The horrid usage of the suff'ring soldier:
But why will not our Theodosius know?
If you intrust the government to others
That act these crimes, who but yourself's to
blame?

Be witness, O ye gods! of my plain dealing,
Of Marcians honesty, howe'er degraded:
I thank you for my banishment; but, alas!
My loss is little to what soon will follow;
Reflect but on yourself and your own joys:
Let not this lethargy for ever hold you.
'Twas rumour'd through the city, that you lov'd,
That your espousals should be solemniz'd;
When on a sudden here you sent your orders
That this bright favourite, the lov'd Eudosia,
Should lose her head.

Theo. O heav'n and earth! What say'st thou ? That I have seal'd the death of my Eudosia? Marc. 'Tis your own hand and signet: Yet I

swear,

Though you have given to female hands your sway,
And therefore I, as well as the whole army,
For ever ought to curse all womankind;
Yet, when the virgin came, as she was doom'd,
And on the scaffold, for that purpose rais'd,
Without the walls appear'd before the army-
Theo. What! on a scaffold? Ha! before the
army?

Marc. How quickly was the tide of fury turn'd To soft compassion and relenting tears! But when the axe

Sever'd the brightest beauty of the earth
From that fair body, had you heard the groan,
Which, like a peal of distant thunder, ran
Through all the armed host, you would have
thought,

By the immediate darkness that fell round us,
Whole nature was concern'd at such a suffering,
And all the gods were angry.

Theo. O Pulcheria!

Cruel ambitious sister, this must be
Thy doing! O support me, noble Marcian!
Now, now's the time, if thou dar'st strike; behold
I offer thee my breast, with my last breath;
I'll thank thee too, if now thou draw'st my blood.
Were I to live, thy counsel should direct me;
But 'tis too late-
[He swoons.

Enter LUCIUS.

Marc. He faints! what, hoa there, Lucius! My lord the emperor, Eudosia lives;

She's here, or will be in a minute-moment ;-
Quick as a thought she calls you to the temple.
O Lucius, helpI have gone too far-but see,
He breathes again-Eudosia has awak'd him.
Theo. Did you not name Eudosia ?
Marc. Yes, she lives;

I did but feign the story of her death,

To find how near you plac'd her to your heart;
And may the gods rain all their plagues upon me,
If ever I rebuke you thus again:

Yet 'tis most certain that you sign'd her death,
Not knowing what the wise Pulcheria offer'd,
Who left it in my hand to startle you:
But, by my life and fame, I did not think

It would have touch'd your life. O pardon me,
Dear prince, my lord, my emperor ! royal master!
Droop not, because I utter'd some rash words,
And was a madman-by th' immortal gods
I love you as my soul: whate'er I said,
My thoughts were otherwise; believe these tears,
Which do not use to flow, all shall be well:
I swear that there are seeds in that sweet temper,
To atone for all the crimes in this bad age.

Theo. I thank thee-first for my Eudosia's life: What, but my love, could have call'd back that life

Which thou hast made me hate? But oh, methought

'Twas hard, dear Marcian, very hard from thee,
From him I ever reverenc'd as my father,
To hear so harsh a message- -but no more:
We're friends: Thy hand; nay if thou wilt not

And be encourag'd by the embold'ning gods.
O what a sight will this be to the soldier,
To see me bring you, drest in shining armour,
To head the shouting squadronsO ye gods!
Methinks I hear the echoing cries of joy,
The sound of trumpets, and the beat of drums;
I see each starving soldier bound from earth,
As if some god by miracle had rais'd him,
And, with beholding you, grow fat again.
Nothing but gazing eyes, and opening mouths;
Cheeks red with joy, and lifted hands about you:
Some wiping the glad tears that trickle down,
With broken Ios and with sobbing raptures,
Crying, to arms! he's come, our emperor's come,
To win the world!—Why, is not this far better
Than lolling in a lady's lap, and sleeping,
Fasting, or praying? Come, come, you shall be
merry:

And for Eudosia, she is your's already:
Marcian has said it; sir, she shall be yours.

Theo. O Marcian! oh my brother, father, all! Thou best of friends, most faithful counsellor, I'll find a match for thee too ere I rest,

To make thee love me. For when thou art with me, I'm strong and well; but when thou'rt gone, I am nothing.

Enter ATHENAIS meeting THEODOSIUS. Theo. Alas, Eudosia! tell me what to say; For my full heart can scarce bring forth a word Of that which I have sworn to see perform❜d.

