Artem. Now by your sacred fortune, they are fair ones,

Exceeding fair ones: would 'twere in my power To make them mine!

Theoph. They are the gods', great lady,
They were most happy in your service else:
On these, when they fell from their father's faith,
I used a judge's power, entreaties failing
(They being seduced) to win them to adore
The holy Powers we worship; I put on
The scarlet robe of bold authority,

And, as they had been strangers to my blood,
Presented them in the most horrid form,

All kind of tortures; part of which they suffer'd
With Roman constancy.

Artem. And could you endure, Being a father, to behold their limbs Extended on the rack?

Theoph. I did; but must

Confess there was a strange contention in me,
Between the impartial office of a judge,
And pity of a father; to help justice
Religion stept in, under which odds
Compassion fell :-yet still I was a father.

For e'en then, when the flinty hangman's whips
Were worn with stripes spent on their tender limbs,
I kneel'd, and wept, and begg'd them, though they
would

Be cruel to themselves, they would take pity
On my gray hairs; now note a sudden change,
Which I with joy remember; those, whom torture,
Nor fear of death could terrify, were o'ercome
By seeing of my sufferings; and so won,
Returning to the faith that they were born in,
I gave them to the gods. And be assured,

that used justice with a rigorous hand,
Upon such beauteous virgins, and mine own,
Will use no favour, where the cause commands me,
To any other; but, as rocks, be deaf

To all entreaties.

Diocle. Thou deserv'st thy place;

Still hold it, and with honour. Things thus order'd
Touching the gods, 'tis lawful to descend

To human cares, and exercise that power
Heaven has conferr'd upon me ;-which that you,
Rebels and traitors to the power of Rome,
Should not with all extremities undergo,
What can you urge to qualify your crimes,
Or mitigate my anger?

K. of Epire. We are now

Slaves to thy power, that yesterday were kings,
And had command o'er others; we confess
Our grandsires paid yours tribute, yet left us,
As their forefathers had, desire of freedom.
And, if you Romans hold it glorious honour,

Not only to defend what is your own,

But to enlarge your empire, (though our fortune
Denies that happiness,) who can accuse
The famish'd mouth, if it attempt to feed ?
Or such, whose fetters eat into their freedoms,
If they desire to shake them off?

K. of Pontus. We stand

The last examples, to prove how uncertain
All human happiness is; and are prepared
To endure the worst.

K. of Macedon. That spoke, which now is

highest

In Fortune's wheel, must, when she turns it next,
Decline as low as we are. This consider'd,
Taught the Ægyptian Hercules, Sesostris,
That had his chariot drawn by captive kings,
To free them from that slavery ;-but to hope
Such mercy from a Roman, were mere madness:
We are familiar with what cruelty

Rome, since her infant greatness, ever used
Such as she triumph'd over; age nor sex
Exempted from her tyranny; scepter'd princes
Kept in her common dungeons, and their children,
In scorn train'd up in base mechanic arts,
For public bondmen. In the catalogue
Of those unfortunate men, we expect to have
Our names remember'd.

Diocle. In all growing empires,
Even cruelty is useful; some must suffer,
And be set up examples to strike terror
In others, though far off: but, when a state
Is raised to her perfection, and her bases
Too firm to shrink, or yield, we may use mercy,
And do't with safety: but to whom? not cowards,
Or such whose baseness shames the conqueror,
And robs him of his victory, as weak Perseus
Did great Æmilius. Know, therefore, kings
Of Epire, Pontus, and of Macedon,
That I with courtesy can use my prisoners,
As well as make them mine by force, provided
That they are noble enemies such I found you,
Before I made you mine; and, since you were so,
You have not lost the courages of princes,
Although the fortune. Had you born yourselves
Dejectedly, and base, no slavery

Had been too easy for you: but such is
The power of noble valour, that we love it
Even in our enemies, and taken with it,
Desire to make them friends, as I will you.

K. of Epire. Mock us not, Cæsar.
Diocle. By the gods, I do not.

Unloose their bonds :-I now as friends embrace
Give them their crowns again.

K. of Pontus. We are twice o'ercome;

By courage, and by courtesy.

K. of Macedon. But this latter,
Shall teach us to live ever faithful vassals
To Dioclesian, and the power of Rome.
K. of Epire. All kingdoms fall before her!
K. of Pontus. And all kings
Contend to honour Cæsar!

Diocle. I believe

[you.

