Cho. _The War with glory ended; and_ Cosroe (_Acknowledging his fealtie to_ Charinus) _Dismiss'd in peace, returns to Persia:_ _The rest, arriving safely unto Rome,_ _Are entertained with triumphs_: Maximinian, _By the grace and intercession of his Uncle,_ _Saluted_ Cæsar: _but good_ Dioclesian, _Weary of Pomp and State, retires himself_ _With a small Train, to a most private Grange_ _In_ Lombardie; _where the glad Countrey strives_ _With Rural Sports to give him entertainment:_ _With which delighted, he with ease forgets_ _All specious trifles, and securely tastes_ _The certain pleasures of a private life._ _But oh Ambition, that eats into_ _With venom'd teeth, true thankfulness, and honour,_ _And to support her greatness, fashions fears,_ _Doubts, and preventions to decline all dangers,_ _Which in the place of safetie, prove her ruine:_ _All which be pleas'd to see in_ Maximinian, _To whom, his confer'd Sovera[ignt]y was like_ _A large sail fill'd full with a fore-right wind,_ _That drowns a smaller Bark: and he once faln_ _Into ingratitude, makes no stop in mischief,_ _But violently runs on. Allow_ Maximinian _all,_ _Honour, and Empire, absolute command;_ _Yet being ill, long great he cannot stand_. [Exit. SCENE II. _Enter_ Maximinian, _and_ Aurelia. _Aur._ Why droops my Lord, my Love, my life, my _Cæsar_? How ill this dulness doth comport with greatness! Does not (with open arms) your fortune court you? _Rome_ know you for her Master, I my self Confess you for my husband? love, and serve you? If you contemn not these, and think them curses, I know no blessings that ambitious flesh Could wish to feel beyond 'em. _Max._ Best _Aurelia_, The parent and the nurse to all my Glories, 'Tis not that thus embracing you, I think There is a Heaven beyond it, that begets These sad retirements; but the fear to lose What it is hell to part with: better to have liv'd Poor and obscure, and never scal'd the top Of hilly Empire, than to die with fear To be thrown headlong down, almost as soon As we have reach'd it. _Aur._ These are Pannick terrours You fashion to your self: Is not my Brother (Your equal and copartner in the Empire) Vow'd and confirm'd your friend? the Souldier constant? Hath not your Uncle _Dioclesian_ taken His last farewel o'th' world? What then can shake ye?