SCENE I-A stately Temple, which represents
the Christian religion, as in its first magnifi-
cence, being but lately established at Rome and
Constantinople. The side scenes shew the hor-
rid tortures, with which the Roman tyrants
persecuted the church; and the flat scene,
which is the limit of the prospect, discovers an
altar richly adorned, before which Constantine
is seen kneeling, with commanders about him,
gazing at a bloody cross in the air, which, being
encompassed with many angels, offers itself to
view, with those words distinctly written, In
hoc signo vinces! instruments are heard, and
many
attendants. The ministers, at divine ser-
vice, walk busily up and down, till ATTICUS,
the chief of all the priests, and successor of St
Chrysostom, in rich robes, comes forward with
the philosopher LEONTINE; the waiters in
ranks, bowing all the way before him.

A chorus heard at distance.
Prepare, prepare! the rites begin,
Let none unhallowed enter in.
The temple with new glory shines;,
Adorn the altars, wash the shrines,
And purge the place from sin.

Attic. O Leontine! was ever morn like this,
Since the celestial incarnation dawn'd?
I think no day, since that, such glory gave
To Christian altars, as this morning brings.

Leont. Great successor of holy Chrysostom, Who now triumphs above, a saint of honour, Next in degree to those bright sons of heaven, Who never fell, nor stain'd their orient beams; What shall I answer? How shall I approach you Since my conversion, which your breath inspir'd? Attic. To see, this day, the emperor of the

east

To-day with Theodosius leave the world. Leont. Methinks at such a glorious resignation,

The angelic orders should at once descend,
In all the paint and drapery of heaven,
With charming voices, and with lulling strings,
To give full grace to such triumphant zeal.

Attic. No, Leontine; I fear there is a fault:
For when I last confessed the emperor,
Whether disgust and melancholy blood,
From restless passions, urg'd not this divorce?
He only answered me with sighs and blushes.
'Tis sure, his soul is of the tenderest make,
Therefore I'll tax him strictly: but, my friend,
Why should I give his character to you,
Who, when his father sent him into Persia,
Were by that mighty monarch then appointed
To breed him with his son, the prince Varanes.
Leont. And what will raise your admiration is,
That two such different tempers should agree :
You know that Theodosius is compos'd

Of all the softness that should make a woman; Judgment almost like fear fore-runs his actions, And he will poise an injury so long,

As if he had rather pardon than revenge it:
But the young Persian prince quite opposite,
So fiery fierce, that those who view him nearly
May see his haughty soul still mounting in his
face;

Yet did I study these so different tempers,
Till I at last had formed a perfect union,
As if two souls did but inform one body;
A friendship that may challenge all the world,
And at the proof be matchless..

Attic. I long to read

This gallant prince, who, as you have informed me, Comes from his father's court to see our emperor,

Leont. So he intended till he came to Athens, And at my homely board beheld my daughter; Where, as fate ordered, she,-who never saw The glories of a court, bred up to books In closets like a Sybil,—she, I say,

Long since from Persia brought by me to Athens, Unskill'd in charms, but those which nature gave. her,

Wounded this scornful prince. In short, he. forced me

To wait him thither, with deep protestations,
That moment that bereft him of the sight
Of Athenais, gave him certain death.

Enter VARANES and ATHENAIS.
But see my daughter honoured with his pre-

And fix upon thy world, thy world of beauty.

[Exeunt.

Inspire your breast, purge all your dross away,
And drive this Athenais from your soul,
To make a virgin room, whom yet the mould
Of your rude fancy cannot comprehend!

Vara. What says my fair? Drive Athenais from me!

Start me not into frenzy, lest I rail
At all religion, and fall out with heaven.
And what is she, alas, that should supplant thee?
Were she the mistress of the world, as fair
As winter stars, or summer setting suns,
And thou set by in nature's plainest dress,
With that chaste modest look when first I saw
thee,

The heiress of a poor philosopher,
[Recorders ready to flourish.
I swear by all I wish, by all I love,
Glory and thee, I would not lose a thought,
Nor cast an eye that way, but rush to thee,
To these loved arms, and lose myself for ever.
Athen. Forbear, my lord.
Vara. O cruel Athenais!

