Cos. They then shall break.
Why, you rebellious Wretches, dare you still
Contend when the last breath, or nod of mine
Marks you out for the fire? or to be made
The prey of Wolves or Vulturs? the vain name
Of Roman Legions, I slight thus, and scorn;
And for that boasted bug bear, Dioclesian,
(Which you presume on) would he were the master
But of the spirit, to meet me in the field,
He soon should find that our immortal Squadrons,
That with full numbers ever are supply'd,
(Could it be possible they should decay)
Dare front his boldest Troops, and scatter him,
As an high towring Falcon on her stretches,
Severs the fearful fowl. And by the Sun,
The Moon, the Winds, the nourishers of life,
And by this Sword, the instrument of death,
Since that you fly not humbly to our mercy
But yet dare hope your liberty by force;
If Dioclesian dare not attempt
To free you with his Sword, all slavery
That cruelty can find out to make you wretched,
Falls heavy on you.
Max. If the Sun keep his course,
And the Earth can bear his Souldiers march, I fear not.
Aur. Or liberty, or revenge.
Char. On that I build too. [A Trumpet.
Aur. A Roman Trumpet!
Max. 'Tis; comes it not like
A pardon to a man condemn'd?
Cos. Admit him.
Enter Niger.
The purpose of thy coming?
Nig. My great Master,
The Lord of Rome, (in that all Power is spoken)
Hoping that thou wilt prove a noble Enemy,
And (in thy bold resistance) worth his conquest,
Defies thee, Cosroe.