Your tongues are the true trumpets of your hearts,
And in it I most happy. Queen of fate,
Imperious Fortune! mix some light disaster
With my so many joys, to season them,
And give them sweeter relish: I'm girt round
With true felicity; faithful subjects here,
Here bold commanders, here with new-made
friends:

But, what's the crown of all, in thee, Artemia,
My only child, whose love to me and duty,
Strive to exceed each other!

Artem. I make payment

But of a debt, which I stand bound to tender

As a daughter and a subject.

Diocle. Which requires yet

A retribution from me, Artemia,
Tied by a father's care, how to bestow
A jewel, of all things to me most precious:
Nor will I therefore longer keep thee from
The chief joys of creation, marriage rites;
Which that thou may'st with greater pleasures
taste of,

Thou shalt not like with mine eyes, but thine own.
Among these kings, forgetting they were captives;
Or those, remembering not they are my subjects,
Make choice of any: By Jove's dreadful thunder,
My will shall rank with thine.

Artem. It is a bounty

The daughters of great princes seldom meet with;
For they, to make up breaches in the state,
Or for some other public ends, are forced
To match where they affect not. May my life
Deserve this favour!

Diocle. Speak; I long to know
The man thou wilt make happy.

Artem. If that titles,

Or the adored name of Queen could take me,
Here would I fix mine eyes, and look no further;
But these are baits to take a mean-born lady,
Not her, that boldly may call Cæsar father:
In that I can bring honour unto any,
But from no king that lives receive addition :
To raise desert and virtue by my fortune,
Though in a low estate, were greater glory,
Than to mix greatness with a prince that owes
No worth but that name only.

Diocle. I commend thee;

'Tis like myself.

Artem. If, then, of men beneath me, My choice is to be made, where shall I seek, But among those that best deserve from you? That have served you most faithfully; that in dan

Great Queen of Love, be now propitious to me! Harp. [to SAP.] Now mark what I foretold. Anton. Her eye's on me.

Fair Venus' son, draw forth a leaden dart,

And, that she may hate me, transfix her with it;
Or, if thou needs wilt use a golden one,
Shoot it in the behalf of any other:

Thou know'st I am thy votary elsewhere.
Artem. [advances to ANTON.] Sir.
Theoph. How he blushes!

Sap. Welcome, fool, thy fortune.

[Aside.

Artem. And it will become you,

While thus we stand at distance; but, if love, Love born out of the assurance of your virtues, Teach me to stoop so low

Anton. O, rather take

A higher flight.

Artem. Why, fear you to be raised ? Say I put off the dreadful awe that waits On majesty, or with you share my beams, Nay, make you to outshine me; change the name Of Subject into Lord, rob you of service That's due from you to me; and in me make it Duty to honour you, would you refuse me ?

Anton. Refuse you, madam! such a worm as I

am,

Refuse what kings upon their knees would sue for !
Call it, great lady, by another name;
An humble modesty, that would not match
A molehill with Olympus.

Artem. He that's famous

For honourable actions in the war,

As you are, Antoninus, a proved soldier,
Is fellow to a king.

Anton. If you love valour,

As 'tis a kingly virtue, seek it out,

And cherish it in a king; there it shines brightest,
And yields the bravest lustre.
Look on Epire,

A prince, in whom it is incorporate :
And let it not disgrace him that he was
O'ercome by Cæsar; it was victory,

To stand so long against him: had you seen him,
How in one bloody scene he did discharge
The parts of a commander and a soldier,
Wise in direction, bold in execution;

You would have said, Great Cæsar's self excepted,
The world yields not his equal.

Artem. Yet I have heard,

Encountering him alone in the head of his troop, You took him prisoner.

K. of Epire. 'Tis a truth, great princess; I'll not detract from valour.

Anton. 'Twas mere fortune; Courage had no hand in it.

Theoph. Did ever man

Strive so against his own good?
Sap. Spiritless villain!

How I am tortured! By the immortal gods,

I now could kill him.

Diocle. Hold, Sapritius, hold,

On our displeasure hold!

Harp. Why, this would make

A father mad; 'tis not to be endured;
Your honour's tainted in't.

Sap. By heaven, it is :

I shall think of it.

Harp. 'Tis not to be forgotten.

Artem. Nay, kneel not, sir, I am no ravisher, Nor so far gone in fond affection to you, But that I can retire, my honour safe :Yet say, hereafter, that thou hast neglected What, but seen in possession of another, Will make thee mad with envy.

Anton. In her looks

Revenge is written.

Mac. As you love your life,

Study to appease her.

Anton. Gracious madam, hear me.
Artem. And be again refused?

