Dru. 'Tis true, that Diocles is courteous,
And of a pleasant nature, sweet and temperate;
His Cousin Maximinian proud and bloudy.
Delph. Yes, and mistrustful too, my Girl, take heed,
Although he seem to love thee, and affect
Like the more Courtier, curious complement;
Yet have a care.
Dru. You know all my affection,
And all my heart-desires are set on Diocles;
But, Aunt, how coldly he requites this courtesie!
How dull and heavily he looks upon me!
Although I woo him sometimes beyond modesty,
Beyond a Virgins care; how still he slights me,
And puts me still off with your Prophecy,
And the performance of your late prediction,
That when he is Emperour, then he will marry me;
Alas, what hope of that?
Del. Peace, and be patient,
For though he be now a man most miserable,
Of no rank, nor no badge of honour on him,
Bred low and poor, no eye of favour shining;
And though my sure Prediction of his Rising
(Which can no more fail than the day or night does,
Nay, let him be asleep, will overtake him)
Hath found some rubs and stops, yet hear me, Neece,
And hear me with a faith, it shall come to him;
I'll tell thee the occasion.
Dru. Do, good Aunt;
For yet I am ignorant.
Del. Chiding him one day
For being too near, and sparing for a Souldier,
Too griping, and too greedy; he made answer,
When I am Cæsar, then I will be liberal.
I, presently inspir'd with holy fire,
And my prophetick Spirit burning in me,
Gave answer from the gods, and this it was,
Imperator eris Romæ, cum Aprum grandem interfeceris:
Thou shalt be Emperour, O Diocles,
When thou hast kill'd a mighty Boar. From that time
(As giving credit to my words) he has employ'd
Much of his life in hunting; many Boars
Hideous and fierce, with his own hands he has kill'd too,
But yet not lighted on the fatal one,
Should raise him to the Empire; Be not sad, Neece,
E're long he shall; Come, let's go entertain him,
For by this time I guess he comes from hunting;
And by my Art I find this very instant
Some great design's o' foot.
Dru. The gods give good, Aunt. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Enter Diocles, Maximinian, Geta, with a Boar.
Dio. Lay down the Boar.
Get. With all my heart; I am weary on't;
I shall turn Jew if I carry many such burthens:
Do you think, Master, to be Emperour
With killing Swine? you may be an honest Butcher,
Or allied to a seemly family of sowse-wives.
Can you be such an Ass, my Reverend Master,
To think these springs of Pork will shoot up Cæsars?
Max. The fool says true.
Dio. Come, leave your fooling, Sirrah,
And think of what thou shalt be when I am Emperour.
Get. Would it would come with thinking, for then o' my conscience,
I should be at least a Senator.
Max. A Sowter;
For that's a place more fitted to thy nature,
If there could be such an expectation;
Or say, the Devil could perform this wonder;
Can such a Rascal as thou art, hope for honour?
Such a log-carrying Lowt?
Get. Yes, and bear it too,
And bear it swimmingly. I am not the first Ass, Sir,
Has born good office, and perform'd it reverendly.
Dio. Thou being the Son of a Tiler, canst thou hope to be a Senator?
Get. Thou being the Son of a Tanner, canst thou hope to be an Emperor?
Dio. Thou sayst true, Geta, there's a stop indeed;
But yet the bold and vertuous—
Get. Ye are right, Master,
Right as a Gun; For we the vertuous,
Though we be Kennel-rakers, Scabs, and Scoundrels,
We the discreet and bold; and yet, now I remember it,
We Tilers may deserve to be Senators;
And there we step before you thick-skin'd Tanners,
For we are born three stories high; no base ones,
None of your groundlings, master.
Dio. I like thee well,
Thou hast a good mind, as I have, to this Honour.
Get. As good a mind, Sir, of a simple plaisterer—
And when I come to execute my office,
Then you shall see.
Max. What?
