS.
Well has this Night
Repaid his Inſolence. But now, my Lord,
Retire to Reſt, and when th' Alarm begins,
Be not too ſuddenly awak'd. Then rouze you
In all your wonted Majeſty. Aſſume
Th' Imperial Purple, as your proper Right,
And join, with pious Zeal, the Public Sorrows.
Order his Funeral with a Pomp of Honours,
And rank him with the Gods.
MAXIMIAN.
This vile Diſſembling!
When ſhall my Soul reſume its native Greatneſs?
And yet Tiberius bluſh'd; even Nero wept,
And mightieſt Caeſar, in his Height of Empire,
Trembled, with Art, before the Roman Talker.
Spite of theſe great Examples, let MAXIMIAN
Riſe like the Sun, and hold his Courſe of Glory,
With Majeſty unclouded, unobſcur'd.
Then ſhew at Evening, like the ſetting God,
A larger Orb, tho' with leſs Heat it ſhine.
[Exit.
ALBINUS.
This is the Hour of Reſt; but not for me;
Not 'till another Death ſecure my Safety.
[60]This fond old Man, ſhall for an idle Tear,
Drop'd from a Woman's Eye, forget my Services.
She muſt not live—why ſhould the wretched live?
[Looking at her entering.
And ſuch thou art—a very Wretch indeed.
But thou art near the End of thy Afflictions.
[Exit.
FULVIA, CORNELIA.
CORNELIA.
They were the Groans of Death, its ſharpeſt Pangs,
And, wafted on the hollow Gloom of Night,
Broke thro' th' affrighted Air.
FULVIA.
Then, then, CORNELIA,
The Majeſty of Nations, and their Praiſe,
Expiring groan'd in Death; yet Heaven could roll
Its idle Noiſe, and the pale Lightnings flaſh'd
Their harmleſs Fires; perhaps, with impious Light,
Directed to the Deed. He died, CORNELIA,
And thought his FULVIA falſe.
CORNELIA.
Ah! yet retire.
As we advance among theſe pathleſs Terrors,
Your Eye grows wilder, and in broken Pantings
Your quick Breath heaves. Should you ſee aught more dreadful,
Will not Imagination catch its Horrors,
Strike the weak Senſe, and fright it into Madneſs?
FULVIA.
No; my CORNELIA, no. I'll not run mad.
What tho' my Brain's on Fire; my glowing Eyes
Juſt ſtarting from their Orbs, and every Senſe
[61]Confus'd and wild, yet why ſhould I run mad?
'Tis not to tear this Hair; to ſhriek with Pain,
To rend theſe Eye-balls from their bleeding Rings,
And daſh them rayleſs to their native Earth,
That can expreſs my Griefs. Why, then, run mad?
CORNELIA.
Ye pitying Powers—
FULVIA.
You talk'd of pathleſs Terrors.
Is not Deſpair my Guide, and ſee, CORNELIA,
Faithful it points to yonder open Door.
There Treaſon enter'd; there the Man of Blood—
And there I'll enter too.
Blood! Blood! CORNELIA. See the gory Steps,
Where Murder ſtalk'd along. Now, now, ye Powers
In Mercy, Juſtice, Anger, Pity, ſtrike
This Head devoted; leſt in deſperate Frenzy,
I ſhould give Way to Horror, and perform
The ever damning Deed of Self-Deſtruction.
Enter ALBINUS.
CORNELIA to ALBINUS.
If you have ever known, where Pity dwells,
That drops the tender Tears o'er others' Woes;
If you've an human Heart, oh! Sir, aſſiſt me.
FULVIA breaking away from CORNELIA.
Or as you ſeem a Daemon of the Night,
Preſiding o'er the Terrors, you have rais'd,
If you know aught of my lov'd Lord, Oh! tell me;
If you are privy to his Death, Oh! tell me.
Give me his mangled Corſe, deform'd with Wounds,
Beſmear'd with Blood, and Death's own Paleneſs on it,
I'll o'er it play a Scene of ſuch wild Sorrows—
[62]Such Frenzy, ſuch Diſtraction, as ſhall charm you
To ſhed a human Tear, and think of Pity.
ALBINUS.
Of that I queſtion. But my preſent Hours
Have other Cares. This Night your Lord, your Em⯑peror
Began to be immortal. Ere he went
To take his Throne among his kindred Gods,
(We ſhall to-morrow deify his Virtues)
He left a Preſent for his much-lov'd FULVIA;
That noble Choice of Death.
Enter a Soldier with a Dagger and a Bowl of Poiſon.
FULVIA.