Why dost thou put me off, who pine to death, And thrust me from thee when I would approach thee?

Can there be aught in this? Curse then thy birth-right,

Thy glorious titles and ill-suited greatness,
Since Athenais scorns thee. Take again
Your ill-timed honours; take 'em, take 'em, gods!
And change me to some humble villager,
If so at last for toils at scorching noon,
In mowing meadows, or in reaping fields,
At night she will but crown me with a smile,
Or reach the bounty of her hand to bless me.
Athen. When princes speak, their subjects
should be silent;

Yet with humility I would demand,
Wherein appears my scorn, or my aversion?
Have I not for your sake abandoned home,
Where I had vowed to spend my calmer days?
But you perhaps imagine it but little
For a poor maid to follow you abroad,
Especially the daughter of old Leontine ;
Yet I must tell you, prince,-

Vara. I cannot bear

Those frowns: I have offended, but forgive me.
For who, Athenais, that is toss'd

With such tempestuous tides of love as I,
Can steer a steady course? Retire, my fair,
[Recorders flourish.
Hark! the solemnities are now beginning,
And Theodosius comes. Hide, hide thy charms!
If to his clouded eyes such day should break,
The royal youth, who dotes to death for love,

Enter THEODOSIUS leading MARINA and FLAVILLA (all three drest in white) followed by PULCHERIA.

Theo. Farewell, Pulcheria! and I pray, no

more;

For all thy kind complaints are lost upon me.
Have I not sworn the world and I must part?"
Fate has proclaimed it, therefore weep no more;
Wound not the tenderest part of Theodosius,
My yielding soul, that would expire in calms!
Wound me not with thy tears, and I will tell
thee,

Yet ere I take my last farewell for ever,
The cause of all my sufferings. Oh, my sister!
A bleeding heart, the stings of pointed love,
What constitution soft as mine can bear?

Pulch. My lord, my emperor, my dearest brother,

Why all this while did you conceal it from me? Theo. Because I was ashamed to own my weakness;

I knew thy sharper wit, and stricter wisdom,
Would dart reproofs, which I could not endure.
Draw near, O Atticus, and mark me well,
For never yet did my complaining spirit
Unload this weighty secret upon him,
Nor groan a syllable of her oppression.

Attic. Concealment was a fault; but speak at large,

Make bare the wound, and I will pour in balm. Theo. 'Tis folly all, and fondness.—Ó, remem brance!

Why dost thou open thus my wound again,
And from my heart call down those warmer drops
That make me die with shame? Hear then, Pul-
cheria !

Some few preceding days before I left
The Persian court, hunting one morning early,
I lost myself and all the company.
Still wandering on as fortune would direct me,
I past a rivulet, and alighted in
The sweetest solitude I ever saw.
When straight, as if enchantment had been there,
Two charming voices drew me, till I came
Where divers arbours overlook'd the river.
Upon the osier bank two women sate,
Who, when their song was ended, talk'd to one,'
Who, bathing, stood far in the crystal stream.
But oh, what thought can paint that fair perfec
tion,

Or give a glimpse of such a naked glory!
Not sea-born Venus, in the courts beneath,
When the green nymphs first kiss'd her coral lips,
All polish'd, fair, and wash'd with orient beauty,
Could in my dazzling fancy match her brightness.
Attic. Think where you are.

Theo. O, sir, you must forgive me!
The chaste enthusiastic form appears,
As when I saw her; yet I swear, Pulcheria,
Had cold Diana been a looker-on,

She must have praised the virtues of the virgin

The satyrs could not grin, for she was veil'd;
Nothing immodest, from her naked bosom
Down to her knees, the nymph was wrapt in
lawn:

But oh for me! for me, that was too much!
Her legs, her arms, her hands, her neck, her
breasts,

So nicely shap'd, so matchless in their lustre,
Such all-perfection, that I took whole draughts
Of killing love, and ever since have languish'd
With ling ring surfeits of her fatal beauty!
Alas, too fatal, sure! O Atticus,
Forgive me, for my story now is done.

