Max. With what a holy empress am I blest! What scorn of earth dwells in her heavenly breast! My crown's too mean; but He, whom you adore, Has one more bright, of martyrdom, in store. She dies, and I am from the envy freed: [Aside.
She has, I thank her, her own death decreed. No soldier now will in her rescue stir; Her death is but in complaisance to her. I'll haste to gratify her holy will;— Heaven grant her zeal may but continue still! Tribune, a guard to seize the empress strait; [To Val.
Secure her person prisoner to the state. [Exit Max.
Val. [going to her.] Madam, believe 'tis with regret I come, To execute my angry prince's doom.
Enter Porphyrius.
Por. What is it I behold! Tribune, from whence Proceeds this more than barbarous insolence?
Val. Sir, I perform the emperor's commands.
Por. Villain, hold off thy sacrilegious hands, Or, by the gods—retire without reply; And, if he asks who bid thee, say 'twas I. [Val. retires to a distance.
Ber. Too generously your safety you expose, To save one moment her, whom you must lose.
Por. 'Twixt you and death ten thousand lives there stand; Have courage, madam; the prætorian band Will all oppose your tyrant's cruelty.