_Val._ Your pity comes too late. Betwixt her guards she seemed by bride-men led, Her checks with chearful blushes were o'erspread; When, smiling, to the axe she bowed her head, Just, at the stroke, Ætherial music did her death prepare, Like joyful sounds of spousals in the air; A radiant light did her crown'd temples gild, And all the place with fragrant scents was filled; The balmy mist came thickening to the ground, And sacred silence covered all around. But when (its work performed) the cloud withdrew, And day restored us to each other's view, I sought her head, to bring it on my spear; In vain I sought it, for it was not there; No part remained; but, from afar, our sight Discovered in the air long tracts of light; Of charming notes we heard the last rebounds, And music dying in remoter sounds. _Max._ And dost thou think This lame account fit for a love-sick king? Go, from the other world a better bring. [_Kills him, then sets his foot on him, and speaks on._ When in my breast two mighty passions strove, Thou had'st erred better in obeying love. 'Tis true, that way thy death had followed too, But I had then been less displeased than now. Now I must live unquiet for thy sake; And this poor recompence is all I take. [_Spurns the body._ _Here the Scene opens, and discovers_ BERENICE _on a scaffold, the guards by her, and amongst them_ PORPHYRIUS _and_ ALBINUS, _like Moors, as all the guards are_. PLACIDIUS _enters, and whispers the Emperor whilst_ PORPHYRIUS _speaks_. _Por._ From Berenice I cannot go away, But, like a ghost, must near my treasure stay. _Alb._ Night and this shape secure them from their eyes. _Por._ Have courage then for our bold enterprize. Duty and faith no tie on me can have, Since I renounced those honours which he gave. _Max._ The time is come we did so long attend, [_To_ BER. Which must these discords of our marriage end. Yet Berenice, remember you have been An empress, and the wife of Maximin. _Ber._ I will remember I have been your wife; And therefore, dying, beg from heaven your life: Be all the discords of our bed forgot, Which, virtue witness, I did never spot. What errors I have made, though while I live You cannot pardon, to the dead forgive. _Max._ How much she is to piety inclined! Behead her, while she's in so good a mind. _Por._ Stand firm, Albinus; now the time is come To free the empress. _Alb._ And deliver Rome. _Por._ Within I feel my hot blood swell my heart, And generous trembling in each outward part. 'Tis done, tyrant, this is thy latest hour. [PORPHYRIUS _and_ ALBINUS _draw, and are making at the Emperor_.