The nymph was drest, and with her two companions,

Having descry'd me, shriek'd and fled away,
Leaving me motionless, till Leontine,

The instructor of my youth, by chance came in,
And wak'd me from the wonder that entranc'd me.
Attic. Behold, my lord, the man whom you
have nam'd,

The harbinger of prince Varanes, here.

Theo. O Leontine! ten thousand welcomes
meet thee!

Thou foster-father of my tender youth,
Who rear'd the plant, and prun'd it with such

care,

How shall I look upon thee, who am fallen
From all the principles of manlier reason,
By thee infus'd, to more than woman's weakness?
Now by the majesty divine, that awes
This sacred place, I swear you must not kneel;
And tell me, for Í have a thousand things
To ask thee, where, where is my godlike friend?
Is he arriv'd, and shall I see his face,

Before I am cloyster'd from the world for ever? Leont. He comes, my lord, with all the expecting joys

Of a young promis'd lover; from his eyes
Big hopes look forth, and boiling fancy forms
Nothing but Theodosius still before him;
His thought, his every word, is Theodosius.

Theo. Yet, Leontine, yet answer me once more, With tremblings I demand thee,

Say, hast thou seen,-Oh, has that heavenly

form

Appear'd to thee again!--Behold he's dumb!
Proceed then to the solemn last farewell;
Never was man so willing, and prepar❜d.
Enter VARANES, ARANTHES, and Attendants.
Vara. Where is my friend! oh where is my
belov'd,

My Theodosius! Point him out, ye gods,
That I may press him dead betwixt my arms,
Devour him thus with over-hasty joys,
That languish at his breast, quite out of breath,
And cannot utter more!

Theo. Thou mightiest pleasure,
And greatest blessing, that kind heaven could

send,

To glad my parting soul, a thousand welcomes ! O, when I look on thee, new starts of glory Spring in my breast, and, with a backward bound,

member

Our thousand pastimes!when we borrow'd names,
Alcides I, and thou my dearest Theseus;
When through the woods we chas'd the foaming
boar,

With hounds that open'd like Thessalian bulls,
Like tygers flu'd, and sanded as the shoar,
With ears and chests that dash'd the morning
dew:

Driv'n with the sport, as ships are tost in storms,
We ran like winds, and matchless was our course;
Now sweeping o'er the limit of a hill,
Now with a full career come thund'ring down
The precipice, and sweat along the vale.

Theo. Ô glorious time! and when the gather-
ing clouds

Have called us home, say, did we rest, my brother?

When on the stage, to the admiring court,
We strove to represent Alcides' fury,

In all that raging heat, and pomp of madness,
With which the stately Seneca adorned him;
So lively drawn, and painted with such horror,
That we were forced to give it o'er; so loud
The virgins shriek'd, so fast they died away.

Vara. My Theodosius still! 'tis my lov'd brother;

And by the gods we'll see those times again! Why then has rumour wrong'd thee, that reported

Christian enthusiasm had charm'd thee from us; That, drawn by priests, and work'd by melancholy,

Thou'dst laid the golden reins of empire down, And sworn thyself a votary for ever!

Theo. 'Tis almost true; and had not you ar

riv'd,

The solemn business had by this been ended.
This I have made the empress of the east,
My eldest sister; these with me retire,
Devoted to the pow'r whom we adore.

Vara. What power is that, that merits such oblations?

I thought the sun more great and glorious,
Than any that e'er mingled with the gods;
Yet even to him my father never offer'd
More than a hecatomb of bulls and horses:
Now by those golden beams, that glad the world,
I swear it is too much! For one of these,
But half so bright, our god would drive no more,
He'd leave the darken'd globe, and in some cave
Enjoy such charms for ever.

Attic. My lord, forbear!

Such language does not suit with our devotion:
Nothing prophane must dare to murmur here,
Nor stain the hallow'd beauties of the place.
Yet, thus far we must yield; the emperor
Is not enough prepar'd to leave the world.

Vara. Thus low, most reverend of this sacred
place,

I kneel for pardon, and am half-converted,
By your permission that my Theodosius

Who have no appetite, but am to sense,
From head to foot, all a dead palsy o'er?