Anton. The tender of

My life, my service, or, since you vouchsafe it,

plers, and super-naculum takers; this Bacchus, who is head warden of Vintners'-hall, ale-conner, mayor of all victualling-houses, the sole liquid benefactor to bawdy-houses; lanceprezade to red noses, and invincible adelantado over the armado of pimpled, deep-scarleted, rubified, and carbuncled faces

Hir. What of all this?

Spun. This boon Bacchanalian skinker, did I make legs to.

Hir. Scurvy ones, when thou wert drunk.

Spun. There is no danger of losing a man's ears by making these indentures; he that will not now and then be Calabingo, is worse than a Calamoothe. When I was a pagan, and kneeled to this Bacchus, I durst out-drink a lord; but your Christian lords out-bowl me. I was in hope to lead a sober life, when I was converted; but, now amongst the Christians, I can no sooner stagger out of one alehouse, but I reel into another; they have whole streets of nothing but drinking-rooms, and drabbing-chambers, jumbled together.

Hir. Bawdy Priapus, the first schoolmaster that taught butchers how to stick pricks in flesh, and make it swell, thou know'st, was the only ningle that I cared for under the moon; but, since I left him to follow a scurvy lady, what with her praying and our fasting, if now I come to a wench, and offer to use her anything hardly, (telling her, being a Christian, she must endure,) she presently handles me as if I were a clove, and cleaves me with disdain, as if I were a calf's head.

Spun. I see no remedy, fellow Hircius, but that thou and I must be half pagans, and half Christians; for we know very fools that are Christians.

Hir. Right: the quarters of Christians are good for nothing but to feed crows.

Spun. True: Christian brokers, thou know'st, are made up of the quarters of Christians; parboil one of these rogues, and he is not meat for a dog: no, no, I am resolved to have an infidel's heart, though in shew I carry a Christian's face.

Hir. Thy last shall serve my foot: so will I. Spun. Our whimpering lady and mistress sent me with two great baskets full of beef, mutton, veal, and goose, fellow Hircius▬▬

Hir. And woodcock, fellow Spungius. Spun. Upon the poor lean ass-fellow, on which I ride, to all the almswomen: what think'st thou I have done with all this good cheer? Hir. Eat it; or be choked else.

Spun. Would my ass, basket and all, were in thy maw, if I did! No, as I am a demi-pagan, I sold the victuals, and coined the money into pottle pots of wine.

Hir. Therein thou shewed'st thyself a perfect demi-christian too, to let the poor beg, starve, and hang, or die of the pip. Our puling, snottynose lady sent me out likewise with a purse of money, to relieve and release prisoners :-Did I so, think you?

Spun. Would thy ribs were turned into grates of iron then.

Hir. As I am a total pagan, I swore they should be hanged first: for, sirrah Spungius, I lay at my old ward of lechery, and cried, a pox on your twopenny wards! and so I took scurvy common flesh for the money.

Spun. And wisely done; for our lady, sending it to prisoners, had bestowed it out upon lousy

knaves: and thou, to save that labour, cast'st it away upon rotten whores.

Hir. All my fear is of that pink-an-eye jackan-apes boy, her page.

Spun. As I am a pagan from my cod-piece downward, that white-faced monkey frights me too. I stole but a dirty pudding, last day, out of an almsbasket, to give my dog when he was hungry, and the peaking chitty-face page hit me in the teeth with it.

Hir. With the dirty pudding! so he did me once with a cow-turd, which in knavery I would have crumb'd into one's porridge, who was half a pagan too. The smug dandiprat smells us out, whatsoever we are doing.

Spun. Does he? let him take heed I prove not his back-friend: I'll make him curse his smelling what I do.

Hir. 'Tis my lady spoils the boy; for he is ever at her tail, and she is never well but in his company.

Enter ANGELO with a book, and a taper lighted; seeing him, they counterfeit devotion.

Ang. O now your hearts make ladders of

Ang. Have you the baskets emptied, which your lady

Sent, from her charitable hands, to women
That dwell upon her pity?

Spun. Emptied them! yes; I'd be loth to have my belly so empty: yet, I am sure, I munched not one bit of them neither.

Ang. And went your money to the prisoners? Hir. Went! no; I carried it, and with these fingers paid it away.

Ang. What way? the devil's way, the way of The way of hot damnation, way of lust? [sin, And you, to wash away the poor man's bread, In bowls of drunkenness?

Spun. Drunkenness! yes, yes, I use to be drunk; our next neighbour's man, called Christopher, hath often seen me drunk, hath he not?

Hir. Or me given so to the flesh my cheeks speak my doings.

Ang. Avaunt, ye thieves, and hollow hypocrites! Your hearts to me lie open like black books, And there I read your doings.

