Æcius. Therefore she must live,
To teach the world, such deaths are superstitious.
Luc. The tongues of Angels cannot alter me,
For could the World again restore my Credit,
As fair and absolute as first I bred it,
That world I should not trust again: The Empire
By my life, can get nothing but my story,
Which whilst I breath must be but his abuses;
And where ye counsel me to live, that Cæsar
May see his errours and repent, I'll tell ye,
His penitence is but encrease of pleasures,
His prayers never said but to deceive us,
And when he weeps (as you think) for his Vices,
'Tis but as killing drops from baleful Yew-Trees,
That rot their honest Neighbour; If he can grieve
As one that yet desires his free Conversion,
And almost glories in his penitence,
I'll leave him Robes to mourn in, my sad ashes.
Æcius. The farewels then of happy souls be with thee,
And to thy memory be ever sung
The praises of a just and constant Lady,
This sad day whilst I live, a Souldiers tears
I'll offer on thy Monument, and bring
Full of thy noble self with tears untold yet,
Many a worthy Wife, to weep thy ruine.
Max. All that is chaste upon thy Tomb shall flourish,
All living Epitaphs be thine, Time, Story;
And what is left behind to piece our lives
Shall be no more abus'd with tales and trifles,
But full of thee, stand to eternity.
Æci. Once more farewel, go find Elyzium,
There where the happy Souls are crown'd with Blessings,
There where 'tis ever Spring and ever Summer.
Max. There where no bedrid justice comes; truth, honour,
Are keepers of that blessed Place; go thither,
For here thou liv'st chaste Fire in rotten Timber.
Æcius. And so our last farewels.
Max. Gods give thee Justice— [Exit Lucina.
Æcius. His thoughts begin to work, I fear him, yet
He ever was a noble Roman, but
I know not what to think on't, he hath suffered
Beyond a man if he stand this.
Max. Æcius,
Am I alive, or has a dead sleep seiz'd me?
It was my Wife the Emperour abus'd thus,
And I must say I am glad I had her for him;
Must I not, my Æcius?