MARIUS. Ladies, I grant; for Marius nill deny A suit so easy and of such import; For pity 'twere that dames of constancy Should not be agents of their misery. [_Here he whispers_ LECTORIUS. Lectorius, hark, despatch. [_Exit_ LECTORIUS. CORNELIA. So, Fulvia, now the latest doom is fix'd, And nought remains but constant Roman hearts To bear the brunt of irksome fury's spite. Rouse thee, my dear, and daunt those faint conceits, That trembling stand aghast at bitter death. Bethink thee now that Sylla was thy sire, Whose courage heaven nor fortune could abate: Then, like the offspring of fierce Sylla's house, Pass with the thrice-renowned Phrygian dame, As to thy marriage, so unto thy death: For nought to wretches is more sweet than death. FULVIA. Madam, confirm'd as well to die as live, Fulvia awaiteth nothing but her death. Yet had my father known the course of change, Or seen our loss by lucky augury, This tyrant nor his followers had liv'd To 'joy the ruin of fierce Sylla's house. MARIUS. But, lady, they that dwell on fortune's call No sooner rise, but subject are to fall. FULVIA. Marius, I doubt not but our constant ends Shall make thee wail thy tyrant's government. MARIUS. When tyrant's rule doth breed my care and woe, Then will I say two ladies told me so. But here comes Lectorius. Now, my lord. Have you brought those things? _Enter_ LECTORIUS. LECTORIUS. I have, noble consul. MARIUS. Now, ladies, you are resolute to die? CORNELIA. Ay, Marius, for terror cannot daunt us. Tortures were framed to dread the baser eye, And not t'appal a princely majesty. MARIUS. And Marius lives to triumph o'er his foes, That train their warlike troops amidst the plains, And are enclos'd and hemm'd with shining arms, Not to appal such princely majesty. Virtue, sweet ladies, is of more regard In Marius' mind, where honour is enthron'd, Than Rome or rule of Roman empery. [_Here he puts chains about their necks_. The bands, that should combine your snow-white wrists, Are these which shall adorn your milk-white necks. The private cells, where you shall end your lives, Is Italy, is Europe--nay the world. Th'Euxinian Sea, the fierce Sicilian Gulf, The river Ganges and Hydaspes' stream Shall level lie, and smooth as crystal ice, While Fulvia and Cornelia pass thereon. The soldiers, that should guard you to your deaths, Shall be five thousand gallant youths of Rome, In purple robes cross-barr'd with pales of gold, Mounted on warlike coursers for the field, Fet[141] from the mountain-tops of Corsica, Or bred in hills of bright Sardinia, Who shall conduct and bring you to your lord. Ay, unto Sylla, ladies, shall you go, And tell him Marius holds within his hands Honour for ladies, for ladies rich reward; But as for Sylla and for his compeers, Who dare 'gainst Marius vaunt their golden crests, Tell him for them old Marius holds revenge, And in his hands both triumphs life and death.