The Project Gutenberg EBook of Old English Plays, Vol. I, by Various

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Title: Old English Plays, Vol. I
       A Collection of Old English Plays

Author: Various

Release Date: December 5, 2003 [EBook #10388]

Language: English

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A COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS, VOL. I

In Four Volumes


EDITED BY

A.H. BULLEN.


1882-1889



CONTENTS:

The Tragedy of Nero
The Mayde's Metamorphosis
The Martyr'd Souldier
The Noble Souldier




_PREFACE_.


Most of the Plays in the present Collection have not been reprinted,
and some have not been printed at all. In the second volume there will
be published for the first time a fine tragedy (hitherto quite unknown)
by Massinger and Fletcher, and a lively comedy (also quite unknown)
by James Shirley. The recovery of these two pieces should be of
considerable interest to all students of dramatic literature.

The Editor hopes to give in Vol. III. an unpublished play of Thomas
Heywood. In the fourth volume there will be a reprint of the _Arden of
Feversham_, from the excessively rare quarto of 1592.






INTRODUCTION TO THE _TRAGEDY OF NERO_.


Of the many irreparable losses sustained by classical literature few are
more to be deplored than the loss of the closing chapters of Tacitus'
_Annals_. Nero, it is true, is a far less complex character than
Tiberius; and there can be no question that Tacitus' sketch of Nero is
less elaborate than his study of the elder tyrant. Indeed, no historical
figure stands out for all time with features of such hideous vividness
as Tacitus' portrait of Tiberius; nowhere do we find emphasised with
such terrible earnestness, the stoical poet's anathema against tyrants
"Virtutem videant intabescantque relicta." Other writers would have
turned back sickened from the task of following Tiberius through mazes
of cruelty and craft. But Tacitus pursues his victim with the patience
of a sleuth-hound; he seems to find a ruthless satisfaction in stripping
the soul of its coverings; he treads the floor of hell and watches with
equanimity the writhings of the damned. The reader is at once strangely
attracted and repelled by the pages of Tacitus; there is a weird
fascination that holds him fast, as the glittering eye of the Ancient
Mariner held the Wedding Guest. It was owing partly, no doubt, to the
hideousness of the subject that the Elizabethan Dramatists shrank from
seeking materials in the _Annals_; but hardly the abominations of Nero
or Tiberius could daunt such daring spirits as Webster or Ford. Rather
we must impute their silence to the powerful mastery of Tacitus; it was
awe that held them from treading in the historian's steps. Ben Jonson
ventured on the enchanted ground; but not all the fine old poet's wealth
of classical learning, not his observance of the dramatic proprieties
nor his masculine intellect, could put life into the dead bones of
Sejanus or conjure up the muffled sinister figure of Tiberius. Where Ben
Jonson failed, the unknown author of the _Tragedy of Nero_ has, to some
extent, succeeded.

After reading the first few opening-lines the reader feels at once that
this forgotten old play is the work of no ordinary man. The brilliant
scornful figure of Petronius, a character admirably sustained
throughout, rivets his attention from the first. In the blank verse
there is the true dramatic ring, and the style is "full and heightened."
As we read on we have no cause for disappointment. The second scene
which shows us the citizens hurrying to witness the triumphant entry of
Nero, is vigorous and animated. Nero's boasting is pitched in just the
right key; bombast and eloquence are equally mixt. If he had been living
in our own day Nero might possibly have made an ephemeral name for
himself among the writers of the Sub-Swinburnian School. His longer
poems were, no doubt, nerveless and insipid, deserving the scornful
criticism of Tacitus and Persius; but the fragments preserved by Seneca
shew that he had some skill in polishing far-fetched conceits. Our
playwright has not fallen into the error of making Nero "out-Herod
Herod"; through the crazy raptures we see the ruins of a nobler nature.
Poppaea's arrowy sarcasms, her contemptuous impatience and adroit tact
are admirable. The fine irony of the following passage is certainly
noticeable:--

  "_Pop_. I prayse your witt, my Lord, that choose such safe
  Honors, safe spoyles, worm without dust or blood.

  _Nero_. What, mocke ye me, Poppaea.

  _Pop_. Nay, in good faith, my Lord, I speake in earnest:
  I hate that headie and adventurous crew
  That goe to loose their owne to purchase but
  The breath of others and the common voyce;
  Them that will loose their hearing for a sound,
  That by death onely seeke to get a living,
  Make skarres their beautie and count losse of Limmes
  The commendation of a proper man,
  And so goe halting to immortality,--
  Such fooles I love worse then they doe their lives."

It is indeed strange to find such lines as those in the work of an
unknown author. The verses gain strength as they advance, and the
diction is terse and keen. This one short extract would suffice to show
that the writer was a literary craftsman of a very high order.

In the fourth scene, where the conspirators are met, the writer's power
is no less strikingly shown. Here, if anywhere, his evil genius might
have led him astray; for no temptation is stronger than the desire to
indulge in rhetorical displays. Even the author of _Bothwell_, despite
his wonderful command of language, wearies us at times by his vehement
iteration. Our unknown playwright has guarded himself against this
fault; and, steeped as he was to the lips in classical learning, his
abstinence must have cost him some trouble. My notes will shew that he
had not confined himself to Tacitus, but had studied Suetonius and Dion
Cassius, Juvenal and Persius. He makes no parade of his learning, but we
see that he has lived among his characters, leaving no source of
information unexplored. The meeting of the conspirators is brought
before our eyes with wonderful vividness. Scevinus' opening speech glows
and rings with indignation. Seneca, in more temperate language, bewails
the fall of the high hopes that he had conceived of his former pupil,
finely moralizing that "High fortunes, like strong wines, do trie their
vessels." Some spirited lines are put into Lucan's mouth:--

    "But to throw downe the walls and Gates of Rome
    To make an entrance for an Hobby-horse;
    To vaunt to th'people his ridiculous spoyles;
    To come with Lawrell and with Olyves crown'd
    For having been the worst of all the singers,
    Is beyond Patience!"

In another passage the grandiloquence and the vanity of the poet of the
_Pharsalia_ are well depicted.

The second act opens with Antonius' suit to Poppaea, which is full of
passion and poetry, but is not allowed to usurp too much room in the
progress of the play. Then, in fine contrast to the grovelling servility
of the Emperor's creatures, we see the erect figure of the grand stoic
philosopher, Persius' tutor, Cornutus, whose free-spokenness procures
him banishment. Afterwards follows a second conference of the
conspirators, in which scene the author has followed closely in the
steps of Tacitus.

One of the most life-like passages in the play is at the beginning of
the third act, where Nimphidius describes to Poppaea how the weary
audience were imprisoned in the theatre during Nero's performance, with
guards stationed at the doors, and spies on all sides scanning each
man's face to note down every smile or frown. Our author draws largely
upon Tacitus and the highly-coloured account of Suetonius; but he has,
besides, a telling way of his own, and some of his lines are very happy.
Poppaea's wit bites shrewdly; and even Nimphidius' wicked breast must
have been chilled at such bitter jesting as:--

    "How did our Princely husband act _Orestes_?
    Did he not wish againe his Mother living?
    _Her death would add great life unto his part_."

As Nero approaches his crowning act of wickedness, the burning of Rome,
his words assume a grim intensity. The invocation to the severe powers
is the language of a man at strife at once with the whole world and
himself. In the representation of the burning of Rome it will perhaps be
thought that the author hardly rises to the height of his theme. The
Vergilian simile put into the mouth of Antonius is distinctly misplaced;
but as our author so seldom offends in this respect he may be pardoned
for the nonce. It may seem a somewhat crude treatment to introduce a
mother mourning for her burnt child, and a son weeping over the body of
his father; but the naturalness of the language and the absence of
extravagance must be commended. Some of the lines have the ring of
genuine pathos, as here:--

    "Where are thy counsels, where thy good examples?
    _And that kind roughness of a Father's anger_?"