Get. An Officer in fury;
An Officer as he ought to be; do you laugh at it?
Is a Senator (in hope) worth no more reverence?
By these hands I'll clap you by th' heels the first hour of it.
Max. O' my Conscience, the fellow believes.
Dio. I, do, do, Geta,
For if I once be Emperour—
Get. Then will I
(For wise men must be had to prop the Republick)
Not bate ye a single ace of a sound Senator.
Dio. But what shall we do the whilst?
Get. Kill Swine, and sowse 'em,
And eat 'em when we have bread.
Max. Why didst thou run away
When the Boar made toward thee? art thou not valiant?
Get. No indeed am I not; and 'tis for mine honour too;
I took a Tree, 'tis true, gave way to the Monster;
Hark what discretion says, let fury pass;
From the tooth of a mad Beast, and the tongue of a Slanderer
Preserve thine honour.
Dio. He talks like a full Senator:
Go, take it up, and carry it in, 'tis a huge one,
We never kill'd so large a Swine, so fierce too,
I never met with yet.
Max. Take heed, it stirs again;
How nimbly the Rogue runs up! he climbs like a Squirrel.
Dio. Come down, ye Dunce, is it not dead?
Dio. His throat is cut, and his bowels out.
Get. That's all one,
I am sure his teeth are in; and for any thing I know,
He may have Pigs of his own nature in's Belly.
Dio. Come, take him up I say, and see him drest,
He is fat, and will be lusty meat: away with him,
And get some of him ready for our Dinner.
Get. Shall he be roasted whole,
And serv'd up in a souce-tub? a portly service,
I'll run i'th' wheel my self.
Max. Sirrah, leave your prating,
And get some piece of him ready presently,
We are weary both, and hungry.
Get. I'll about it.
What an inundation of Brewiss shall I swim in! [Exit.
Dio. Thou art ever dull and melancholy, Cousin,
Distrustful of my hopes.
Max. Why, can you blame me?
Do men give credit to a Jugler?
Dio. Thou knowst she is a Prophetess.
Max. A small one,
And as small profit to be hop'd for by her.
Dio. Thou art the strangest man; how does thy hurt?
The Boar came near you, Sir.
Max. A scratch, a scratch.
Dio. It akes and troubles thee, and that makes thee angry.
Max. Not at the pain, but at the practice, Uncle,
The butcherly, base custom of our lives now;
Had a brave enemies Sword drawn so much from me,
Or danger met me in the head o'th' Army,
To have blush'd thus in my blood, had been mine honour.
But to live base, like Swine-herds, and believe too,
To be fool'd out with tales, and old wives dreams,
Dreams, when they are drunk.
Dio. Certain you much mistake her.
Max. Mistake her? hang her; to be made her Purveyors,
To feed her old Chaps; to provide her daily,
And bring in Feasts while she sits farting at us,
And blowing out her Prophecies at both ends.
Dio. Prithee be wise; Dost thou think, Maximinian,
So great a reverence, and so stai'd a knowledge—
Max. Sur-reverence, you would say; what truth? what knowledg?
What any thing but eating is good in her?
'Twould make a fool prophesie to be fed continually;
What do you get? your labour and your danger;
Whilst she sits bathing in her larded fury,
Inspir'd with full deep Cups, who cannot prophesie?
A Tinker, out of Ale, will give Predictions;
But who believes?
Dio. She is a holy Druid,
A woman noted for that faith, that piety,
Belov'd of Heaven.
Max. Heaven knows, I do not believe it:
Indeed I must confess they are excellent Juglers;
Their age upon some fools too flings a confidence:
But what grounds have they? what elements to work on:
Show me but that; the Sieve, and Sheers? a learned one,
I have no patience to dispute this Question,
'Tis so ridiculous; I think the Devil does help 'em,
Or (rather mark me well) abuse 'em, Uncle;
For they are as fit to deal with him; these old women,
They are as jump, and squar'd out to his nature—
Dio. Thou hast a perfect malice.
