_Æcius._ 'Tis well consider'd; However you are tainted, be no Traitor Time may outwear the first, the last lives ever. _Max._ O that thou wert not living, and my friend. _Æcius._ I'll bear a wary Eye upon your actions, I fear ye, _Maximus_, nor can I blame thee If thou break'st out, for by the gods thy wrong Deserves a general ruine: do ye love me? _Max._ That's all I have to live on. _Æcius._ Then go with me, Ye shall not to your own house. _Max._ Nor to any. My griefs are greater far than Walls can compass, And yet I wonder how it happens with me, I am not dangerous, and o' my Conscience, Should I now see the Emperour i'th' heat on't, I should not chide him for't, an awe runs through me, I feel it sensibly that binds me to it, 'Tis at my heart now, there it sits and rules, And methinks 'tis a pleasure to obey it. _Æcius._ 'This is a mask to cozen me; I know ye, And how far ye dare do; no _Roman_ farther, Nor with more fearless Valour; and I'll watch ye, Keep that obedience still. _Max._ Is a Wifes loss (For her abuse much good may do his Grace, I'll make as bold with his Wife, if I can) More than the fading of a few fresh colours, More than a lusty spring lost? _Æcius._ No more, _Maximus_, To one that truly lives. _Æcius_: _Max._ Why, then I care not, I can live well enough, For look you friend, for vertue, and those trifles, They may be bought they say. _Æcius._ He's craz'd a little, His grief has made him talk things from his Nature. _Max._ But Chastity is not a thing I take it To get in _Rome_, unless it be bespoken A hundred years before; Is it _Æcius_? By'r Lady, and well handled too i'th' breeding. _Æcius._ Will ye go any way? _Max._ I'll tell thee, friend; If my Wife for all this should be a Whore now, A kind of Kicker out of sheets, 'twould vex me, For I am not angry yet; the Emperour Is young and handsome, and the Woman Flesh, And may not these two couple without scratching? _Æcius._ Alas, my noble friend. _Max._ Alas not me, I am not wretched, for there's no man miserable But he that makes himself so. _Æcius._ Will ye walk yet? _Max._ Come, come, she dare not dye, friend, that's the truth on't, She knows the inticing sweets and delicacies Of a young Princes pleasures, and I thank her, She has made a way for _Maximus_ to rise by. Will't not become me bravely? why do you think She wept, and said she was ravish'd? keep it here And I'll discover to you. _Æcius._ Well. _Max._ She knows I love no bitten flesh, and out of that hope She might be from me, she contriv'd this knavery; Was it not monstrous, friend? _Æcius._ Does he but seem so, Or is he mad indeed? _Max._ Oh gods, my heart! _Æcius._ Would it would fairly break.