[_A hand with a Bolt appears above._ Do you stand amaz'd? Look o're thy head, _Maximinian_, Look to thy terrour, what over-hangs thee: Nay, it will nail thee dead; look how it threatens thee: The Bolt for vengeance on ungrateful wretches; The Bolt of innocent blood: read those hot characters, And spell the will of heaven. Nay, lovely Lady, You must take part too, as spur to ambition, Are ye humble? Now speak; my part's ended. Does all your glory shake? _Max._ Hear us, great Uncle, Good and great Sir, be pitiful unto us: Below your feet we lay our lives: be merciful: Begin you, heaven will follow. _Aur._ Oh, it shakes still. _Max._ And dreadfully it threatens. We acknowledge Our base and foul intentions. Stand between us; For faults confess'd, they say, are half forgiven. We are sorry for our sins. Take from us, Sir, That glorious weight that made us swell, that poison'd us; That mass of Majestie I laboured under, (Too heavie and too mighty for my manage) That my poor innocent days may turn again, And my mind pure, may purge me of these curses; By your old love, the blood that runs between us. [_The hand taken in._ _Aur._ By that love once ye bare to me, by that Sir, That blessed maid enjoys-- _Dio._ Rise up, dear Cousin, And be your words your judges: I forgive ye: Great as ye are, enjoy that greatness ever, Whilst I mine own content make mine own Empire. Once more I give ye all; learn to deserve it, And live to love your Good more than your Greatness. Now shew your loves to entertain this Emperour My honest neighbours. _Geta_, see all handsom. Your Grace must pardon us, our house is little; But such an ample welcom as a poor man And his true love can make you and your Empress. Madam, we have no dainties. _Aur._ 'Tis enough, Sir; We shall enjoy the riches of your goodness. _Sould._ Long live the good and gracious _Dioclesian_. _Dio._ I thank ye, Souldiers, I forgive your rashness. And Royal Sir, long may they love and honour ye. [_Drums march afar off._ What Drums are those? _Del._ Meet 'em, my honest Son, They are thy friends, _Charinus_ and the old Souldiers That come to rescue thee from thy hot Cousin. But all is well, and turn all into welcoms: Two Emperours you must entertain now. _Dio._ O dear Mother, I have will enough, but I want room and glory. _Del._ That shall be my care. Sound your pipes now merrily, And all your handsom sports. Sing 'em full welcoms. _Dio._ And let 'em know, our true love breeds more stories And perfect joys, than Kings do, and their glories. [_Exeunt_ APPENDIX.