_K. of Macedon._ That spoke, which now is highest In Fortune's wheel, must, when she turns it next, Decline as low as we are. This consider'd Taught the Ægyptian Hercules, Sesostris, That had his chariot drawn by captive kings, To free them from that slavery;--but to hope Such mercy from a Roman were mere madness: We are familiar with what cruelty Rome, since her infant greatness, ever used Such as she triumph'd over; age nor sex Exempted from her tyranny; scepter'd princes Kept in her common dungeons, and their children, In scorn train'd up in base mechanic arts, For public bondmen. In the catalogue Of those unfortunate men, we expect to have Our names remember'd. _Diocle._ In all growing empires, Even cruelty is useful; some must suffer, And be set up examples to strike terror In others, though far off: but, when a state Is raised to her perfection, and her bases Too firm to shrink, or yield, we may use mercy, And do 't with safety[25]: but to whom? not cowards, Or such whose baseness shames the conqueror, And robs him of his victory, as weak Perseus Did great Æmilius[26]. Know, therefore, kings Of Epire, Pontus, and of Macedon, That I with courtesy can use my prisoners, As well as make them mine by force, provided That they are noble enemies: such I found you, Before I made you mine; and, since you were so, You have not lost the courages of princes, Although the fortune. Had you born yourselves Dejectedly, and base, no slavery Had been too easy for you: but such is The power of noble valour, that we love it Even in our enemies, and taken with it, Desire to make them friends, as I will you. _K. of Epire._ Mock us not, Cæsar. _Diocle._ By the gods, I do not. Unloose their bonds:--I now as friends embrace you. Give them their crowns again. _K. of Pontus._ We are twice o'ercome; By courage, and by courtesy. _K. of Macedon._ But this latter Shall teach us to live ever faithful vassals To Dioclesian, and the power of Rome. _K of Epire._ All kingdoms fall before her! _K. of Pontus._ And all kings Contend to honour Cæsar! _Diocle._ I believe Your tongues are the true trumpets of your hearts, And in it I most happy. Queen of fate, Imperious Fortune! mix some light disaster With my so many joys, to season them, And give them sweeter relish: I'm girt round With true felicity; faithful subjects here, Here bold commanders, here with new-made friends: But, what's the crown of all, in thee, Artemia, My only child, whose love to me and duty, Strive to exceed each other! _Artem._ I make payment But of a debt, which I stand bound to tender As a daughter and a subject.