Athen. I am perfectly obedient to your plea

sure.

Theo. Well then I come to tell thee, that Va

ranes,

I had repented ere I knew the emperor-
Athen. You find, perhaps, too late, that Athe-
nais,

However slighted for her birth and fortune,
Has something in her person and her virtue,
Worth the regard of emperors themselves;
And, to return the compliment you gave
My father, Leontine, that poor philosopher,
Whose utmost glory is to have been your tutor,
I here protest, by virtue and by glory,

I swear by heaven and all the powers divine,
Th' abandon'd daughter of that poor old man
Shall ne'er be seated on the throne of Cyrus.
Vara. O death to all my hopes! what hast

thou sworn

To turn me wild? Ah cursed throne of Cyrus, Would thou had'st been o'erturn'd and laid in dust,

His crown too thunderstruck, my father, all
The Persian race, like poor Darius, ruin'd,
Blotted, and swept for ever from the world,
When first ambition blasted thy remembrance!
Athen. O heaven! I had forgot the base af-
front

Offer'd by this proud man; a wrong so great,
It is remov'd beyond all hope of mercy:
He had design'd to bribe my father's virtue,
And by unlawful means-

Fly from my sight, lest I become a fury,
And break those rules of temperance I propos'd;
Fly, fly, Varanes! fly this sacred place,
Where virtue and religion are profess'd:
This city will not harbour infidels,
Traitors to chastity, licentious princes.
Begone, I say; thou canst not here be safe;
Fly to imperial libertines abroad;

In foreign courts thou'lt find a thousand
ties

I'll leave my shroud, and wake from death to thank thee.

Athen. He shakes my resolution from the bot

tom:

My bleeding heart too speaks in his behalf,
And says my virtue has been too severe.
Vara. Farewell, O empress! No Athenais

now;

I will not call thee by that tender name,
Since cold despair begins to freeze my bosom,
And all my pow'rs are now resolv'd on death.
'Tis said, that from my youth I have been rash,
Choleric, and hot; but let the gods now judge
By my last wish, if ever patient man

Did calmly bear so great a loss as mine;
Since 'tis so doom'd by fate you must be wedded,
For your own peace, when I am laid in earth,
Forget that e'er Varanes had a being;
Turn all your soul to Theodosius' bosom :-
Continue, gods, their days, and make 'em long:
Lucina wait upon their fruitful Hymen,
And many children, beauteous as the mother,
And pious as the father, make 'em smile!
Athen. O heav'ns!

Vara. Farewell-I'll trouble you no more:
The malady that's lodg'd within grows stronger;
I feel the shock of my approaching fate:
My heart too trembles at his distant march;
Nor can I utter more, if you should ask me.
Thy arm, Aranthes!-O farewell for ever!

Athen. Varanes, stay; and ere you go for ever, Let me unfold my heart.

Vara. O Athenais!

What further cruelty hast thou in store To add to what I suffer?

Athen. Since it is doom'd

That will comply for gold-for gold they'll weep,
For gold be fond as Athenais was,
And charm thee still as if they lov'd indeed.
Thou'lt find enough companions too for riot,
Luxuriant all, and royal as thyself,

Though thy loud vices should resound to heav'n.
Art thou not gone yet?

Vara. No, I am charm'd to hear you:
O from my soul, I do confess myself
The very blot of honour-I am more black
1han thou, in all thy heat of just revenge,

With all thy glorious eloquence, canst make me.
Athen. Away, Varanes.

Vara. Yes, madam, I am going

Nay, by the gods, I do not ask thee pardon,
Nor while I live will I implore thy mercy;
But when I am dead, if, as thou dost return
With happy Theodosius from the temple-
If, as thou go'st in triumph through the streets,
Thou chance to meet the cold Varanes there,
Borne by his friends to his eternal home,
Stop then, O Athenais! and behold me;
Say, as thou hang'st about the emp'ror's neck,
Alas! my lord! this sight is worth our pity.
If to those pitying words you add a tear,
Or give one parting groan- -If possible,
If the good gods will grant my soul the freedom,

Vara. Art thou so good? O Athenais, oh! Athen. First, from my soul I pity and forgive

you;

pardon you that little hasty error, Which yet has been the cause of both our ruins: And let this sorrow witness for my heart How eagerly I wish it had not been; And since I cannot keep it, take it all, Take all the love, O prince! I ever bore you: Or, if 'tis possible, I'll give you more; Your noble carriage forces this confession:

I rage, I burn, I bleed, I die for love!

