_Anton._ The tender of My life, my service, or, since you vouchsafe it, My love, my heart, my all: and pardon me, Pardon, dread princess, that I made some scruple To leave a valley of security, To mount up to the hill of majesty, On which, the nearer Jove, the nearer lightning. What knew I, but your grace made trial of me; Durst I presume to embrace, where but to touch With an unmanner'd hand was death? The fox, When he saw first the forest's king[30], the lion, Was almost dead with fear; the second view Only a little daunted him; the third, He durst salute him boldly: pray you, apply this; And you shall find a little time will teach me To look with more familiar eyes upon you, Than duty yet allows me. _Sap._ Well excused. _Artem._ You may redeem all yet. _Diocle._ And, that he may Have means and opportunity to do so, Artemia, I leave you my substitute In fair Cæsarea. _Sap._ And here, as yourself, We will obey and serve her. _Diocle._ Antoninus, So you prove hers, I wish no other heir; Think on 't:--be careful of your charge, Theophilus; Sapritius, be you my daughter's guardian. Your company I wish, confederate princes, In our Dalmatian wars: which finished With victory I hope, and Maximinus, Our brother and copartner in the empire, At my request won to confirm as much, The kingdoms I took from you we'll restore, And make you greater than you were before. [_Exeunt all but_ ANTONINUS _and_ MACRINUS. _Anton._ Oh, I am lost for ever! lost, Macrinus! The anchor of the wretched, hope, forsakes me, And with one blast of Fortune all my light Of happiness is put out. _Mac._ You are like to those That are ill only, 'cause they are too well; That, surfeiting in the excess of blessings, Call their abundance want. What could you wish, That is not fall'n upon you? honour, greatness, Respect, wealth, favour, the whole world for a dower; And with a princess, whose excelling form Exceeds her fortune. _Anton._ Yet poison still is poison, Though drunk in gold; and all these flattering glories To me, ready to starve, a painted banquet, And no essential food. When I am scorch'd With fire, can flames in any other quench me? What is her love to me, greatness, or empire, That am slave to another, who alone Can give me ease or freedom?