Max. That, that, Aecius,
That cursed Ring, my self, and all my fortunes:
'Thas pleas'd the Emperour, my noble master,
For all my services, and dangers for him,
To make me mine own Pander, was this justice?
Oh my Aecius, have I liv'd to bear this?
Luci. Farewel for ever Sir.
Max. That's a sad saying,
But such a one becomes ye well Lucina:
And yet me thinks we should not part so lightly,
Our loves have been of longer growth, more rooted
Than the sharp word of one farewel can scatter,
Kiss me: I find no Cæsar here; these lips
Taste not of Ravisher in my opinion.
Was it not so?
Luc. O yes.
Max. I dare believe thee,
For thou wert ever truth it self, and sweetness;
Indeed she was, Æcius.
Æcius. So she is still.
Max. Once more, O my Lucina, O my Comfort,
The blessing of my Youth, the life of my life.
Æcius. I have seen enough to stagger my obedience;
Hold me ye equal Gods, this is too sinful.
Max. Why wert thou chosen out to make a Whore of?
To me thou wert too chaste; fall Crystal Fountains,
And ever feed your streams you rising sorrows,
Till you have dropt your Mistris into Marble:
Now go for ever from me.
Luc. Long farewel, Sir.
And as I have been loyal, gods think on me.