Max. So I would have
Against these purblind Prophets; for look ye, Sir,
Old women will lie monstrously; so will the Devil,
Or else he has had much wrong; upon my knowledge,
Old women are malicious; so is he;
They are proud and covetous, revengeful, lecherous;
All which are excellent attributes of the Devil;
They would at least seem holy; so would he;
And to vail over these villainies, they would prophesie;
He gives them leave now and then to use their cunnings,
Which is, to kill a Cow, or blast a Harvest,
Make young Pigs pipe themselves to death, choak poultry,
And chase a dairy-wench into a feaver
With pumping for her butter.
But when he makes these Agents to raise Emperours,
When he disposes Fortune as his Servant,
And tyes her to old wives tails—
Dio. Go thy ways,
Thou art a learned Scholar, against credit,
You hear the Prophecie?
Max. Yes, and I laugh at it;
And so will any man can tell but twenty,
That is not blind, as you are blind and ignorant:
Do you think she knows your fortune?
Dio. I do think it.
Max. I know she has the name of a rare Sooth-sayer;
But do you in your Conscience believe her holy?
Inspir'd with such prophetick Fire?
Dio. Yes, in my conscience.
Max. And that you must upon necessity,
From her words, be a Cæsar?
Dio. If I live.
Max. There's one stop yet.
Dio. And follow her directions.
Max. But do not juggle with me.
Dio. In faith, Cousin,
So full a truth hangs ever on her Prophecies,
That how I should think otherwise.
Max. Very well, Sir;
You then believe (for methinks 'tis most necessary)
She knows her own Fate?
Dio. I believe it certain.
Max. Dare you but be so wise to let me try it,
For I stand doubtful.
Dio. How?
Max. Come nearer to me,
Because her cunning Devil shall not prevent me;
Close, close, and hear; If she can turn this destiny,
I'll be of your faith too.
Dio. Forward, I fear not;
For if she knows not this, sure she knows nothing;
Enter Delphia.
I am so confident—
Max. 'Faith, so am I too,
That I shall make her Devils sides hum.
Dio. She comes here;
Go take your stand.
Max. Now holly, or you howl for't. [Exit.
Dio. 'Tis pity this young man should be so stubborn.
Valiant he is, and to his valour temperate,
Only distrustful of delays in Fortune;
I love him dearly well.
Del. Now, my Son Diocles,
Are ye not weary of your game to day?
And are ye well?
Dio. Yes, Mother, well and lusty,
Only ye make me hunt for empty shadows.
Del. You must have patience, Rome was not built in one day:
And he that hopes, must give his hopes their Currents.
You have kill'd a mighty Boar.
Dio. But I am no Emperour:
Why do you fool me thus, and make me follow
Your flattering expectation hour by hour?
Rise early, and sleep late? to feed your appetites,
Forget my Trade, my Arms? forsake mine honour,
Labour and sweat to arrive at a base memory?
Oppose my self to hazards of all sorts,
Only to win the barbarous name of Butcher?
Del. Son, you are wise.
Dio. But you are cunning, Mother;
And with that Cunning, and the faith I give you,
Ye lead me blindly to no end, no honour:
You find ye are daily fed, you take no labour;
Your family at ease, they know no market,
And therefore to maintain this, you speak darkly,
As darkly still ye nourish it, whilst I,
Being a credulous and obsequious Coxcomb,
Hunt daily, and sweat hourly, to find out
To clear your mystery; kill Boar on Boar,
And make your Spits and Pots bow with my Bounties;
Yet I still poorer, further still—
Del. Be provident,
And tempt not the gods dooms; stop not the glory
They are ready to fix on ye. Ye are a fool then;
Chearful and grateful takers, the gods love,
And such as wait their pleasures with full hopes;
The doubtful and distrustful man Heaven frowns at.
What I have told you by my inspiration,
I tell ye once again, must, and shall find ye.