Spun. And what do you read in my heart? Hir. Or in mine? come, amiable Angelo, beat the flint of your brains.

Spun. And let's see what sparks of wit fly out to kindle your cerebrum.

Ang. Your names even brand you; you are
Spungius call'd,

And like a spunge, you suck up lickerish wines,
Till your soul reels to hell.

Spun. To hell! can any drunkard's legs carry him so far?

Ang. For blood of grapes you sold the widows'

food.

And, starving them, 'tis murder; what's this but hell?

Hircius your name, and goatish is your nature;
You snatch the meat out of the prisoner's mouth,
To fatten harlots: is not this hell too?
No angel, but the devil, waits on you.

Spun. Shall I cut his throat?

Hir. No; better burn him, for I think he is a witch but sooth, sooth him.

Spun. Fellow Angelo, true it is, that falling into the company of wicked he-christians, for my part

Hir. And she ones, for mine,-we have them swim in shoals hard by——

Spun. We must confess, I took too much out of the pot; and he of t'other hollow commodity.

Hir. Yes, indeed, we laid Jill on both of us; we cozen'd the poor; but 'tis a common thing: many a one, that counts himself a better Christian than we two, has done it, by this light!

Spun. But pray, sweet Angelo, play not the tell-tale to my lady; and, if you take us creeping into any of these mouse-holes of sin any more, let cats flay off our skins.

Hir. And put nothing but the poison'd tails of rats into those skins.

Ang. Will you dishonour her sweet charity, Who saved you from the tree of death and shame ? Hir. Would I were hang'd, rather than thus be told of my faults!

Spun. She took us, 'tis true, from the gallows; yet I hope she will not bar yeoman sprats to have their swing.

Ang. She comes,-beware, and mend.

Hir. Let's break his neck, and bid him mend.

Enter DOROTHEA.

Dor. Have you my messages, sent to the poor, Deliver'd with good hands, not robbing them Of any jot was theirs?

Spun. Rob them, lady! I hope neither my fellow nor I am thieves.

Hir. Delivered with good hands, madam! else let me never lick my fingers more when I eat butter'd fish.

Dor. Who cheat the poor, and from them pluck their alms,

Pilfer from heaven; and there are thunderbolts, From thence to beat them ever. Do not lie; Were you both faithful, true distributers ?

Spun. Lie, madam! what grief is it to see you turn swaggerer, and give your poor-minded rascally servants the lie !

Dor. I'm glad you do not; if those wretched people,

Tell you they pine for want of any thing,
Whisper but to mine ear, and you shall furnish

them.

Dor. Thy voice sends forth such music, that
I never

Was ravish'd with a more celestial sound.
Were every servant in the world like thee,
So full of goodness, angels would come down
To dwell with us: thy name is Angelo,
And like that name thou art; get thee to rest,
Thy youth with too much watching is opprest.

Ang. No, my dear lady, I could weary stars,
And force the wakeful moon to lose her eyes,
By my late watching, but to wait on you.
When at your prayers you kneel before the altar,
Methinks I'm singing with some quire in heaven,
So blest I hold me in your company:
Therefore, my most loved mistress, do not bid
Your boy, so serviceable, to get hence;
For then you break his heart.

Dor. Be nigh me still, then:
In golden letters down I'll set that day,
Which gave thee to me. Little did I hope
To meet such worlds of comfort in thyself,
This little, pretty body; when I, coming
Forth of the temple, heard my beggar-boy,
My sweet-faced, godly beggar-boy, crave an alms,
Which with glad hand I gave, with lucky hand!—
And, when I took thee home, my most chaste
bosom,

Methought, was fill'd with no hot wanton fire,
But with a holy flame, mounting since higher,
On wings of cherubins, than it did before.

Ang. Proud am I, that my lady's modest eye So likes so poor a servant.

Dor. I have offer'd

Handfuls of gold but to behold thy parents.
I would leave kingdoms, were I queen of some,
To dwell with thy good father; for, the son
Bewitching me so deeply with his presence,
He that begot him must do't ten times more.
I pray thee, my sweet boy, shew me thy parents;
Be not ashamed.

Ang. I am not: I did never
Know who my mother was; but, by yon palace,
Fill'd with bright heavenly courtiers, I dare
assure you,

And pawn these eyes upon it, and this hand,
My father is in heaven: and, pretty mistress,
If your illustrious hourglass spend his sand,
No worse than yet it does; upon my life,
You and I both shall meet my father there,
And he shall bid you welcome.

Dor. A blessed day!

We all long to be there, but lose the way.

[Exeunt.