_Dio._ When all my hopes were up, and Fortune dealt me Even for the greatest, and the happiest Monarch, Then to be cozen'd, to be cheated basely? By mine own Kinsman cross'd? O villain Kinsman! Curse of my blood; because a little younger, A little smoother fac'd; O false, false woman, False and forgetful of thy faith; I'll kill him. But can I kill her hate too? No, he woos not, Nor worthy is of death, because she follows him, Because she courts him; Shall I kill an innocent? O _Diocles_! would thou hadst never known this, Nor surfeited upon this sweet Ambition, That now lies bitter at thy heart; O Fortune, That thou hast none to fool, and blow like bubbles, But Kings, and their Contents! _Del._ What think you now, Girl? _Dru._ Upon my life, I pity his misfortune: See how he weeps; I cannot hold. _Del._ Away, fool; He must weep bloody tears before thou hast him. How fare ye now, brave _Dioclesian_? What! lazy in your loves? has too much pleasure Dull'd your most mighty faculties? _Dio._ Art thou there! More to torment me? dost thou come to mock me? _Del._ I do, and I do laugh at all thy sufferings: I, that have wrought 'em, come to scorn thy wailings; I told thee once, this is thy fate, this woman, And as thou usest her, so thou shall prosper. It is not in thy power to turn this destiny, Nor stop the torrent of those miseries (If thou neglectst her still) shall fall upon thee. Sith that thou art dishonest, false of faith, Proud, and dost think no Power can cross thy pleasures; Thou wilt find a Fate above thee. _Dru._ Good Aunt, speak mildly; See how he looks and suffers. _Dio._ I find and feel, woman, That I am miserable. _Del._ Thou art most miserable. _Dio._ That as I am the most, I am most miserable. But didst thou work this? _Del._ Yes, and will pursue it. _Dio._ Stay there, and have some pity, fair _Drusilla_ Let me perswade thy mercy, thou hast lov'd me, Although I know my suit will sound unjustly To make thy love the means to lose it self, Have pity on me. _Dru._ I will do. _Del._ Peace, Niece, Although this softness may become your love, Your care must scorn it. Let him still contemn thee, And still I'll work; the same affection He ever shews to thee, be it sweet or bitter, The same _Aurelia_ shall shew him; no further; Nor shall the wealth of all his Empire free this. _Dio._ I must speak fair. Lovely young Maid, forgive me, Look gently on my sorrows; you that grieve too, I see it in your eyes, and thus I meet it. _Dru._ O Aunt, I am bless'd. _Dio._ Be not both young and cruel, Again I beg it thus. _Dru._ Thus, Sir, I grant it. _Enter_ Aurelia. He's mine own now, Aunt. _Del._ Not yet, Girl, thou art cozen'd.