The scene immediately preceding contains the noble speech of Petronius
quoted by Charles Lamb in the _Specimens_. In a space of twenty lines
the author has concentrated a world of wisdom. One knows not whether to
admire more the justness of the thought or the exquisite finish of the
diction. Few finer things have been said on the _raison d'etre_ of
tragedy from the time when Aristotle in the _Poetics_ formulated his
memorable dictum. The admirable rhythmical flow should be noted. There
is a rare suppleness and strength in the verses; we could not put one
line before another without destroying the effect of the whole; no verse
stands out obstinately from its fellows, but all are knit firmly, yet
lightly, together: and a line of magnificent strength fitly closes a
magnificent passage. Hardly a sonnet of Shakespeare or Mr. Rossetti
could be more perfect.

At the beginning of the fourth act, when the freedman Milichus discloses
Piso's conspiracy, Nero's trepidation is well depicted. It is curious
that among the conspirators the author should not have introduced the
dauntless woman, Epicharis, who refused under the most cruel tortures to
betray the names of her accomplices, and after biting out her tongue
died from the sufferings that she had endured on the rack. "There," as
mad Hieronymo said, "you could show a passion." Even Tacitus, who
upbraids the other conspirators with pusillanimity, marks his admiration
of this noble woman. No reader will quarrel with the playwright if he
has thought fit to paint the conspirators in brighter colours than the
historian had done. When Scevinus is speaking we seem to be listening to
the voice of Shakespeare's Cassius: witness the exhortation to Piso,--

    "O _Piso_ thinke,
    Thinke on that day when in the _Parthian_ fields
    Thou cryedst to th'flying Legions to turne
    And looke Death in the face; he was not grim,
    But faire and lovely when he came in armes."

The character of Piso, for whom Tacitus shows such undisguised contempt,
is drawn with kindliness and sympathy. Seneca, too, who meets with
grudging praise from the stern historian, stands out ennobled in the
play. His bearing in the presence of death is admirably dignified; and
the polite philosopher, whose words were so faultless and whose deeds
were so faulty, could hardly have improved upon the chaste diction of
the farewell address assigned him by the playwright.

While Seneca's grave wise words are still ringing in our ears we are
called to watch a leave-taking of a different kind. No reader of the
_Annals_ can ever forget the strange description of the end of
Petronius;--how the man whose whole life had "gone, like a revel, by"
neither faltered, when he heard his doom pronounced, nor changed a whit
his wonted gaiety; but dying, as he had lived, in abandoned luxury, sent
under seal to the emperor, in lieu of flatteries, the unblushing record
of their common vices. The obscure playwright is no less impressive than
the world-renowned historian. While Antonius and Enanthe are picturing
to themselves the consternation into which Petronius will be thrown by
the emperor's edict, the object of their commiseration presents himself.
Briefly dismissing the centurion, he turns with kindling cheek to his
scared mistress--"Come, let us drink and dash the posts with wine!"
Then he discourses on the blessings of death; he begins in a
semi-ironical vein, but soon, forgetful of his auditors, is borne away
on the wings of ecstacy. The intense realism of the writing is
appalling. He speaks as a "prophet new inspired," and we listen in
wonderment and awe. The language is amazingly strong and rich, and the
imagination gorgeous.

At the beginning of the fifth act comes the news of the rising of Julius
Vindex. Like a true coward Nero makes light of the distant danger; but
when the rumours fly thick and fast he gives way to womanish
passionateness, idly upbraiding the gods instead of consulting for his
own safety. His despair and terror when he perceives the inevitable doom
are powerfully rendered. The fear of the after-world makes him long for
annihilation; his imagination presents to him "the furies arm'd with
linkes, with whippes, with snakes," and he dreads to meet his mother and
those "troopes of slaughtered friends" before the tribunal of the Judge

    "That will not leave unto authoritie,
    Nor favour the oppressions of the great."

But, fine as it undoubtedly is, the closing scene of the play bears no
comparison with the pathetic narrative of Suetonius. Riding out,
muffled, from Rome amid thunder and lightning, attended but by four
followers, the doomed emperor hears from the neighbouring camp the
shouts of the soldiers cursing the name of Nero and calling down
blessings on Galba. Passing some wayfarers on the road, he hears one of
them whisper, "Hi Neronem persequuntur;" and another asks, "Ecquid in
urbe novi de Nerone?" Further on his horse takes fright, terrified by
the stench from a corpse that lay in the road-side: in the confusion the
emperor's face is uncovered, and at that moment he is recognized and
saluted by a Praetorian soldier who is riding towards the City. Reaching
a by-path, they dismount and make their way hardly through reeds and
thickets. When his attendant, Phaon, urged him to conceal himself in a
sandpit, Nero "negavit se vivum sub terram iturum;" but soon, creeping
on hands and knees into a cavern's mouth, he spread a tattered coverlet
over himself and lay down to rest. And now the pangs of hunger and
thirst racked him; but he refused the coarse bread that his attendants
offered, only taking a draught of warm water. Then he bade his
attendants dig his grave and get faggots and fire, that his body might
be saved from indignities; and while these preparations were being made
he kept moaning "qualis artifex pereo!" Presently comes a messenger
bringing news that Nero had been adjudged an "enemy" by the senate and
sentenced to be punished "more majorum." Enquiring the nature of the
punishment, and learning that it consisted in fastening the criminal's
neck to a fork and scourging him, naked, to death, the wretched emperor
hastily snatched a pair of daggers and tried the edges; but his courage
failed him and he put them by, saying that "not yet was the fatal moment
at hand." At one time he begged some one of his attendants to show him
an example of fortitude by dying first; at another he chid himself for
his own irresolution, exclaiming: [Greek: "ou prepei Neroni, ou
prepei--naephein dei en tois toioutois--age, egeire seauton."] But now
were heard approaching the horsemen who had been commissioned to bring
back the emperor alive. The time for wavering was over: hurriedly
ejaculating the line of Homer,

    [Greek: "Hippon m'okypodon amphi ktypos ouata ballei,"]

he drove the steel into his throat. To the centurion, who pretended that
he had come to his aid and who vainly tried to stanch the wound, he
replied "_Sero_, et _Haec est fides_!" and expired.

Such is the tragic tale of horror told by Suetonius. Nero's last words
in the play "O _Rome_, farewell," &c., seem very poor to "_Sero_ et _Haec
est fides_"; but, if the playwright was young and inexperienced, we can
hardly wonder that his strength failed him at this supreme moment.
Surely the wonder should rather be that we find so many noble passages
throughout this anonymous play. Who the writer may have been I dare not
conjecture. In his fine rhetorical power he resembles Chapman; but he
had a far truer dramatic gift than that great but chaotic writer. He is
never tiresome as Chapman is, who, when he has said a fine thing, seems
often to set himself to undo the effect. His gorgeous imagination and
his daring remind us of Marlowe; the leave-taking of Petronius is
certainly worthy of Marlowe. He is like Marlowe, too, in another
way,--he has no comic power and (wiser, in this respect, than Ford) is
aware of his deficiency. We find in _Nero_ none of those touches of
swift subtle pathos that dazzle us in the _Duchess of Malfy_; but we
find strokes of sarcasm no less keen and trenchant. Sometimes in the
ring of the verse and in turns of expression, we seem to catch
Shakespearian echoes; as here--

    "Staid men suspect their wisedome or their faith,
    To whom our counsels we have not reveald;
    And while (our party seeking to disgrace)
    They traitors call us, each man treason praiseth
    _And hateth faith, when Piso is a traitor_." (iv. i);

or here--

    "'Cause you were lovely therefore did I love:
    O, if to Love you anger you so much,
    You should not have such cheekes nor lips to touch:
    You should not have your snow nor curral spy'd;--
    _If you but look on us, in vain you chide:
    We must not see your Face, nor heare your speech:
    Now, while you Love forbid, you Love doe teach_."