Vara. Fear not, my friend, all shall be well
again;

For I have thousand ways, and thousand stories,
To raise thee up to pleasure; we'll unlock
Our fastest secrets, shed upon each other
Our tender'st cares, and quite unbar those doors,
Which shall be shut to all mankind beside.

Attic. Silence and reverence are the temple's
dues:

Therefore, while we pursue the sacred rites,
Be these observ'd, or quit the awful place.-
Imperial sisters, now twin-stars of heaven,
Answer the successor of Chrysostom;
Without least reservation answer me,
By those harmonious rules I charg'd ye learn.

ATTICUS sings.

Attic. Canst thou, Marina, leave the world, The world that is devotion's bane, Wherecrowns are tost, and sceptres hurl'd Where lust and proud ambition reign? Priest. Can you your costly robes forbear, To live with us in poor attire ?. Can you from courts to cells repair, To sing at midnight in our quire ? s Priest. Can you forget your golden beds, Where you might sleep beyond the morn, On mats to lay your royal heads, And have your beauteous tresses shorn? Attic. Can you resolve to fast all day, And weep and groan to be forgiven ? Can you in broken slumbers pray, And by affliction merit heav'n? Chor. Say, votaries, can this be done?--While we the grace divine implore, The world has lost, the battle's won, And sin shall never charm ye.more. Marina The gate to bliss does open stand, sings. And all my penance is in view; The world, upon the other hand, Gries out, O do not bid adieu!

Yet, sacred sirs, in these extremes,
Where pomp and pride their glories tell;
Where youth and beauty are the themes,
And plead their moving cause so well;
If aught that's vain my thoughts possess,
Or any passions govern here,
But what divinity may bless,
O may I never enter there!

Flavilla What can pomp or glory do;
sings. Or what can human charms persuade;
That mind that has a heav'n in view,
How can it be by earth betrayed?
No monarch full of youth and fame,
The joy of eyes, and nature's pride,
Should once my thoughts from heav'n re-
claim,

Though now he woo'd me for his bride.

Haste then, oh haste, and take us in !
For ever lock Religion's door,
Secure us from the charms of sin,

And let us see the world no more.
Attic. Hark! hark! behold the heavenly choir,
sings. They cleave the air in bright attire,
And see his lute each angel brings,
And, hark, divinely thus he sings!
To the pow'rs divine all glory be given,
Bymen upon earth, and angels in heaven.
Scene shuts, and all the Priests, with
MARINA and FLAV, disappear.

Pulch. For ever gone! for ever parted from me!

O Theodosius, till this cruel moment
I never knew how tenderly I lov'd them;
But on this everlasting separation,
Methinks my
soul has left me, and my time
Of dissolution points me to the grave.
Theo. O my Varanes, does not now thy tem

per

Bate something of its fire? dost thou not melt
In mere compassion of my sisters' fate,
And cool thyself with one relenting thought?
Vara. Yes, my dar'd soul rolls inward; melan-
choly,

Which I ne'er felt before, now comes upon me,
And I begin to loath all human greatness.
Oh! sigh not then, nor thy hard fate deplore,
For, 'tis resolv'd, we will be kings no more:
We'll fly all courts, and love shall be our guide;
Love, that's more worth than all the world be
side.

Princes are barr'd the liberty to roam,
The fetter'd mind still languishes at home;
In golden bands she treads the thoughtful round,
Business and cares eternally abound.
And when for air the goddess would unbind,
She's clogged with scepters and to crowns
[Exeunt.

confin'd,

SCENE I

Enter PULCHERIA, JULIA, Attendants.
Pulch. These packets for the emperor Honorius;
Be swift, let the agent haste to Rome.-
I hear, my Julia, that our general

Is from the Goths returned with conquest home.
Jul. He is; to-day I saw him in the presence,
Sharp to the courtiers, as he ever was
Because they went not with him to the wars.
To you he bows, and sues to kiss your hand.
Pulch. He shall, my dearest Julia; oft I have

told thee

The secret of my soul: If e'er I marry,
Marcian's my husband; he is a man, my Julia,
Whom I have studied long, and found him perfect:
Old Rome at every glance looks through his eyes,
And kindles the beholders: Some sharp atoms
Run through his frame, which I could wish were
out.