I am distracted with this world of passion.
Vara. Gods! cruel gods! take notice I for-

give you.

Athen. Alas! my lord, my weaker tender sex Has not your manly patience, cannot curb This fury in; therefore I let it loose; Spite of my rigid duty, I will speak With all the dearness of a dying lover. Farewell, most lovely, and most lov'd of men→→→ Why comes this dying paleness o'er thy face? Why wander thus thy eyes? Why dost thou bend As if the fatal weight of death were on thee?

Vara. Speak yet a little more; for, by the gods, And as I prize those blessed happy moments, I swear, O Athenais! all is well:

O never better!

Athen. I doubt thee, dear Varanes;

Yet, if thou dy'st, I shall not long be from thee.
Once more farewell, and take these last embraces.
Oh! I could crush him to my heart! Farewell;
And as a dying pledge of my last love,
Take this, which all thy prayers could never
charin.-
[Embraces him.
What have I done? Oh lead me, lead me, Delia!
Ah, prince, farewell! angels protect and guard thee.
Vara. Turn back, O Athenais, and behold me!
Hear my last words, and then farewell for ever!
Thou hast undone me more by this confession :

You say, you swear, you love me more than ever;
Yet I must see you married to another :
Can there be any plague or hell like this!
O Athenais! whither shall I turn me?
You've brought me back to life; but, oh! what life?
To a life more terrible than a thousand deaths.
Like one that had been buried in a trance,
With racking starts he wakes, and gazes round,
Forc'd by despair his whirling limbs to wound,
And bellow like a spirit under ground;
Still urg'd by fate, to turn, to toss and rave,
Tormented, dash'd, and broken in the grave.
[Exeunt.

SCENE I.

ATHENAIS, dressed in imperial Robes, and crowned; DELIA. A Table with a Bowl of Poison. Athen. A midnight marriage! Must I to the

temple

Thus, at the murderer's hour? "Tis wond'rous strange !

But so, thou say'st, my father has commanded, And that's almighty reason.

Delia. The emp'ror, in compassion to the prince,

Who would perhaps fly to extravagance,
If he in public should resolve to espouse you,
Contriv'd by this close marriage to deceive him.
Athen. Go fetch thy lute, and sing those lines
I gave thee.
[Exit DEL.

So, now I am alone; yet my soul shakes;
For where this dreadful draught may carry me
The heavens can only tell; yet I am resolv'd
To drink it off in spite of consequence.
Whisper him, O some angel! what I'm doing;
By sympathy of soul let him too tremble

To hear my wond'rous faith, my wondrous love,
Whose spirit, not content with an ovation
Of ling'ring fate, with triumph thus resolv'd,
Thus in the rapid chariot of the soul,
To mount and dare as never woman dar'd.

'Tis done haste, Delia, haste!—come bring thy [Drinks.

lute,

And sing my waftage to immortal joys.
Methinks I can but smile at my own bravery!
Thus from my lowest fortune rais'd to empire,
Crown'd and adorn'd, worship'd by half the earth,
While a young monarch dies for my embraces;
Yet now to wave the glories of the world-
O, my Varanes! though my birth's unequal,
My virtue sure has richly recompenc'd,
And quite outgone example!

SONG.

Ah, cruel bloody fate!

What canst thou now do more? Alas! 'tis all too late,

Philander to restore!

Why should the heavenly powers persuade

Poor mortals to believe
That they guard us here,
And reward us there,
Yet all our joys deceive?

Her poignard then she took,
And held it in her hand;
And with a dying look,
Cry'd, thus I fate command.
Philander, ah, my love, I come,
To meet thy shade below,
Ah, I come! she cry'd,
With a wound so wide,
There needs no second blow.

In purple waves her blood
Ran streaming down the floor;
Unmov'd she saw the flood,
And blest her dying hour:
Philander! Ah, Philander! still
The bleeding Phillis cry'd ;
She wept a while,
And forc'd a smile,

Then clos'd her eyes and died.

Enter PULCHEria.