Oh! truly welcome,
Thou Freedom of the Soul, at whoſe great Bidding
Th' immortal Spirit wings its gladſome Way,
Throws off its Earth, and ſports without its Weight
In yonder Fields of Light. There mine, perhaps,
May meet my Lord, cloth'd with ethereal Brightneſs;
How the World ſhrinks, with all its vaſt Ambition,
Its little Greatneſs at a Thought like this.
[Taking the Bowl.
Now, thou immortal Spirit of my Lord,
In whatſoever Orb of Light enthron'd,
Look down upon me, your ſuſpected FULVIA.
This to our ſecond Nuptial Day in Heaven.
[As ſhe is going to drink CONSTANTINE enters with AURELIAN, MARCELLUS. &c.
[Guards ſeize ALBINUS.
CONSTANTINE.
Is it then given me, ye all-gracious Powers,
Once more to gaze upon thy Beauty's Wonders!
While Love—for, oh! the Rage of Jealouſy,
[63]Even Madneſs ſelf was Love—now cover'd o'er
With Bluſhes, with Confuſion, kneels before thee.
[He kneels.
FULVIA.
Reſtor'd to Life! Can Miracles do this?
[CONSTANTINE riſes.
'Tis he; 'tis he! My living Lord, my Emperor!
For, oh, my Heart, I feel thy wonted Tranſports,
Which he alone, the Lord of Love, inſpires.
CONSTANTINE.
Oh! excellent in Goodneſs! My AURELIAN,
Behold, and wonder at the bright Perfection.
[To FULVIA.
He too forgives, O generous Proof of Friendſhip,
The Outrage to his Virtue. See MARCELLUS,
And know my Safety thence. ALBINUS thought him
Firm to their Cauſe, and ſent him to the Legions,
To gain their Strength. He thence returned at Night;
Came by the ſecret Way to my Apartment,
And told to my aſtoniſh'd Ears ſuch Horrors—
Then begg'd, in Proof of his Fidelity,
To lay a Slave, who was this Morn condemn'd,
In th' Imperial Bed. MAXIMIAN's Rage
Declares the reſt.
FULVIA.
MAXIMIAN's Sir! MAXIMIAN's!
CONSTANTINE pointing to ALBINUS.
Hence with that Slave, and bear him to his Fate.
[ALBINUS carried out.
FULVIA.
But, Sir, my Father—Speak; Oh! Look upon me.
Oh! Hear theſe ſpeechleſs Sorrows; hear and pity me.
CONSTANTINE.
[64]With all the fearful Tenderneſs of Love;
With Eyes, that flow in Pity; with a Tongue,
That faulters to pronounce it—can I ſpeak it?
The Juſtice of the World demands his Fate.
[As commanding him to go.
MARCELLUS, tho' I know th' ungrateful Office—
FULVIA kneeling.
Oh! for his Sake, th' eternal Power of Mercy,
Who when thy great Heart's quell'd by Age or Sick⯑neſs,
Shall hear thy Weakneſs, hear thy Cries of Pain,
Give me my Father's Life. This Day has join'd
My Fame to his Misfortunes. Should he periſh,
Oh! will it not be ſaid, that I betray'd him?
And, can you, Sir, behold me; can you make me
A Name of horrid Parricide for ever?
To all ſucceeding Times? Unnumber'd Ages
Shall curſe your FULVIA's Memory.
[To MARCELLUS.
Stay; oh! ſtay.
I ſee ſoft Pity drop the ſaving Tear—
[To MARCELLUS.
A little Moment more—and CONSTANTINE
Becomes a God of Mercy.
CONSTANTINE.
Is there a Strength in Man, that can reſiſt
The Power of Beauty, when it pleads its Tears.
Go, my AURELIAN, and relieve his Terrors;
Sooth his Deſpair, his diſappointed Rage:
Aſſure him of his Life, nor Life alone,
But grac'd with Honors, worthy of our Friendſhip.
My FULVIA ſhall be Miſtreſs of his Fate.
[Exit AURELIAN.
FULVIA.
[65]Angels of Mercy, hear the ſacred Sounds,
That bid my Father live.
And thou, O Love, in all thy golden Records,
For it is thine, preſerve this Act of Wonder,
And on thy purple Pinions waft it wide
O'er Earth and Heaven, the Glory of thy Reign.
Enter MAXIMIAN and AURELIAN at the Top of the Stage.
MAXIMIAN ſpeaking as he comes forward.
Well then; the Gods have otherwiſe decreed;
And be it ſo. MAXIMIAN ſhall appear,
(I thank thee, Jove; the Trial's worthy of me)
In his own Strength; ſuperior to his Fortune,
And CAESAR's haughty Clemency.
[To AURELIAN.
—Lead on.