I am inclined to think that the tragedy of _Nero_ was the first and last
attempt of some young student, steeped in classical learning and
attracted by the strange fascination of the _Annals_,--of one who,
failing to gain a hearing at first, never courted the breath of
popularity again; just as the author of _Joseph and his Brethren_, when
his noble poem fell still-born from the press, turned contemptuously
away and preserved thenceforward an unbroken silence. It should be
noticed that the 4to. of 1633 is not really a new edition; it is merely
the 4to. of 1624, with a new title-page. In a copy bearing the later
date I found a few unimportant differences of reading; but no student of
the Elizabethan drama needs to be reminded that _variae lectiones_ not
uncommonly occur in copies of the same edition. The words "newly written"
on the title-page are meant to distinguish the _Tragedy of Nero_ from
the wretched _Tragedy of Claudius Tiberius Nero_ published in 1607.

But now I will bring my remarks to a close. It has been at once a pride
and a pleasure to me to rescue this fine old play from undeserved
oblivion. There is but one living poet whose genius could treat worthily
the tragical story of Nero's life and death. In his three noble sonnets,
"The Emperor's Progress," Mr. Swinburne shows that he has pondered the
subject deeply: if ever he should give us a Tragedy of Nero, we may be
sure that one more deathless contribution would be added to our dramatic
literature.




_Addenda_ and _Corrigenda_.


After _Nero_ had been printed I found among the Egerton MSS. (No. 1994),
in the British Museum, a transcript in a contemporary hand. The precious
folio to which it belongs contains fifteen plays: of these some will be
printed entire in Vols. II and III, and a full account of the other
pieces will be given in an appendix to Vol. II. The transcript of _Nero_
is not by any means so accurate as the printed copy; and sometimes we
meet with the most ridiculous mistakes. For instance, on p. 82 for
"Beauties sweet _Scarres_" the MS. gives "Starres"; on p. 19 for "Nisa"
("not _Bacchus_ drawn from _Nisa_") we find "Nilus"; and in the line
"Nor us, though _Romane, Lais_ will refuse" (p. 81) the MS. pointlessly
reads "Ladies will refuse." On the other hand, many of the readings are
a distinct improvement, and I am glad to find some of my own emendations
confirmed. But let us start _ab initio_:--

p. 13, l. 4. 4to. Imperiall tytles; MS. Imperial stuffe.

p. 14, l. 3. 4to. small grace; MS. sale grace.--The allusion in the
following line to the notorious "dark lights" makes the MS. reading
certain.--Lower down for "and other of thy blindnesses" the MS. gives
"another": neither reading is intelligible.

p. 17, l. 5. MS. rightly gives "_cleave_ the ayre."

p. 30, l. 2. "Fatu[m']st in partibus illis || Quas sinus abscondit.
Petron."--added in margin of MS.

p. 31, l. 17. 4to. _or_ bruised in my fall; MS. _I_ bruised in my
fall!

p. 32, l. 4. 4to. Shoulder pack't Peleus; MS. Shoulder peac'd. The
MS. confirms my emendation "shoulder-piec'd."

p. 32, l. 13. 4to. shoutes and noyse; MS. shoutes and triumphs.--From
this point to p. 39 (last line but one) the MS. is defective.

p. 40, l. 8. 4to. _our_ visitation; MS. _or_ visitation.

p. 42, l. 11. 4to. others; MS. ours.

p. 46, l. 22. 4to. Wracke out; MS. wreake not.

p. 47, l. 17. 4to. Toth' the point of _Agrippa_; MS. tooth'
prince [sic] of Agrippinas.

p. 54, l. 2. 4to. _Pleides_ burnes; _Jupiter Saturne_ burnes; MS.
_Alcides_ burnes, _Jupiter Stator_ burnes.

p. 54, l. 23. 4to. thee gets; in MS. _gets_ has been corrected, by
a different hand, into _Getes_.

p. 54, l. 26. 4to. the most condemned; MS. the ------ condemned:
a blank is unfortunately left in the MS.

p. 56, l. 20. 4to. writhes; MS. wreathes.

p. 59, l. 1. MS. I now command the souldyer _of the_ Cyttie.

p. 61, l. 13. The MS. preserves the three following lines, not found in
the printed copy--

    "High spirits soaring still at great attempts,
    And such whose wisdomes, to their other wrongs,
    Distaste the basenesse of the government."

p. 62, l. 15. 4to. are we; MS. arowe.

p. 66, l. 4 "Sed quis custodiet ipsos || Custodes. Juvenal"--noted in
margin of MS.

p. 68, l. 15. 4to. Galley-asses? MS. gallowses.

p. 69, l. 1. The MS. makes the difficulty even greater by reading--

    "Silver colour [sic] on the _Medaean_ fields
    Not _Tiber_ colour."

p. 75, l. 2. 4to. One that in whispering oreheard; MS. one that this
fellow whispring I oreharde.

p. 78, l. 22. 4to. from whence _it_ first let down; MS. from whence _at_
first let down.

p. 80. In note (1) for "Eilius Italicus" read "Silius Italicus."

p. 127. In note (2) for "_Henry IV_" read _I Henry IV_.

p. 182, l. 6. Dele [?]. The sense is quite plain if we remember that
soldiers degraded on account of misconduct were made "pioners": vid.
commentators on _Othello_, iii. 3. Hence "pioner" is used for "the
meanest, most ignorant soldier."

p. 228. In note (2) for "earlle good wine" read "Earlle good-wine."

p. 236. In note (2) after "[Greek: _staphis_] and" add "[Greek:
_agria_]."

p. 255. The lines "To the reader of this Play" are also found at the end
of T. Heywood's "Royal King and Loyal Subject."

p. 257, l. 1. I find (on turning to Mr. Arbor's _Transcript_) that the
_Noble Spanish Souldier_ had been previously entered on the Stationers'
Registers (16 May, 1631), by John Jackman, as a work of Dekker's. Since
the sheets have been passing through the press, I have become convinced
that Dekker's share was more considerable than I was willing to allow in
the prefatory _Note_.

p. 276. Note (2) is misleading; the reading of the 4to "flye-boat" is no
doubt right. "Fly-boat" comes from Span. filibote, flibote--a
fast-sailing vessel. The Dons hastily steer clear of the rude soldier.

p. 294. In note (1) for "Bayford ballads" read "Bagford Ballads."




THE TRAGEDY OF NERO,


_Newly Written_.


Imprinted at _London_ by _Augustine Mathewes_, and _John Norton_, for
_Thomas Jones_, and are to bee sold at the blacke Raven in the Strand,
1624.




The Tragedie of Nero.



_Actus Primus_.


    Enter _Petronius Arbyter, Antonius Honoratus_.

_Petron_. Tush, take the wench
I showed thee now, or else some other seeke.
What? can your choler no way be allayed
But with Imperiall tytles?
Will you more tytles[1] unto _Caesar_ give?

_Anto_. Great are thy fortunes _Nero_, great thy power,
Thy Empyre lymited with natures bounds;
Upon thy ground the Sunne doth set and ryse;
The day and night are thine,
Nor can the Planets, wander where they will,
See that proud earth that feares not _Caesars_ name.
Yet nothing of all this I envy thee;
But her, to whom the world unforst obayes,
Whose eye's more worth then all it lookes upon;
In whom all beautyes Nature hath enclos'd
That through the wide Earth or Heaven are dispos'd.