Pulch. How fares my dear Eudosia? Ha! thou look'st,

Or else the tapers cheat my sight, like one
That's fitter for thy tomb than Cæsar's bed:
A fatal sorrow dims thy shaded eyes,
And, in despite of all thy ornaments,
Thou seem'st to me the ghost of Athenais.
Athen. And what's the punishment, my dear
Pulcheria,

What torments are allotted those sad spirits,
Who, groaning with the burden of despair,
No longer will endure the cares of life,
But boldly set themselves at liberty,

Through the dark caves of death to wander on,
Like wilder'd travellers, without a guide,
Eternal rovers in the gloomy maze,

Where scarce the twilight of an infant moon,

By a faint glimmer checquering through the trees,
Reflects to dismal view the walking ghosts,
And never hope to reach the blessed fields?

Pulch. No more of that; Atticus shall resolve
thee:

But see, he waits thee from the emperor;
Thy father too attends.

Enter LEONTINE, ATTICUS, &c.
Leont. Come, Athenais-Ha! what now! in
tears?

O fall of honour! but no more, I charge thee, I charge thee, as thou ever hop'st my blessing, Or fear'st my curse, to banish from thy soul All thoughts, if possible, the memory

Of that ungrateful prince that has undone thee. Attend me to the temple on this instant,

To make the emp'ror thine, this night to wed him,

And lie within his arms.

.

Athen. Yes, sir, I'll go;

Let me but dry my eyes, and I will go:
Eudosia, this unhappy bride, shall go :
Thus like a victim crown'd and doom'd to bleed,
I'll wait you to the altar, wed the emp❜ror,
And, if he pleases, lie within his arms.
Leont. Thou art my child again.

Athen. But do not, sir, imagine that any charms
Or threat'nings shall compel me
Never to think of poor Varanes more:
No, my Varanes! no-

While I have breath, I will remember thec;
To thee alone I will my thoughts confine,
And all my meditations shall be thine:
The image of thy woes my soul shall fill,
Fate and my end, and thy remembrance still.
As in some pop'lar shade the nightingale,
With piercing moans, does her lost young bewail,
Which the rough hind, observing as they lay
Warm in their downy nest, had stolen away;
But she in mournful sounds does still complain,
Sings all the night, though all her songs are vain,
And still renews her miserable strain:
So, my Varanes, 'till my death comes on,
Shall sad Eudosia thy dear loss bemoan.

SCENE II.

Enter VARANES.

I sent thee to the apartment of Athenais;
I sent thee, did I not, to be admitted?
Aran. You did, my lord; but, oh!
I fear to give you an account.
Vara. Alas,

Aranthes, I am got on the other side
Of this bad world, and now am past all fear.
O ye avenging gods! is there a plague
Among your hoarded bolts and heaps of vengeance
Beyond the mighty loss of Athenais?

"Tis contradiction-Speak, then speak, Aranthes;
For all misfortunes, if compar'd with that,
Will make Varanes smile.

Aran. My lord, the empress,

Crown'd and adorn'd with the imperial robes,
At this dead time of night, with silent pomp,
As they design'd from all to keep it secret,
But chiefly sure from you; I say, the empress
Is now conducted by the general,
Atticus, and her father, to the temple,
There to espouse the emperor Theodosius.

Vara. Say'st thou? Is't certain? ha!

Aran. Most certain, sir. I saw 'em in proces

sion.

thee;

Stir not against my purpose, as thou fear'st My anger and disdain; nor dare t' oppose me With troublesome unnecessary formal reasons;

ture lies

So fast, as if she never were to rise;

No breath of wind now whispers through the trees,

No noise at land, nor murmur in the seas;
Lean wolves forget to howl at night's pale noon,
No wakeful dogs bark at the silent moon,
Nor bay the ghosts that glide with horror by,
To view the caverns where their bodies lie;
The ravens perch, and no presages give,
Nor to the windows of the dying cleave;
The owls forget to scream; no midnight sound
Calls drowsy Echo from the hollow ground;
In vaults the walking fires extinguish'd lie;
The stars, heav'n's sentries, wink and seem to die:
Such universal silence spreads below,

seal.

I charge thee hold it stedfast to my heart,
Fix'd as the fate that throws me on the point..
Though I have liv'd a Persian, I will fall
As fair, as fearless, and as full resolv'd,
As any Greek or Roman of 'em all.

Aran. What you command is terrible but sacred;

And to atone for this too cruel duty,
My lord, I'll follow you.

Vara. I charge thee, not;

But when I am dead, take the attending slaves,
And bear me, with my blood distilling down,
Straight to the temple; lay me, O Aranthes!
Lay my cold corse at Athenais' feet,
And say,-O why! why, do my eyes run o'er?¬