Dio. But when? or how?
Del. Cum Aprum interfeceris.
Dio. I have kill'd many.
Del. Not the Boar they point ye;
Nor must I reveal further, till you clear it.
The lots of glorious men are wrapt in mysteries,
And so deliver'd; common and slight Creatures,
That have their ends as open as their actions,
Easie and open fortunes follow.
Max. I shall try
How deep your inspiration lies hid in ye,
And whether your brave spirit have a buckler
To keep this arrow off, I'll make you smoke else.
Dio. Knowing my fortune so precisely, punctually,
And that it must fall without contradiction,
Being a stranger, of no tye unto ye,
Methinks you should be studied in your own,
In your own destiny, methinks, most perfect,
And every hour, and every minute, Mother,
So great a care should Heaven have of her Ministers;
Methinks your fortunes both ways should appear to ye,
Both to avoid and take. Can the Stars now,
And all those influences you receive into you,
Or secret inspirations ye make shew of,
If an hard fortune hung, and were now ready
To pour it self upon your life, deliver ye?
Can they now say, take heed?
Del. Ha? pray ye come hither.
Max. I would know that; I fear your Devil will cozen ye,
And stand as close as ye can, I shall be with ye.
Del. I find a present ill.
Dio. How?
Del. But I scorn it.
Max. Do ye so? do ye so?
Del. Yes, and laugh at it, Diocles.
Is it not strange these wild and foolish men
Should dare to oppose the power of Destiny?
That power the gods shake at? Look yonder, Son.
Max. Have ye spy'd me? then have at ye.
Del. Do, shoot boldly,
Hit me, and spare not, if thou canst.
Dio. Shoot, Cousin.
Max. I cannot; mine arm's dead, I have no feeling;
Or if I could shoot, so strong is her arm'd Vertue,
She would catch the arrow flying.
Del. Poor doubtful people,
I pity your weak faiths.
Dio. Your mercy, Mother,
And from this hour a Deity I crown ye.
Del. No more of that.
Max. O let my Prayers prevail too,
Here like a tree, I dwell else; free me, Mother,
And greater than great Fortune, I'll adore thee.
Del. Be free again, and have more pure thoughts in ye.
Dio. Now I believe your words most constantly,
And when I have that power ye have promis'd to me.
Del. Remember then your Vow, my Niece Drusilla,
I mean to marry her, and then ye prosper.
Dio. I shall forget my life else.
Del. I am a poor weak woman, to me no worship.
Enter Niger, Geta, and Souldiers.
Get. And shall he have as you say, that kills this Aper?
Del. Now mark and understand.
Nig. The Proscription's up
I'th' Market place, 'tis up, there ye may read it,
He shall have half the Empire.
Get. A pretty farm i' faith.
Nig. And the Emperours Sister, bright Aurelia,
Her to his wife.
Get. Ye say well, Friend, but hark ye,
Who shall do this?
Nig. You, if you dare.
Get. I think so;
Yet I could poyson him in a Pot of Perry,
He loves that veng'ancely; But when I have done this,
May I lye with the Gentlewoman?
Nig. Lye with her? what else, man?
Get. Yes, man,
I have known a man married that never lay with his Wife:
Those dancing days are done.
Nig. These are old Souldiers,
And poor it seems, I'll try their appetites.
'Save ye, brave Souldiers.
Max. Sir, ye talkt of Proscriptions?
Nig. 'Tis true, there is one set up from the Emperour
Against Volutius Aper.
Dio. Aper?
Del. Now;
Now have you found the Boar?
Dio. I have the meaning;
And blessed Mother—
Nig. He has scorn'd his Master,
And bloodily cut off by treachery
The noble Brother to him.
Dio. He lives here, Sir,
Sickly and weak.
Nig. Did you see him?
Max. No.