_Petron_. Indeed she steales and robs each part o'th world
With borrowed beauties to enflame thine eye:
The Sea, to fetch her Pearle, is div'd into;
The Diomond rocks are cut to make her shine;
To plume her pryde the Birds do naked sing:
When my Enanthe, in a homely gowne--

_Anto_. Homely, I faith.

_Petron_.                I, homely in her gowne,
But looke vpon her face and that's set out
With no small grace; no vayled shadowes helpe.
Foole! that hadst rather with false lights and darke
Beguiled be then see the ware thou buyest.

    _Poppea_ royally attended, and passe over the Stage in State.

_Anto_. Great Queene[2], whom Nature made to be her glory,
Fortune got eies and came to be thy servant,
Honour is proud to be thy tytle; though
Thy beauties doe draw up my soule, yet still
So bright, so glorious is thy Maiestie
That it beates downe againe my clyming thoughts.

_Petron_. Why, true;
And other of thy blindnesses thou seest[?]
Such one to love thou dar'st not speake unto.
Give me a wench that will be easily had
Not woed with cost, and being sent for comes:
And when I have her foulded in mine armes
Then _Cleopatra_ she, or _Lucres_ is;
Ile give her any title.

_Anto_. Yet not so much her greatnesse and estate
My hopes disharten as her chastitie.

_Petron_. Chastitie! foole! a word not knowne in Courts.
Well may it lodge in meane and countrey homes
Where povertie and labour keepes them downe,
Short sleepes and hands made hard with _Thuscan_ Woll,
But never comes to great mens Pallaces
Where ease and riches stirring thoughts beget,
Provoking meates and surfet wines inflame;
Where all there setting forth's but to be wooed,
And wooed they would not be but to be wonne.
Will one man serve _Poppea_? nay, thou shalt
Make her as soone contented with an [one?] eye.

    _Nimphidius_ to them.

_Nimph_. Whil'st _Nero_ in the streetes his Pageants shewes
I to his fair wives chambers sent for am.
You gracious Starres that smiled on my birth,
And thou bright Starre more powerful then them all,
Whose favouring smiles have made me what I am,
Thou shalt my God, my Fate and fortune be.
                                          [Ex. _Nimph_.

_Anto_. How sausely yon fellow
Enters the Empresse Chamber.

_Petron_. I, and her too, _Antonius_, knowest thou him?

_Anto_. What? knowe the only favorite of the Court?
Indeed, not many dayes ago thou mightest
Have not unlawfully askt that question.

_Petron_. Why is he rais'd?[3]

_Anto_. That have I sought in him
But never peece of good desert could find.
He is _Nimphidia's_ sonne, the free'd woman,
Which basenesse to shake off he nothing hath
But his own pride?

_Petron_. You remember when _Gallus, Celsus_,
And others too, though now forgotten, were
Great in _Poppeas_ eyes?

_Anton_. I doe, and did interpret it in them
An honorable favor she bare vertue.
Or parts like vertue.

_Petron_. The cause is one of theirs and this man's Grace.
I once was great in wavering smiles of Court;
I fell, because I knew. Since have I given
My time to my owne pleasures, and would now
Advise thee, too, to meane and safe delights:
The thigh's as soft the sheepes back covereth
As that with crimson and with Gold adorn'd.
Yet, cause I see that thy restraind desires
Cannot their owne way choose, come thou with me;
Perhaps He shew thee means of remedie.

                                      [_Exeunt_.



(SCENE 2.)


1 _Rom_. Whither so fast, man? Whither so fast?

2 _Rom_. Whither but where your eares do lead you?
To _Neros_ Triumphs and the shouts you heare.

1 _Rom_ Why? comes he crown'd with _Parthian_ overthrow
And brings he _Volegesus_ with him chain'd?

2 _Rom_. _Parthian_ overthrowne! why he comes crownd
For victories which never Roman wonne;
For having Greece in her owne arts overthrowne,
In Singing, Dauncing, Horse-rase, Stage-playing.
Never, O Rome had never such a Prince.

1 _Rom_. Yet, I have heard, our ancestors were crown'd
For other Victories.

2 _Rom_. None of our ancestors were ere like him.

                     _Within: Nero, Apollo, Nero, Hercules_![4]

1 _Rom_. Harke how th'applauding shouts doe cleave the ayre,[5]
This idle talke will make me loose the sight.

    Two _Romans_ more to them.

3 _Rom_. Whither goe you? alls done i'th Capytall,
And _Nero_, having there his tables hung
And Garlands up, is to the Pallace gone.
'Twas beyond wonder; I shall never see,
Nay, I never looke to see the like againe:
Eighteen hundred and eight Crownes
For severall victories, and the place set downe
Where, and in what, and whom he overcame.

4 _Rom_. That was set down ith' tables that were borne
Upon the Souldiers speares.

1 _Rom_. O made, and sometimes use[d] for other Ends!

2 _Rom_. But did he winne them all with singing?

3 _Rom_. Faith, all with singing and with stage-playing.

1 _Rom_. So many Crowns got with a song!

4 _Rom_. But did you marke the Greek Musitians
Behind his Chariot, hanging downe their heads,
Sham'd and overcome in their professions?
O Rome was never honour'd so before.

3 _Rom_. But what was he that rode ith' Chariot with him?

4 _Rom_. That was _Diodorus_ the Mynstrill that he favours.

3 _Rom_. Was there ever such a Prince!

2 _Rom_. O _Nero Augustus_, the true _Augustus!_

3 _Rom_. Nay, had you seen him as he rode along
With an _Olimpicke_ Crowne upon his head
And with a _Pythian_ on his arme, you would have thought,
Looking on one, he had _Apollo_ seem'd,
On th'other, _Hercules_.

2 _Rom_. I have heard my father oft repeat the Triumphs
Which in _Augustus Caesars_ tymes were showne
Upon his Victorie ore the _Illirians_;
But it seemes it was not like to this.

3 & 4 _Rom_. Push,[6] it could not be like this.

2, 3 & 4 _Rom_. O _Nero, Appollo, Nero, Hercules!

                            [Exeunt 2, 3 & 4 Rom.

    Manet Primus_.

1 _Rom_. Whether _Augustus_ Triumph greater was
I cannot tell; his Triumphs cause, I know,
Was greater farre and farre more Honourable.
What are wee People, or our flattering voyces
That always shame and foolish things applaud,
Having no sparke of Soule? All eares and eyes,
Pleased with vaine showes, deluded by our sences,
Still enemies to wisedome and to goodnesse.
                                       [_Exit_.



(SCENE 3.)


    Enter _Nero, Poppea, Nimphidius, Epaphroditus,
    Neophilus_ and others.

_Nero_. Now, fayre _Poppea_, see thy Nero shine
In bright _Achaias_ spoyles and Rome in him.
The _Capitall_ hath other Trophies seene
Then it was wont; not spoyles with blood bedew'd
Or the unhappy obsequies of Death,
But such as _Caesars_ cunning, not his force,
Hath wrung from _Greece_ too bragging of her art.

_Tigell_. And in this strife the glories all your owne,
Your tribunes cannot share this prayse with you;
Here your _Centurions_ hath no part at all,
Bootless your Armies and your Eagles were;
No Navies helpt to bring away this conquest.

_Nimph_. Even Fortunes selfe, Fortune the Queene of Kingdomes,
That Warrs grim valour graceth with her deeds,
Will claime no portion in this Victorie.

