Enter Delphia and Drusilla, in a Throne drawn by Dragons.
Del. Fix here, and rest a while your Sail-stretch'd wings
That have out-stript the winds: the eye of Heaven
Durst not behold your speed, but hid it self
Behind the grossest clouds; and the pale Moon
Pluckt in her silver horns, trembling for fear
That my strong Spells should force her from her Sphere;
Such is the power of Art.
Dru. Good Aunt, where are we?
Del. Look down, Drusilla, on these lofty Towers,
These spacious streets, where every private house
Appears a Palace to receive a King:
The site, the wealth, the beauty of the place,
Will soon inform thee 'tis imperious Rome,
Rome, the great Mistris of the conquer'd world.
Dru. But without Diocles, it is to me
Like any wilderness we have pass'd o're:
Shall I not see him?
Del. Yes, and in full glory,
And glut thy greedy eyes with looking on
His prosperous success: Contain thy self;
For though all things beneath us are transparent,
The sharpest sighted, were he Eagle-ey'd,
Cannot discover us: nor will we hang
Idle Spectators to behold his triumph:
Enter Diocles, Maximinian, Guard, Aper, Senators, Geta, Officers, with Litter.
But when occasion shall present it self,
Do something to add to it. See, he comes.
Dru. How god-like he appears! with such a grace
The Giants that attempted to scale Heaven,
When they lay dead on the Phlegrean plain,
Mars did appear to Jove.