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VALERIA.

From the high tower my ladies have descry'd

The dark spires redd'ning in their torches' light,
Whilst, like the hoarse waves of a distant sea,
Their mingled voices swell as they approach.

CONSTANTINE.

It is a storm that soon will be o'erblown:

I will oppose to them a fixed rock,
Which they may beat against but cannot shake.

VALERIA.

That is thyself.—O, no! thou shalt not go!

Yea, I am bold! misfortune mocks at state,
And strong affection scorns all reverence;
Therefore, before these lords, ev'n upon thee,
Thou eastern Cæsar, do I boldly lay
My woman's hand, and say, "thou shalt not go."

CONSTANTINE.

Thy woman's hand is stronger, sweet Valeria,

Than warrior's iron grasp,
But yet it may not hold me. Strong affection
Makes thee most fearful where no danger is.
Shall eastern Cæsar, like a timid hind
Scar'd from his watch, conceal his cowering head?
And does an empire's dame require it of him?