_Eud._ Can a face Long since bequeath'd to wrinkles with my sorrows, Long since ras'd out o'th' book of youth and pleasure, Have power to make the strongest man o'th' Empire, Nay the most staid, and knowing what is Woman; The greatest aim of perfectness men liv'd by, The most true constant lover of his wedlock, Such a still blowing beauty, earth was proud of, Lose such a noble wife, and wilfully; Himself prepare the way, nay make the rape. Did ye not tell me so? _Max._ 'Tis true _Eudox[i]a_. _Eud._ Lay desolate his dearest piece of friendship, Break his strong helm he stear'd by, sink that vertue, That valour, that even all the gods can give us, Without whom he was nothing, with whom worthiest, Nay more, arrive at _Cæsar_, and kill him too, And for my sake? either ye love too dearly, Or deeply ye dissemble, Sir? _Max._ I do so; And till I am more strengthen'd, so I must do; Yet would my joy, and Wine had fashion'd out Some safer lye: Can these things be, _Eudox[i]a_, And I dissemble? Can there be but goodness And only thine dear Lady, any end, Any imagination but a lost one, Why I should run this hazard? O thou vertue! Were it to do again, and _Valentinian_ Once more to hold thee, sinful _Valentinian_, In whom thou wert set, as Pearls are in salt Oysters, As Roses are in rank weeds, I would find, Yet to thy sacred self a dearer danger, The Gods know how I honour thee. _Eud._ What love, Sir, Can I return for this, but my obedience? My life, if so you please, and 'tis too little. _Max._ 'Tis too much to redeem the world. _Eud._ From this hour, The sorrows for my dead Lord, fare ye well, My living Lord has dried ye; and in token, As Emperour this day I honour ye, And the great caster new of all my wishes, The wreath of living Lawrel, that must compass That sacred head, _Eudox[i]a_ makes for _Cæsar_: I am methinks too much in love with fortune; But with you ever Royal Sir my maker, The once more Summer of me, meer in love, Is poor expression of my doting. _Max._ Sweetest. _Eud._ Now of my troth ye have bought me dear Sir. _Max._ No, Had I at loss of mankind. _Enter a Messenger._ _Eud._ Now ye flatter. _Mess._ The Senate waits your Grace. _Max._ Let 'em come on, And in a full form bring the ceremony: This day I am your servant, dear, and proudly, I'le wear your honoured favour. _Eud._ May it prove so. [_Exeunt._ SCENE VII. _Enter_ Paulus _and_ Licippus. _Lic._ Is your Grace done? _Pau._ 'Tis done. _Lic._ Who speaks? _Pau._ A Boy. _Lic._ A dainty blue Boy, _Paulus_? _Pau._ Yes. _Lic._ Have ye viewed The work above? _Pau._ Yes, and all up, and ready.