FULVIA.
My Father—
MAXIMIAN.
How that Name comes o'er my Heart!
She kneels and weeps! Art thou ſo wondrous good?
Can'ſt thou forgive me, FULVIA; call me Father,
And give me back thy Love? Did not my Rage
Accuſe thy Innocence, and blaſt thy Fame?
FULVIA.
It was Ambition's Rage; no more remember'd.
But even Ambition ſhall be ſatisfied.
Greatneſs and Power, for CONSTANTINE hath ſpoke it,
Duty and Love, ſhall wait upon your Age,
'Till Time, with lenient Hand, ſhall lay it down
[66]In honourable Death; 'till Fame ſhall crown
Your Life, and that laſt Hour with equal Glory.
MAXIMIAN.
If Life could paſs away in the Delight
Of fondly gazing on thee; could th' Idea
Of that full Sway, which aw'd the weſtern World,
Be ever from my Memory; could I forget
I was an Emperor once, diſpenſing Fame,
Greatneſs and Honors round me, then, perhaps,
I might forget, I liv'd to be forgiven,
And bow'd me to the Power, that gave me Life,
CONSTANTINE.
It ſhall not need—
MAXIMIAN.
Indeed, my Lord, it ſhall not.
MAXIMIAN better ſhall conſult his Glory.
Your Father, Sir, depos'd me; not by War,
By the fair Fortune of th' embattled Field,
But by his better Arts, and ſkill in Treaties,
Arts, which I boaſted not; but yet it joy'd
My gloomy Soul, to think I ſhould repay them
With equal Vengeance. Thence my haughty Spirit
Stoop'd to the Baſeneſs of a midnight Murder.
You now would give me Life—to crown that Gift
An honourable Share of Power and Greatneſs.
Now mark a Generoſity above thee;
Take from this Hand th' unrival'd Throne of Power,
The undivided Empire of the World,
[Stabs himſelf.
For my laſt Groan gives you the Univerſe.
CONSTANTINE.
Oh! FULVIA—but I'll not inſult thy Sorrows,
By talking Comfort to them. Yet remember,
[67]Why we are placed thus high; not to exempt us
From human Woes, but that the World may learn
A nobler Fortitude by our Example.
To wake the Soul to Virtue, and impart
A warmer Spirit to the languid Heart,
The Paſſions were deſign'd; but here behold
[Looking back to the Scenes.
Wild when they Rage, by reaſon uncontroul'd,
Leſs rapid is the Storm's deſtructive Sway,
While Guilt, Remorſe, Deſpair, and Ruin mark their Way.
Appendix A BOOKS Printed for and Sold by A MILLAR, over-againſt Catharine-Street, in the Strand, London.
[]- A Poetical Tranſlation of the Works of Horace, with the Original Texts, and Critical Notes. Col⯑lected from his beſt Latin and French Commentators. By the Rev. Mr. Philip Francis. The 3d Edition. In 2 Vols. 4to. Adorned with Cuts.
- Ditto, in 4 vols. 8vo. 5th Edition.
- Ditto, in 3 vols. 12mo. The 4th Edition.
- The Works of Mr. Thomſon. In 3 vols. Octavo, with Cuts.
- Ditto, 4 vols. 12mo. To both which are added, ſome Poems never before printed.
- The Seaſons, in a Twelves Edition, and moſt of his Pieces ſeparate.
- Another Edition of the ſame Book in a ſmaller Size, printed on a fine writing Paper.
- The Works of Mr. Mallet, conſiſting of Plays and Poems.
- The Life of Harriet Stuart. Written by herſelf, 2 vols.
- The Female Don Quixote; or the Adventures of Ara⯑bella, in 2 vols. Second Edition.
- Shakeſpear illuſtrated; or the Novels or Hiſtories on which the Plays of Shakeſpear are founded, collected and tranſlated from the original Authors, with critical Re⯑marks. In 3 vols. The above three by the ſame Au⯑thor.
- The Rambler. In 6 vols.
- The Hiſtory of Cornelia.
- The Complaint: Or, Night Thoughts on Life, Death, and Immortality. By the Rev. Edward Yonge, LLD. Rector of Wellwyn in Hertfordſhire, and Chaplain in Ordinary to his Majeſty. Octavo.
- The ſame Book in a neat Pocket Volume, 12mo.
- Another Edition in a ſmaller Size, printed on a fine Writing Paper.
- Citation Suggestion for this Object
- TextGrid Repository (2016). TEI. 3902 Constantine a tragedy As it is acted at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden. University of Oxford Text Archive. University of Oxford, License: Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/]. https://hdl.handle.net/11378/0000-0005-D3D5-C