_Nero_. Not _Bacchus_[7] drawn from Nisa downe with Tigers,
Curbing with viny rains their wilful heads
Whilst some doe gape upon his Ivy Thirse,
Some on the dangling grapes that crowne his head,
All praise his beautie and continuing youth;
So strooke amased India with wonder
As _Neroes_ glories did the Greekish townes,
_Elis_ and _Pisa_ and the rich _Micenae,
Junonian Argos_ and yet _Corinth_ proud
Of her two Seas; all which ore-come did yeeld
To me their praise and prises of their games.

_Poppea_. Yet in your _Greekish_ iourney, we do heare,
_Sparta_ and _Athens_, the two eyes of _Greece_,
Neither beheld your person or your skill;
Whether because they did afford no games
Or for their too much gravitie.

_Nero_.                         Why, what
Should I have seene in them? but in the one
Hunger, black pottage and men hot to die
Thereby to rid themselves of misery:
And what in th'other? but short Capes, long Beards;
Much wrangling in things needlesse to be knowne,
Wisedome in words and onely austere faces.
I will not be Aieceleaus nor Solon.
Nero was there where he might honour win;
And honour hath he wonn and brought from _Greece_
Those spoyles which never Roman could obtaine,
Spoyles won by witt and _Tropheis_ of his skill.

_Nimph_. What a thing he makes it to be a Minstrill!

_Poppea_. I prayse your witt, my Lord, that choose such safe
Honors, safe spoyles, won without dust or blood.

_Nero_. What, mock ye me, _Poppea_?

_Poppea_. Nay, in good faith, my Lord, I speake in earnest:
I hate that headie and adventurous crew
That goe to loose their owne to purchase but
The breath of others and the common voyce;
Them that will loose their hearing for a sound,
That by death onely seeke to get a living,
Make skarrs there beautie and count losse of Limmes
The commendation of a proper man,
And soe goe halting to immortality--
Such fooles I love worse then they doe their lives.

_Nero_. But now, _Poppea_, having laid apart
Our boastfull spoyles and ornaments of Triumph,
Come we like _Jove_ from _Phlegra_--

_Poppea_. O Giantlike comparison!

_Nero_. When after all his Fiers and wandering darts
He comes to bath himselfe in _Juno's_ eyes.
But thou, then wrangling _Juno_ farre more fayre,
Stayning the evening beautie of the Skie
Or the dayes brightnesse, shall make glad thy _Caesar_,
Shalt make him proud such beauties to Inioy.
                                        [_Exeunt_.

    _Manet Nimphidius solus_.

_Nimph_. Such beauties to inioy were happinesse
And a reward sufficient in itselfe,
Although no other end or hopes were aim'd at;
But I have other: tis not _Poppeas_ armes
Nor the short pleasures of a wanton bed
That can extinguish mine aspiring thirst
To _Neroes_ Crowne. By her love I must climbe,
Her bed is but a step unto his Throne.
Already wise men laugh at him and hate him;
The people, though his Mynstrelsie doth please them,
They feare his cruelty, hate his exactions,
Which his need still must force him to encrease;
The multitude, which cannot one thing long
Like or dislike, being cloy'd with vanitie
Will hate their own delights; though wisedome doe not
Even wearinesse at length will give them eyes.
Thus I, by _Neroes_ and _Poppeas_ favour
Rais'd to the envious height of second place,
May gaine the first. Hate must strike Nero downe,
Love make _Nimphidius_ way unto a Crowne.

                                     [_Exit_.



(SCENE 4.)


    _Enter Seneca, Scevinus, Lucan and Flavius_.

_Scevin_. His first beginning was his Fathers death;
His brothers poysoning and wives bloudy end
Came next; his mothers murther clos'd up all.
Yet hitherto he was but wicked, when
The guilt of greater evills tooke away the shame
Of lesser, and did headlong thrust him forth
To be the scorne and laughter to the world.
Then first an Emperour came upon the stage
And sung to please Carmen and Candle-sellers,
And learnt to act, to daunce, to be a Fencer,
And in despight o'the Maiestie of Princes
He fell to wrastling and was soyl'd with dust
And tumbled on the earth with servile hands.

_Seneca_. He sometimes trayned was in better studies
And had a child-hood promis'd other hopes:
High fortunes like stronge wines do trie their vessels.
Was not the Race and Theatre bigge enough
To have inclos'd thy follies heere at home?
O could not _Rome_ and _Italie_ containe
Thy shame, but thou must crosse the seas to shewe it?

_Scevin_. And make them that had wont to see our Consuls,
With conquering Eagles waving in the field,
Instead of that behold an Emperor dauncing,
Playing oth' stage and what else but to name
Were infamie.

_Lucan_.       O _Mummius_, O _Flaminius_,
You whom your vertues have not made more famous
Than _Neros_ vices, you went ore to Greece
But t'other warres, and brought home other conquests;
You _Corinth_ and _Micaena_ overthrew,
And _Perseus_ selfe, the great _Achilles_ race,
Orecame; having _Minervas_ stayned Temples
And your slayne Ancestors of Troy reveng'd.

_Seneca_. They strove with Kings and Kinglike adversaries,
Were even in their Enemies made happie;
The _Macedonian_ Courage tryed of old
And the new greatnesse of the _Syrian_ power:
But he for _Phillip_ and _Antiochus_
Hath found more easie enemies to deale with--
_Terpnus_,[8] _Pammenes_,[9] and a rout of Fidlers.

_Scevin_. Why, all the begging Mynstrills by the way
He tooke along with him and forc'd to strive
That he might overcome, Imagining
Himselfe Immortall by such victories.

_Flav_. The Men he carried over were enough
T'have put the Parthian to his second flight
Or the proud Indian taught the Roman Yoke.

_Scevin_. But they were _Neroes_ men, like _Nero_ arm'd
With Lutes and Harps and Pipes and Fiddle-cases,
Souldyers to th'shadow traynd and not the field.

_Flav_. Therefore they brought spoyles of such Soldyers worthy.

_Lucan_. But to throw downe the walls[10] and Gates of Rome
To make an entrance for an Hobby-horse;
To vaunt to th'people his rediculous spoyles;
To come with Lawrell and with Olyves crown'd
For having beene the worst of all the Singers,
Is beyond Patience.

_Scevin_.           I, and anger too.
Had you but seene him in his Chariot ryde,
That Chariot in which _Augustus_ late
His Triumphs ore so many Nations shew'd,
And with him in the same a Minstrell plac'd
The whil'st the people, running by his side,
'_Hayle thou Olimpick Conqueror_' did cry,
'_O haile thou Pithian_!' and did fill the sky
With shame and voices Heaven would not have heard.

_Seneca_. I saw't, but turn'd away my eyes and eares,
Angry they should be privie to such sights.
Why do I stand relating of the storie
Which in the doing had enough to grieve me?
Tell on and end the tale, you whom it pleaseth;
Mee mine own sorrow stops from further speaking.
_Nero_, my love doth make thy fault and my griefe greater.
                                                    [_Ex. Sen_.

_Scevin_. I doe commend in Seneca this passion;
And yet me thinkes our Countries miserie
Doth at our hands crave somewhat more then teares.

_Lucan_. Pittie, though't doth a kind affection show,
If it end there, our weaknesse makes us know.

_Flav_. Let children weepe and men seeke remedie.

_Scevin_. Stoutly, and like a soldier, _Flavius_;
Yet to seeke remedie to a Princes ill
Seldome but it doth the Phisitian kill.

_Flav_. And if it doe, _Scevinus_, it shall take
But a devoted soule from _Flavius_,
Which to my Countrey and the Gods of Rome
Alreadie sacred is and given away.
Deathe is no stranger unto me, I have
The doubtfull hazard in twelve Battailes throwne;
My chaunce was life.