Nig. He is murthered;
So ye shall find it mentioned from the Emperour;
And honest faithful Souldiers, but believe it;
For, by the gods, ye will find it so, he is murthered,
The manner how, read in the large Proscription.
Del. It is most true, Son; and he cozens ye,
Aper's a Villain false.
Dio. I thank ye, Mother,
And dare believe ye; hark ye, Sir, the recompence?
As ye related.
Nig. Is as firm as faith, Sir;
Bring him alive or dead.
Max. You took a fit time,
The General being out o' th' Town; for though we love him not,
Yet had he known this first, you had paid for't dearly.
Dio. 'Tis Niger, now I know him; honest Niger,
A true sound man, and I believe him constantly;
Your business may be done, make no great hurry
For your own safety.
Nig. No, I am gone; I thank ye. [Exit.
Dio. Pray, Maximinian, pray.
Max. I'll pray, and work too.
Dio. I'll to the Market-place, and read the offer,
And now I have found the Boar.
Del. Find your own faith too,
And remem[b]er what ye have vow'd.
Dio. O Mother.
Del. Prosper.
Get. If my master and I do this, there's two Emperours,
And what a show will that make! how we shall bounce it! [Exeunt.
Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.
Enter Drusilla, and Delphia.
Dru. Leave us, and not vouchsafe a parting kiss
To her that in his hopes of greatness lives,
And goes along with him in all his dangers?
Del. I grant 'twas most inhumane.
Dru. O, you give it
Too mild a name; 'twas more than barbarous,
And you a Partner in't.
Del. I, Drusilla?
Dru. Yes,
You have blown his swoln Pride to that vastness,
As he believes the Earth is in his fathom,
This makes him quite forget his humble Being;
And can I hope that he, that only fed
With the imagin'd food of future Empire,
Disdains even those that gave him means and life
To nourish such desires, when he's possess'd
Of his ambitious ends (which must fall on him,
Or your Predictions are false) will ever
Descend to look on me!
Del. Were his intents
Perfidious as the Seas or Winds, his heart
Compos'd of falshood; yet the benefit,
The greatness of the good he has from you,
(For what I have confer'd, is thine, Drusilla)
Must make him firm, and thankful; But if all
Remembrance of the debts he stands engag'd for,
Find a quick Grave in his Ingratitude,
My powerful Art, that guides him to this height
Shall make him curse the hour he e'r was rais'd,
Or sink him to the Centre.
Dru. I had rather
Your Art could force him to return that ardour
To me, I bear to him; or give me power
To moderate my passions; yet I know not,
I should repent your grant, though you had sign'd it,
(So well I find he's worthy of all service)
But to believe that any check to him
In his main hopes, could yield content to me,
Were treason to true love, that knows no pleasure,
The object that it dotes on ill affected.
Del. Pretty simplicity; I love thee for't,
And will not sit an idle looker on,
And see it cozen'd; dry thy innocent eyes,
And cast off jealous fears, (yet promises
Are but lip comfort) and but fancy ought
That's possible in Nature, or in Art,
That may advance thy comfort, and be bold
To tell thy Soul 'tis thine; therefore speak freely.
Dru. You new create me. To conceal from you
My virgin-fondness, were to hide my sickness
From my Physician. O dear Aunt, I languish
For want of Diocles's sight; he is the Sun
That keeps my blood in a perpetual Spring;
But in his absence, cold benumming Winter
Seizes on all my faculties. Would you bind me
(That am your Slave already) in more fetters,
And (in the place of service) to adore you?
O bear me then (but 'tis impossible,
I fear to be effected) where I may
See how my Diocles breaks thorow his dangers,
And in what heaps his honours flow upon him,
That I may meet him, in the height and pride
Of all his glories, and there (as your gift)
Challenge him as mine own.
