Comnenus. Truly they call it by my name, Comnenus. Eudocia. Then they miscall it.

Comnenus.

No, not altogether.

When things of evil aspect are to do,

The first cause is not named; but commonly
Some slight, remote, coöperative cause,
Whereto the people knit them soul and body,
Unknowing that which stirs them up to act,
Which is the mover's cause and not the multitude's.
The mover finds them reasons, they him hands.
Eudocia. Whence hath he then these reasons?

Comnenus.

Oh! they grow wild.

He is an arrant bungler in his work,
Whate'er it be, who is not stored with reasons.
Reasons there's nought in life so plentiful!
They are the most besetting snares of men
Who ought to act by instinct, did they but know
How far their nature, when not tamper'd with,
Their prostituted reason would transcend.

Eudocia. But how are you the cause?
Comnenus.

The multitude

Were ready for a cause-and there was I.
There's much sedition in the gastric juice
Gnawing the empty coats of poor men's stomachs.
Eudocia. This tells me nothing: prithee to the point.
Comnenus. What would you have?

Eudocia.

I'd have thee signify

What is our hope, what ought to be our aim,
What's to be fear'd, what to be done. . . .

Comnenus.

I never knew a woman placed in peril

Ay-true :

But must be doing something-dead despair,
Or fever'd action :-Muse, Eudocia,
Muse, meditate, and moralize like me.
That which I crave of thee is quietness.

Thou would'st intrust me with thy safety, Anna ?
Anna. Truly I would not trust you with your own,

So I could find you a more careful guard.

But as for mine I'd trust it with a foe.

Oh! it were easy, that;

Comnenus. Where would you find one? Anna. Foes are as plentiful as lukewarm friends. Eudocia. Why, Anna, can your tongue too play the

Censor!

Comnenus. My cousin, may you ne'er have cause to prove

The fervour of your friends.-Hark! there's the bell: Is it for vespers ?

Anna.

It is even-song time.

Comnenus. And you attend it ?-tell the Abbess, then, That I detain my sister-has she leave?

Eudocia. Ay, say so, cousin.

[Exit ANNA.

Comnenus. My time is short; but something must

be told

Which 'twere as well she heard not.

Why it is

I know not, (for the thing must come to her
As to all else in time), but I would not

Disclose to her-no, not a thousandth part―

The knowledge which to me, though loth to learn,
My dealings with this treacherous world have taught.
Eudocia. And what has happen'd now?

Comnenus.

From Theodora : I attended her,

A summons came

And found her ready to betray her father.
Eudocia. She is more passionate than politic,
Yet lacks not cunning: she has then despair'd
Of winning you by fairer means?

Comnenus.

And these

Have fail'd her likewise: I refused her suit.
Eudocia. But not her tidings?

Comnenus.

I refused them too.

It went against my nature to accept them.
I am prepared for whatsoe'er befalls,

Or shall be on the morn. Provision's made
Where it may be adventured here within.
To-morrow night, so that his purpose hold,
Alexius may be look'd for. You, from hence,

Can reach the shrine upon an instant's warning;
There wait in safety the result: if ill,

To thee, Eudocia, I need not say

How ruin should be met.

Eudocia.

If it be well,

Then no instructor will my brother need
How he should wear the diadem.

Comnenus.

Enough.

That's as it may fall out. My brows, in sooth,
Would rather bare them to the breath of heaven
Than be so gold-encircled: yet you say well,

I shall need no instructor.

I think I have said all.

It grows late.
Farewell, Eudocia.

It may be long ere we shall meet again,
Yet is it not for us to make long partings.
Eudocia. Stay, one word more—

I heard strange stories of a feast last night,
To which you bade your friends: it is not true?
Comnenus. It makes for me that it should pass for
true.

'Twas a Damoclean feast, and we sat down
In flowing robes with corslets underneath;
And I may say I ne'er saw graver guests
Met to carouse, save at the royal board,
Where memory evocates imperial deeds
Such as betray'd Britannicus of old.
Another such has waited me too long.

Be strong of heart-be like thyself.-Farewell.

[Exit.

Eudocia. And I could say to thee "Be strong of

heart,"

But that were needless, and "Be like thyself"
Were an injunction I would qualify.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

ACT II.

SCENE I.-The Palace of the Caesars.

NICEPHORUS.

Nicephorus. Priests are even all but kings, and would be kings,

But that the diadem disdains bald crowns.

That snake engendered amid Rome's green ruins,
The inheritor of Satan's pomp and pride,
At whose fierce hiss the royal Henry shook
An emperor excommunicate, and bow'd
His haughty spirit, after three days' fast,
To walk barefooted to Canusio's gates
Most abject in submission-that proud priest
Is imitated here: but I can spurn

Their interdicts, and call my crown my own,
Seeing their schism doth comminute their power.
Have I no servants ?-what! no slaves ?-not one?
Ho! Corius! Lazer!

Enter Attendant.

Comes not our reverend lord the patriarch yet?
Attendant. Not yet, my liege.

Nicephorus. Ha! what hast got beneath thine upper vest?

Here, here; 'tis steel!

Attendant.

The star you bade me wear.

Nicephorus. Ay, true-the star-thou hast deserved

it well.

The patriarch, as I think, is past his hour;

The moon should rise at eight, and we should see her, But that the horizon 's cloudy ;-yon 's her light.

Go look at the Persian water-clock; 't will tell
Within a trifle-What! thou hast been forth-
There's dust upon thy sandals! where hast been?
Attendant. You sent me for my lord the patriarch,
sire.

Nicephorus. Ay, true, 't was thou; thou art a trusty knave.

What's doing in the streets?

Attendant.

Sire, here and there

The people gather, and shout out the name
Of Count Comnenus, and reproach his house
For all the ills they suffer.

Nicephorus.

Why so let them.
What, saw'st thou nought of the other faction, ha?
Attendant. My liege, there's none can see them;
they're so few

And cowardly they dare not venture forth.
Nicephorus. Well let me know the hour.

[Exit Attendant.

There never was a kingdom but comprised
Some thousands of bold men who hate the king,
And in some kingdoms there are none who love him;
And of these thousands one life sacrificed

In killing of this king would quench the hate,

The smouldering hate which burns these bosoms black.
Now it is strange, that men hang, burn, and drown
For love, religion, pride, I know not what,-
Cast away life for very wantonness,-

Yet of these thousands you shall not find one
Will dare an instant death, and slay the king.
And through the lack of this one instrument,
Innocuous malice lies a coiled-up snake
Through life till toothless age. Now, I am one,
Not hated like some kings-my only haters
Are the suppress'd, who would have ris'n too high;
And they are
What's the matter?

Attendant.

Enter Attendant.

The Patriarch has arrived.

Please my liege,