SYNORIX. How! CAMMA. Thou hast drunk deep enough to make me happy. Dost thou not feel the love I bear to thee Glow thro' thy veins? SYNORIX. The love I bear to thee Glows thro' my veins since first I look'd on thee. But wherefore slur the perfect ceremony? The sovereign of Galatia weds his Queen. Let all be done to the fullest in the sight Of all the Gods. Nay, rather than so clip The flowery robe of Hymen, we would add Some golden fringe of gorgeousness beyond Old use, to make the day memorial, when Synorix, first King, Camma, first Queen o' the Realm, Drew here the richest lot from Fate, to live And die together. This pain--what is it?--again? I had a touch of this last year--in--Rome. Yes, yes. (_To_ ANTONIUS.) Your arm--a moment--It will pass. I reel beneath the weight of utter joy-- This all too happy day, crown--queen at once. [_Staggers_. O all ye Gods--Jupiter!--Jupiter! [_Falls backward_. CAMMA. Dost thou cry out upon the Gods of Rome? Thou art Galatian-born. Our Artemis Has vanquish'd their Diana. SYNORIX (_on the ground_). I am poison'd. She--close the Temple door. Let her not fly. CAMMA (_leaning on tripod_). Have I not drunk of the same cup with thee? SYNORIX. Ay, by the Gods of Rome and all the world, She too--she too--the bride! the Queen! and I-- Monstrous! I that loved her. CAMMA. I loved _him_. SYNORIX. O murderous mad-woman! I pray you lift me And make me walk awhile. I have heard these poisons May be walk'd down. [ANTONIUS _and_ PUBLIUS _raise him up_. My feet are tons of lead, They will break in the earth--I am sinking--hold me-- Let me alone. [_They leave him; he sinks down on ground_. Too late--thought myself wise-- A woman's dupe. Antonius, tell the Senate I have been most true to Rome--would have been true To _her_--if--if---- [_Falls as if dead_. CAMMA (_coming and leaning over him_). So falls the throne of an hour. SYNORIX (_half rising_). Throne? is it thou? the Fates are throned, not we-- Not guilty of ourselves--thy doom and mine-- Thou--coming my way too--Camma--good-night. [_Dies_. CAMMA (_upheld by weeping Priestesses_). Thy way? poor worm, crawl down thine own black hole To the lowest Hell. Antonius, is he there? I meant thee to have follow'd--better thus. Nay, if my people must be thralls of Rome, He is gentle, tho' a Roman. [_Sinks back into the arms of the Priestesses_. ANTONIUS. Thou art one With thine own people, and tho' a Roman I Forgive thee, Camma.