Del. Enjoy thy wishes;
This is an easie Boon, which at thy years,
I could have given to any; but now grown
Perfect in all the hidden mysteries
Of that inimitable Art, which makes us
Equal even to the gods, and Natures wonders,
It shall be done, as fits my skill and glory:
To break thorow bolts, and locks, a Scholars prize
For Thieves, and Pick-locks: to pass thorow an Army
Cover'd with night, or some disguise, the practice
Of poor and needy Spies: No, my Drusilla,
From Ceres I will force her winged Dragons,
And in the air hung over the Tribunal;
(The Musick of the Spheres attending on us.)
There, as his good Star, thou shalt shine upon him,
If he prove true, and as his Angel guard him.
But if he dare be false, I, in a moment
Will put that glorious light out, with such horrour,
As if the eternal Night had seiz'd the Sun,
Or all things were return'd to the first Chaos,
And then appear like Furies.
Dru. I will do
What e're you shall command.
Del. Rest then assur'd,
I am the Mistris of my Art, and fear not. [Exeunt.
[Soft Musick.
SCENE II.
Enter Aper, Camurius, Guard, a Litter covered.
Aper. Your care of your sick Emperour, fellow-souldiers,
In colours to the life, doth shew your love,
And zealous duty: O continue in it.
And though I know you long to see and hear him,
Impute it not to pride, or Melancholy,
That keeps you from your wishes: such State-vices
(Too too familiar with great Princes) are
Strangers to all the actions of the life
Of good Numerianus: Let your patience
Be the Physitian to his wounded eyes,
(Wounded with pious sorrow for his Father)
Which time and your strong Patience will recover,
Provided it prove constant.
1 Guard. If he counterfeit,
I will hereafter trust a prodigal heir,
When he weeps at his Fathers Funeral.
2 Guard. Or a young widow following a bed-rid husband,
(After a three years groaning) to the Fire.
3 Guard. Note his humility, and with what soft murmurs
He does enquire his pleasures.
1 Guard. And how soon
He is instructed.
2 Guard. How he bows again too.
Aper. All your commands (dread Cæsar) I'll impart
To your most ready Souldier, to obey them;
So take your rest in peace. It is the pleasure
Of mighty Cæsar (his thanks still remembred
For your long patience, which a donative,
Fitting his State to give, shall quickly follow)
That you continue a strict Guard upon
His sacred person, and admit no stranger
Of any other Legion, to come near him;
You being most trusted by him. I receive
Your answer in your silence. Now, Camurius,
Speak without flattery; Hath thy Aper acted
This passion to the life?
Cam. I would applaud him,
Were he saluted Cæsar: but I fear
These long protracted counsels will undo us;
And 'tis beyond my reason, he being dead,
You should conceal your self, or hope it can
Continue undiscover'd.
Aper. That I have kill'd him,
Yet feed these ignorant fools with hopes he lives,
Has a main end in't. The Pannonian Cohorts
(That are my own, and sure) are not come up,
The German Legions waver, and Charinus
(Brother to this dead dog) (hells plagues on Niger)
Is jealous of the murther; and, I hear,
Is marching up against me. 'Tis not safe,
Till I have power, to justifie the Act,
To shew my self the authour: be therefore careful
For an hour or two (till I have fully sounded
How the Tribunes and Centurio[n]s stand affected)
That none come near the Litter. If I find them
Firm on my part, I dare profess my self,
And then live Aper's equal.
Cam. Does not the body
Begin to putrifie?
Aper. That exacts my haste:
When, but even now, I feign'd obedience to it,
As I had some great business to impart,
The scent had almost choak'd me: be therefore curious:
All keep at distance. [Exit.
Cam. I am taught my part;
Haste you to perfect yours.
1 Guard. I had rather meet
An enemy in the field, than stand thus nodding
Like to a rug-gown'd Watch-man.
Enter Diocles, Maximinian, Geta.
Geta. The Watch at noon?
This is a new device.
Cam. Stand.
Dio. I am arm'd
Against all danger.
Max. If I fear to follow,
A Cowards name pursue me.
Dio. Now my Fate
Guide and direct me.
