_Artem._ Sir, you show yourself Both courtier and soldier; but take heed, Take heed, my lord, though my dull-pointed beauty, Stain'd by a harsh refusal in my servant, Cannot dart forth such beams as may inflame you, You may encounter such a powerful one, That with a pleasing heat will thaw your heart, Though bound in ribs of ice. Love still is Love; His bow and arrows are the same: Great Julius, That to his successors left the name of Cæsar, Whom war could never tame, that with dry eyes Beheld the large plains of Pharsalia cover'd With the dead carcases of senators, And citizens of Rome; when the world knew No other lord but him, struck deep in years too, (And men gray-hair'd forget the loves of youth,) After all this, meeting fair Cleopatra, A suppliant too, the magic of her eye, Even in his pride of conquest, took him captive: Nor are you more secure. _Max._ Were you deform'd, (But, by the gods, you are most excellent,) Your gravity and discretion would o'ercome me; And I should be more proud in being prisoner To your fair virtues, than of all the honours, Wealth, title, empire, that my sword hath purchased. _Diocle._ This meets my wishes. Welcome it, Artemia, With outstretch'd arms, and study to forget That Antoninus ever was: thy fate Reserved thee for this better choice; embrace it. _Max._ This happy match brings new nerves to give strength To our continued league. _Diocle._ Hymen himself Will bless this marriage, which we'll solemnize In the presence of these kings. _K. of Pontus._ Who rest most happy, To be eye-witnesses of a match that brings Peace to the empire. Diocle. We much thank your loves: But where's Sapritius, our governor, And our most zealous provost, good Theophilus? If ever prince were blest in a true servant, Or could the gods be debtors to a man, Both they and we stand far engaged to cherish His piety and service. _Artem._ Sir, the governor Brooks sadly his son's loss, although he turn'd Apostata in death; but bold Theophilus, Who for the same cause, in my presence, seal'd His holy anger on his daughters' hearts; Having with tortures first tried to convert her, Dragg'd the bewitching Christian to the scaffold, And saw her lose her head. _Diocle._ He is all worthy: And from his own mouth I would gladly hear The manner how she suffer'd. _Artem._ 'Twill be deliver'd With such contempt and scorn, (I know his nature,) That rather 'twill beget your highness' laughter, Than the least pity. _Diocle._ To that end I would hear it. _Enter_ THEOPHILUS, SAPRITIUS, _and_ MACRINUS. _Artem._ He comes; with him the governor. _Diocle._ O, Sapritius, I am to chide you for your tenderness; But yet, remembering that you are a father, I will forget it. Good Theophilus, I'll speak with you anon.--Nearer, your ear. [_To_ SAPRITIUS.