_Afra._ Thou hast my fears, But _Valentinian_ keeps my vows: Oh gods, Why do we like to feed the greedy Ravenne Of these blown men, that must before they stand, And fixt in eminence, cast life on life, And trench their safeties in with wounds, and bodies? Well froward _Rome_, thou wilt grow weak with changing, And die without an heir, that lov'st to breed Sons for the killing hate of sons: for me, I only live to find an enemy. [_Exit._ SCENE V. _Enter_ Paulus (_a Poet_,) _and_ Licippus (_a Gent_.) _Pau._ When is the Inauguration? _Lic._ Why to morrow. _Paul._ 'Twill be short time. _Lic._ Any device that's handsome, A _Cupid_, or the God o'th' place will do it, Where he must take the _Fasces_. _Pau._ Or a Grace. _Lic._ A good Grace has no fellow. _Pau._ Let me see, Will not his name yield something? _Maximus_ By th' way of Anagram? I have found out _Axis_, You know he bears the Empire. _Lic._ Get him wheels too, 'Twill be a cruel carriage else. _Pau._ Some songs too. _Lic._ By any means some songs: but very short ones, And honest language _Paulus_, without bursting, The air will fall the sweeter. _Pau._ A Grace must do it. _Lic._ Why let a Grace then. _Pau._ Yes it must be so; And in a Robe of blew too, as I take it. _Lic._ This Poet is a little kin to th' Painter That could paint nothing but a ramping Lion, So all his learned fancies are blew Graces. _Pau._ What think ye of a Sea-nymph, and a Heaven? _Lic._ Why what should she do there man? there's no water. _Pau._ That's true, it must be a Grace, and yet Me thinks a Rain bow. _Lic._ And in blew. _Pa[u]._ Oh yes; Hanging in arch above him, and i'th' midle-- _Lic._ A showre of Rain. _Pau._ No, no, it must be a Grace. _Lic._ Why prethee Grace him then. _Pa[u]._ Or _Orpheus_, Coming from Hell. _Lic._ In blew too. _Pau._ 'Tis the better; And as he rises, full of fires. _Lic._ Now bless us, Will not that spoil his Lutestrings, _Paulus_? _Pau._ Singing, And crossing of his arms. _Lic._ How can he play then? _Pau._ It shall be a Grace, I'le do it. _Lic._ Prethee do, And with as good a grace as thou canst possible; Good fury _Paulus_, be i'th' morning with me, And pray take measure of his mouth that speaks it. [_Exeunt._ SCENE VI. _Enter_ Maximus _and_ Eudox[i]a. _Max._ Come my best lov'd _Eudox[i]a_: let the souldier Want neither Wine nor any thing he calls for, And when the Senate's ready, give us notice: In the mean time leave us. Oh my dear sweet. _Eud._ Is't possible your Grace Should undertake such dangers for my beauty, If it were excellent? _Max._ 'Tis all The world has left to brag of.