He sickens at the softness of the emperor,
And speaks too freely of our female court;
Then sighs, comparing it with what Rome was.

Enter MARCIAN and LUCIUS.

Pulch. Ha! who are these that dare prophane this place

With more than barb'rous insolence?

Marc. At your feet,

Behold I cast the scourge of these offenders,
And kneel to kiss your hand.

Pulch. Put up your sword,

And ere I bid you welcome from the wars,
Be sure you clear your honour of this rudeness,
Or, Marcian, leave the court.

Marc. Thus then, madam.
The emperor receiv'd me with affection,
Embrac❜d me for my conquests, and retir'd;
When on a sudden all the gilded flies,
That buzabout the court, came fluttering round me:
This, with affected cringes, and minc'd words,
Begs me to tell my tale of victories;

Which done, hethanks me, slips behind his fellow, Whispers him in the ear, then smiles and lis

tens,

While I relate my story once again:

A third comes in, and asks me the same favour;
Whereon they laugh, while I, still ignorant,
Go on; but one behind, more impudent,
Strikes on my shoulder; then they laugh outright.
But then, I, guessing the abuse too late,
Return'd my knight behind a box o'th' ear;
Then drew, and briefly told them they were rascals.
They, laughing still, cry'd out 'the general's musty;'
Whereon I drove 'em, madam, as you saw.
This is, in short, the truth, I leave the judgment
To your own justice; if I have done ill,
Sentence me, and I'll leave the court for ever.
Pulch. First, you are welcome, Marcian, from
the wars;

L

And still, when e'er occasion calls for arms,
Heav'n send the emperor a general
Renown'd as Marcian; as to what is past,
I think the world will rather praise than censure
Pulcheria, when she pardons you the action.
Marc. Gods! gods! and thou, great founder
of old Rome!

What is become of all that mighty spirit,
That rais'd our empire to a pitch so high?
Where is it pent? What but almighty power
Could thus confine it, that but ome few atoms
Now run through all the east and occident?
Pulch. Speak calmly, Marcian.
Marc. Who can be temperate,
That thinks as I do, madam! Why here's a fellow,
I have seen him fight against a troop of Vandals
In your defence, as if he lov'd to bleed :-
Come to my arms, my dear! Thou canst not talk,
But hast a soul above the proudest of 'em.—
O, madam, when he has been all o'er blood,
And hack'd with wounds that seem'd to mouth
his praises,

I've seen him smile still as he push'd death from him,

And with his actions rally distant fate.
Pulch. He has à noble form.

Marc. Yet even this man,

That fought so bravely in his country's cause, This excellent man, this morning in the presence, Did I see wrong'd before the emperor,

Scorn'd and despis'd because he could not cringe, Nor plant his feet as some of them could do. One said his clothes were not well made, and damn'd

His taylor-Another said, he look'd

As if he had not lost his maidenhead. -
If things are suffer'd to be thus, down all
Authority, pre-eminence, degree and virtue;
Let Rome be never mention'd; no, in the name
Of all the gods, be she forgotten ever.
Effeminate Persians, and the Lydian softness,
Make all your fights; Marcian shall out no more:
For, by my arms, it makes a woman of me,
And my swoln eyes run o'er to think this worth,
This fuller honour than the whole court holds,
Should be ridiculous to knaves and fools;
Should starve for want of what is necessary
To life's convenience, when luxurious bawds
Are so o'er grown with fat, and cramm'd withriot,
That they can hardly walk without an engine.
Pulch. Why did you not inform the emperor?
Marc. Because he will not hear me. Alas,

good man!

He flies from this bad world, and still, when wars
And dangers come, he runs to his devotions,
To your new thing, I know not what you call it,
Which Constantine began.

Pulch. How, Marcian! are not you of that
Religion which the emperor owns?
Marc. No, madam; if you'll see my naked
thought,