Cam. You are rude and sawcy,
With your forbidden feet to touch this ground,
Sacred to Cæsar only, and to these
That do attend his person; Speak, what are you?
Dio. What thou, nor any of thy faction are,
Nor ever were: Souldiers, and honest men.
Cam. So blunt?
Geta. Nay, you shall find he's good at the sharp too.
Dio. No instruments of craft: engines of murther,
That serve the Emperour only with oil'd tongues,
Sooth and applaud his vices, play the Bauds
To all his appetites; and when you have wrought
So far upon his weakness, that he's grown
Odious to the subject and himself,
And can no further help your wicked ends,
You rid him out of the way.
Cam. Treason?
Dio. 'Tis truth,
And I will make it good.
Cam. Lay hands upon 'em,
Or kill them suddenly.
Geta. I am out at that;
I do not like the sport.
Dio. What's he that is
Owner of any vertue worth a Roman,
Or does retain the memory of the Oath
He made to Cæsar, that dares lift his Sword
Against the man that (careless of his life)
Comes to discover such a horrid Treason,
As when you hear't, and understand how long
Y'ave been abus'd, will run you mad with fury?
I am no stranger, but (like you) a Souldier,
Train'd up one from my youth: and there are some
With whom I have serv'd, and (not to praise my self)
Must needs confess they have seen Diocles
In the late Britain wars, both dare and do
Beyond a common man.
1 Guard. Diocles?
2 Guard. I know him,
The bravest Souldier of the Empire.
Cam. Stand:
If thou advance an inch, thou art dead. [Dio. kills Camu.
Dio. Die thou,
That durst oppose thy self against a truth
That will break out, though mountains cover it.
Get. I fear this is a sucking Pig; no Boar,
He falls so easie.
Dio. Hear me, fellow Souldiers;
And if I make it not apparent to you
This is an act of Justice, and no Murther,
Cut me in pieces; I'le disperse the cloud
That hath so long obscur'd a bloody act
Ne'r equall'd yet: you all knew with what favours
The good Numerianus ever grac't
The Provost Aper?
Guard. True.
Dio. And that those bounties
Should have contain'd him (if he e're had learn'd
The Elements of honesty and truth)
In loyal duty: But ambition never
Looks backward on desert, but with blind haste
Boldly runs on. But I lose time. You are here
Commanded by this Aper to attend
The Emperours person; to admit no stranger
To have access to him, or come near his Litter,
Under pretence (forsooth) his eyes are sore,
And his minde troubled: no, my friends, you are cozen'd;
The good Numerianus now is past
The sense of wrong or injury.
Guard. How, dead?
Dio. Let your own eyes inform you.
Get. An Emperours Cabinet?
Fough, I have known a Charnel-house smell sweeter.
If Emperours flesh have this savour, what will mine do,
When I am rotten?
1 Guard. Most unheard of villany.
2 Guard. And with all cruelty to be reveng'd.
3 Guard. Who is the murtherer? name him, that we may
Punish it in his family.
Dio. Who but Aper?
The barbarous and most ingrateful Aper,
His desperate Poniard printed on his breast
This deadly wound: hate to vow'd enemies
Finds a full satisfaction in death;
And Tyrants seek no farther. He (a Subject,
And bound by all the Ties of love and duty)
Ended not so; but does deny his Prince
(Whose ghost forbad passage to his rest,
Mourns by the Stygian shore) his Funeral-Rites.
Nay, weep not; let your loves speak in your anger;
And, to confirm you gave no suffrage to
The damned Plot, lend me your helping hands
To wreak the Parricide: and if you find
That there is worth in Diocles to deserve it,
Make him your leader.
Guard. A Diocles, a Diocles.
Dio. We'll force him from his Guards. And now, my Stars,
If you have any good for me in store,
Shew it, when I have slain this fatal Boar. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Enter Delphia and Drusilla, in a Throne drawn
by Dragons.