_Lucan_. Why doe we go to fight in Brittanie
And end our lives under another Sunne?
Seeke causelesse dangers out? The German might
Enioy his Woods and his owne Allis drinke,
Yet we walke safely in the streets of Rome;
_Bonduca_ hinders not but we might live,
Whom we do hurt. Them we call enemies,
And those our Lords that spoyle and murder us.

_Scevin_. Nothing is hard to them that dare to die.
This nobler resolution in you, Lords,
Heartens me to disclose some thoughts that I--
The matter is of waight and dangerous.

_Lucan_. I see you feare us _Scaevinus_.[11]

_Scevin_. Nay, nay, although the thing be full of feare.

_Flav_. Tell it to faithfull Eares what eare it bee.

_Scevin_. Faith, let it goe, it will but trouble us,
Be hurtfull to the speaker and the hearer.

_Lucan_. If our long friendship or the opinion--

_Scevin_. Why should I feare to tell them?
Why, is he not a Parricide a Player?
Nay, _Lucan_, is he not thine Enemie?
Hate not the Heavens as well as men to see
That condemn'd head? And you, O righteous Gods,
Whither so ere you now are fled and will
No more looke downe upon th'oppressed Earth;
O severe anger of the highest Gods
And thou, sterne power to whom the Greekes assigne
Scourges and swords to punish proud mens wrongs,
If you be more then names found out to awe us
And that we doe not vainely build you alters,
Aid that iust arme that's bent to execute
What you should doe.

_Lucan_. Stay, y'are carried too much away, _Scevinus_.

_Scevin_. Why, what will you say for him? hath[12] he not
Sought to suppresse your Poem, to bereave
That honour every tongue in duty paid it.
Nay, what can you say for him, hath he not
Broacht his owne wives (a chast wives) breast and torne
With Scithian hands his Mothers bowels up?
The inhospitable _Caucasus_ is milde;
The More, that in the boyling desert seekes
With blood of strangers to imbrue his iawes,
Upbraides the Roman now with barbarousnesse.

_Lucan_. You are to earnest:
I neither can nor will I speake for him;
And though he sought my learned paynes to wrong
I hate him not for that; My verse shall live
When _Neroes_ body shall be throwne in Tiber,
And times to come shall blesse those[13] wicked armes.
I love th'unnatural wounds from whence did flow
Another Cirrha,[14] a new Hellicon.
I hate him that he is Romes enemie,
An enemie to Vertue; sits on high
To shame the seate: and in that hate my life
And blood I'le mingle on the earth with yours.

_Flav_. My deeds, _Scevinus_, shall speake my consent,

_Scevin_. Tis answerd as I lookt for, Noble Poet,
Worthy the double Lawrell. Flavius,
Good lucke, I see, doth vertuous meanings ayde,
And therefore have the Heavens forborne their duties
To grace our swords with glorious blood of Tyrants.

                                             [_Exeunt_.

_Finis Actus Primi_.




_Actus Secundus_.


    _Enter Petronius solus_.

Here waites _Poppea_ her _Nimphidius_ comming
And hath this garden and these walkes chose out
To blesse her with more pleasures then their owne.
Not only Arras hangings and silke beds[15]
Are guilty of the faults we blame them for:
Somewhat these arbors and you trees doe know
Whil'st your kind shades you to these night sports show.
Night sports? Faith, they are done in open day
And the Sunne see'th and envieth their play.
Hither have I Love-sicke _Antonius_ brought
And thrust him on occasion so long sought;
Shewed him the Empresse in a thicket by,
Her loves approach waiting with greedie Eye;
And told him, if he ever meant to prove
The doubtfull issue of his hopelesse Love,
This is the place and time wherein to try it;
Women will heere the suite that will deny it.
The suit's not hard that she comes for to take;
Who (hot in lust of men) doth difference make?
At last loath, willing, to her did he pace:
Arme him, _Priapus_, with thy powerfull Mace.
But see, they comming are; how they agree
Heere will I harken; shroud me, gentle tree.

    _Enter Poppea and Antonius_.

_Anton_. Seeke not to grieve that heart which is thine owne.
In Loves sweete fires let heat of rage burne out;
These brows could never yet to wrinkle learne,
Nor anger out of such faire eyes look forth.

_Poppea_. You may solicit your presumptious suites;
You duety may, and shame too, lay aside;
Disturbe my privacie, and I forsooth
Must be afeard even to be angry at you!

_Anton_. What shame is't to be mastred by such beautie?
Who but to serve you comes, how wants he dutie?
Or, if it be a shame, the shame is yours;
The fault is onely in your Eies, they drew me:
Cause you were lovely therefore did I love.
O, if to Love you anger you so much,
You should not have such cheekes nor lips to touch,
You should not have your snow nor currall spy'd;--
If you but looke on us in vaine you chide.
We must not see your face, nor heare your speech;
Now, whilst you Love forbid, you Love do teach.

_Petron_. He doth better than I thought he would.

_Poppea_. I will not learne my beauties worth of you;
I know you neither are the first nor greatest
Whom it hath mov'd: He whom the World obayes
Is fear'd with anger of my threatening eyes.
It is for you afarre off to adore it,
And not to reach at it with sawsie hands:
Feare is the Love that's due to God and Princes.

_Petron_. All this is but to edge his appetite.

_Anton_. O doe not see thy faire in that false glasse
Of outward difference; Looke into my heart.
There shalt thou see thy selfe Inthroaned set
In greater Maiesty then all the pompe
Of _Rome_ or _Nero_. Tis not the crowching awe
And Ceremony with which we flatter Princes
That can to Loves true duties be compar'd.

_Poppea_. Sir, let me goe or He make knowne your Love
To them that shall requite it but with hate.

_Petron_. On, on, thou hast the goale; the fort is beaten;
Women are wonne when they begin to threaten.

_Anton_. Your Noblenesse doth warrant me from that,
Nor need you others helpe to punish me
Who by your forehead am condem'd or free.
They that to be revendg'd do bend their minde
Seeke always recompence in that same kind
The wrong was done them; Love was mine offence,
In that revenge, in that seeke recompence.

_Poppea_. Further to answere will still cause replyes,
And those as ill doe please me as your selfe.
If you'le an answere take that's breefe and true,
I hate my selfe if I be lov'd of you.
                                         [_Exit Popp_.

_Petron_. What, gone? but she will come againe sure: no?
It passeth cleane my cunning, all my rules:
For Womens wantonnesse there is no rule.
To take her in the itching of her Lust,
A propper young man putting forth himselfe!
Why, Fate! there's Fate and hidden providence
In cod piece matters.

_Anton_.              O unhappy Man!
What comfort have I now, _Petronius?_

_Petron_. Council your selfe; Ile teach no more but learne.

_Anton_. This comfort yet: He shall not so escape
Who causeth my disgrace, _Nimphidius_;
Whom had I here--Well, for my true-hearts love
I see she hates me. And shall I love one
That hates me, and bestowes what I deserve
Upon my rivall? No; farewell _Poppea_,
Farewell _Poppea_ and farewell all Love:
Yet thus much shall it still prevaile in me
That I will hate _Nimphidius_ for thee.

_Petron_. Farewell to her, to my _Enanthe_ welcome.
Who now will to my burning kisses stoope,
Now with an easie cruelty deny
That which she, rather then the asker, would
Have forced from her then begin[16] her selfe.
Their loves that list upon great Ladies set;
I still will love the Wench that I can get.

                                      [_Exeunt_.



(SCENE 2.)


    _Enter Nero, Tigellinus, Epaphroditus_, and _Neophilus_.

_Nero_. _Tigellinus_, said the villaine _Proculus_[17]
I was throwne downe in running?

_Tigell_. My Lord, he said that you were crown'd for that
You could not doe.

_Nero_.            For that I could not doe?
Why, _Elis_ saw me doe't, and doe't it with wonder
Of all the Iudges and the lookers on;
And yet to see--A villaine! could not doe't?
Who did it better? I warrant you he said
I from the Chariot fell against my will.

_Tigell_. He said, My Lord, you were throwne out of it
All crusht and maim'd and almost bruis'd to death.

_Nero_. Malicious Rogue! when I fell willingly
To show of purpose with what little hurt
Might a good rider beare a forced fall.
How sayest thou, _Tigellinus_? I am sure
Thou hast in driving as much skill as he.

_Tigell_. My Lord, you greater cunning shew'd in falling
Then had you sate.

_Nero_. I know I did; or[18] bruised in my fall?
Hurt! I protest I felt no griefe in it.
Goe, _Tigellinus_, fetch the villaines head.
This makes me see his heart in other things.
Fetch me his head; he nere shall speake againe.    [_Ex. Tigell_.
What doe we Princes differ from the durt
And basenesse of the common Multitude
If to the scorne of each malicious tongue
We subiect are: For that I had no skill,[19]
Not he that his farre famed daughter set
A prise to Victoria and had bin Crown'd
With thirteene Sutors deaths till he at length
By fate of Gods and Servants treason fell,
(Shoulder pack't[20] _Pelops_, glorying in his spoyles)
Could with more skill his coupled horses guide.
Even as a Barke that through the mooving Flood
Her linnen wings and the forc't ayre doe beare;
The Byllowes fome, she smoothly cutts them through;
So past my burning Axeltree along:
The people follow with their Eyes and Voyce,
And now the wind doth see it selfe outrun
And the Clouds wonder to be left behind,
Whilst the void ayre is fild with shoutes and noyse,
And _Neroes_ name doth beate the brazen Skie;
_Jupiter_ envying loath doth heare my praise.
Then their greene bowes and Crownes of Olive wreaths,
The Conquerors praise, they give me as my due.
And yet this Rogue sayth No, we have no skill.

    _Enter a servant to them_.

_Servant_. My Lord, the Stage and all the furniture--

_Nero_. I have no skill to drive a Chariot!
Had he but robde me, broke my treasurie:
The red-Sea's mine, mine are the _Indian_ stones,
The Worlds mine owne; then cannot I be robde?
But spightfully to undermine my fame,
To take away my arte! he would my life
As well, no doubt, could he tould (tell?) how.

    _Enter Tigellinus_ with _Proculus head_.

_Neoph_. My Lord,
_Tigellinus_ is backe come with _Proculus head_.
                                    (_Strikes him_.)

_Nero_. O cry thee mercie, good _Neophilus_;
Give him five hundred sesterces for amends.
Hast brought him, Tigellinus?

_Tigell_. Heres his head, my Lord.

_Nero_. His tongue had bin enough.

_Tigell_. I did as you commanded me, my Lord.

_Nero_. Thou toldst not me, though, he had such a nose![21]
Now are you quiet and have quieted me:
This tis to be commander of the World.
Let them extoll weake pittie that do neede it,
Let meane men cry to have Law and Iustice done
And tell their griefes to Heaven that heares them not:
Kings must upon the Peoples headlesse courses
Walk to securitie and ease of minde.
Why, what have we to doe with th'ayrie names
(That old age and _Philosophers_ found out)
Of _Iustice_ and ne're certaine Equitie?
The God's revenge themselves and so will we;
Where right is scand Authoritie's orethrowne:
We have a high prerogative above it.
Slaves may do what is right, we what we please:
The people will repine and think it ill,
But they must beare, and praise too, what we will.

    _Enter Cornutus[22] to them_.

_Neoph_. My Lord, _Cornutus_ whom you sent for's come.

_Nero_. Welcome, good _Cornutus_.
Are all things ready for the stage,
As I gave charge?

_Corn_.           They only stay your coming.

_Nero_. _Cornutus_, I must act to day _Orestes_.

_Corn_. You have done that alreadie, and too truely.    (_Aside_.)

_Nero_. And when our Sceane is done I meane besides
To read some compositions of my owne,
Which, for the great opinion I my selfe
And _Rome_ in generall of thy Judgment hath,
Before I publish them Ile shew them thee.

_Corn_. My Lord, my disabilities--

_Nero_.                           I know thy modestie:
Ile only shew thee now my works beginning.--
Goe see, _Epaphroditus_,
Musick made ready; I will sing to day.--    [_Exit Epa.
Cornutus_, I pray thee come neere
And let me heare thy Judgement in my paynes.
I would have thee more familiar, good _Cornutus_;
_Nero_ doth prise desert and more esteemes
Them that in knowledge second him, then power.
Marke with what style and state my worke begins.

_Corn_. Might not my Interruption offend,
Whats your workes name, my Lord? what write you of?

_Nero_. I meane to write the deeds of all the Romans.

_Corn_. Of all the Romans? A huge argument.

_Nero_. I have not yet bethought me of a title:--
                                        (_he reades_,)

  "_You Enthrall Powers which[23] the wide Fortunes doon
  Of Empyre-crown'd seaven-Mountaine-seated Rome,
  Full blowne Inspire me with_ Machlaean[24] _rage
  That I may bellow out_ Romes _Prentisage;
  As[25] when the_ Menades _do fill their Drums
  And crooked hornes with_ Mimalonean _hummes
  And_ Evion[26] _do Ingeminate around,
  Which reparable Eccho doth resound_."

How doest thou like our Muses paines, _Cornutus_?

_Corn_. The verses have more in them than I see:
Your work, my Lord, I doubt will be too long.

_Nero_. Too long?

_Tigell_. Too long?

_Corn_. I, if you write the deedes of all the _Romans_.
How many Bookes thinke you t'include it in?

_Nero_. I thinke to write about foure hundred Bookes.

_Corn_. Four hundred! Why, my Lord, they'le nere be read.[27]

_Nero_. Hah!

_Tigell_. Why, he whom you esteeme so much, _Crisippus_,
Wrote many more.

_Corn_. But they were profitable to common life
And did Men Honestie and Wisedome teach.

_Nero_. _Tigellinus_!

                       [Exit _Nero and Tigell_.

_Corn_. See with what earnestnesse he crav'd my Judgment,
And now he freely hath it how it likes him.

_Neoph_. The Prince is angry, and his fall is neere;
Let us begon lest we partake his ruines.

                      [_Exeunt omnes praeter Cornu_.

    _Manet Cornutus solus_.

What should I doe at Court? I cannot lye.
Why didst thou call me, _Nero_, from my Booke;
Didst thou for flatterie of _Cornutus_ looke?
No, let those purple Fellowes that stand by thee
(That admire shew and things that thou canst give)
Leave to please Truth and Vertue to please thee.
_Nero_, there is no thing in thy power _Cornutus_
Doth wish or fear.

    _Enter Tigellinus to him_.

_Tigell_. Tis _Neroes_ pleasure that you straight depart
To _Giara_, and there remaine confin'd:
Thus he, out of his Princely Clemencie,
Hath Death, your due, turn'd but to banishment.

_Corn_. Why, _Tigellinus_?

_Tigell_. I have done, upon your perill go or stay.
                                             [_Ex. Ti_.

_Corn_. And why should Death or Banishment be due
For speaking that which was requir'd, my thought?
O why doe Princes love to be deceiv'd
And even do force abuses on themselves?
Their Eares are so with pleasing speech beguil'd
That Truth they mallice, Flatterie truth account,
And their owne Soule and understanding lost
Goe, what they are, to seeke in other men.
Alas, weake Prince, how hast thou punisht me
To banish me from thee? O let me goe
And dwell in _Taurus_, dwell in _Ethiope_
So that I doe not dwell at _Rome_ with thee.
The farther still I goe from hence, I know,
The farther I leave Shame and Vice behind.
Where can I goe but I shall see thee, Sunne?
And _Heaven_ will be as neere me still as here.
Can they so farre a knowing soule exyle
That her owne roofe she sees not ore her head?

                                           [_Exit_.



(SCENE 3.)


    _Enter Piso, Scevinus, Lucan, Flavius_.

_Piso_. Noble Gentlemen, what thankes, what recompence
Shall hee give you that give to him the world?
One life to them that must so many venture,
And that the worst of all, is too meane paye;
Yet can give no more. Take that, bestow it
Upon your service.

_Lucan_.           O _Piso_, that vouchsafest
To grace our headlesse partie with thy name,
Whom having our conductor[28] we need not
Have fear'd to goe against[29] the well try'd vallor
Of Julius or stayednesse of _Augustus_,
Much lesse the shame and Womanhood of _Nero_;
When we had once given out that our pretences
Were all for thee, our end to make thee Prince,
They thronging came to give their names, Men, Women,
Gentlemen, People, Soldiers, Senators,[30]
The Campe and Cittie grew asham'd that _Nero_
And _Piso_ should be offered them together.

_Scevin_. We seeke not now (as in the happy dayes
Oth' common wealth they did) for libertie;
O you deere ashes, _Cassius_ and _Brutus_,
That was with you entomb'd, their let it rest.
We are contented with the galling yoke
If they will only leave us necks to beare it:
We seeke no longer freedome, we seeke life;
At least, not to be murdred, let us die
On Enemies swords. Shall we, whom neither
The _Median_ Bow nor _Macedonian_ Speare
Nor the fierce _Gaul_ nor painted _Briton_ could
Subdue, lay down our neckes to tyrants axe?
Why doe we talke of Vertue that obay
Weaknesse and Vice?

_Piso_.             Have patience, good _Scevinus_.

_Lucan_. Weaknesse and servile Government we hitherto
Obeyed have, which, that we may no longer,
We have our lives and fortunes now set up,
And have our cause with _Pisoes_ credit strengthned.

_Flav_. Which makes it doubtfull whether love to him
Or _Neroes_ hatred hath drawne more unto us.

_Piso_. I see the good thoughts you have of me, Lords.
Lets now proceede to th'purpose of our meeting:
I pray you take your places.
Lets have some paper brought.

_Scevin_. Whose within?

    _Enter Milichus to them_.

_Mill_.                 My Lord.

_Scevin_.                        Some Inke and Paper.

                           [_Exit Mili_.

    _Enter againe with Incke and Paper_.

_Flav_. Whose that, _Scevinus_?

_Scevin_.                       It is my freed man, _Milichus_.

_Lucan_. Is he trustie?

_Scevin_. I, for as great matters as we are about.

_Piso_. And those are great ones.

_Lucan_. I aske not that we meane to need his trust;
Gaine hath great soveraigntie ore servile mindes.

_Scevin_. O but my benefits have bound him to me.
I from a bondman have his state not onely
Advanct to freedome but to wealth and credit.

_Piso_. _Mili_. waite ith' next chamber till we call.
                                     [_abscondit se_.
The thing determinde on, our meeting now
Is of the meanes and place, due circumstance
As to the doing of things: 'tis required
So done it names the action.[31]

_Mili_.                      I wonder    (_aside_)
What makes this new resort to haunt our house.
When wonted _Lucius Piso_ to come hither,
Or _Lucan_ when so oft as now of late?

_Piso_. And since the field and open shew of armes
Disliked you, and that for the generall good
You meane to end all styrres in end of him;
That, as the ground, must first be thought upon.

_Mill_. Besides, this comming cannot be for forme,    (_aside_)
Our (Mere?) visitation; they goe aside
And have long conferences by themselves.

_Lucan_. _Piso_, his coming to your house at Baiae[32]
To bathe and banquet will fit meanes afford,
Amidst his cups, to end his hated life:
Let him die drunke that nere liv'd soberly.

_Piso_. O be it farre that I should staine my Table
And Gods of Hospitalitie with blood.
Let not our cause (now Innocent) be soyld
With such a plot, nor _Pisoes_ name made hatefull.
What place can better fit our action
Then his owne house, that boundlesse envied heape
Built with the spoyles and blood of Cittizens,
That hath taken up the Citie, left no roome
For _Rome_ to stand on? _Romanes_ get you gone
And dwell at _Veiae_, if that _Veiae_ too
This (His?) house ore runne not.[33]

_Lucan_. But twill be hard to doe it in his house
And harder to escape, being done.

_Piso_.                           Not so:
_Rufus_, the Captaine of the Guard, 's with us,
And divers other oth' _Praetorian_ band
Already made (named?); many, though unacquainted
With our intents, have had disgrace and wrongs
Which grieve them still; most will be glad of change,
And even they that lov'd him best, when once
They see him gone, will smile oth' comming times,
Let goe things past and looke to their owne safetie:
Besides, th'astonishment and feare will be
So great, so sodaine that 'twill hinder them
From doing anything.

_Mili_. No private businesse can concerne them all:    (_aside_)
Their countenances are troubled and looke sad;
Doubt and importance in their face is read.

_Lucan_. Yet still, I think it were
Safer t'attempt him private and alone.

_Flav_. But 'twill not carry that opinion with it;
'Twill seeme more foule and come from private malice.
_Brutus_ and they, to right the common cause,
Did chuse a publike place.

_Scevin_.[34] Our deed is honest, why should it seeke corners?
Tis for the people done, let them behold it;
Let me have them a witnesse of my truth
And love to th'Common-wealth. The danger's greater,
So is the glory. Why should our pale counsels
Tend whether feare rather then vertue calls them?
I doe not like these cold considerings.
First let our thoughts looke up to what is honest,
Next to what's safe. If danger may deterre us
Nothing that's great or good shall ere be done:
And, when we first gave hands upon this deed,
To th'common safetie we our owne gave up.
Let no man venture on a princes death,
How bad soever, with beliefe to escape;
Dispaire must be our hope, fame o[u]r reward.
To make the generall liking to concurre
With others (ours?) were even to strike him in his shame
Or (as he thinks) his glory, on the stage,
And so too truly make't a Tragedy;
When all the people cannot chuse but clap
So sweet a close, and 'twill not _Caesar_ be
That shall be slaine, a _Roman_ Prince;
Twill be _Alcmaeon_ or blind Oedipus.

_Mili_. And if it be of publique matters 'tis not    (_aside_)
Like to be talke or idle fault finding,
On which the coward onely spends his wisedome:
These are all men of action and of spirit,
And dare performe what they determine on.

_Lucan_. What thinke you of _Poppaea, Tigellinus_
And th'other odious Instruments of Court?
Were it not best at once to rid them all?

_Scevin_. In _Caesars_ ruine _Anthony_ was spared;
Lets not our cause with needlesse blood distaine.
One onely mov'd, the change will not appeare;
When too much licence given to the sword,
Though against ill, will make even good men feare.
Besides, things setled, you at pleasure may
By Law and publique Iudgement have them rid.

_Mili_. And if it be but talke oth' State 'tis Treason.    (_aside_)
Like it they cannot, that they cannot doe:
If seeke to mend it, and remoove the Prince,
That's highest Treason: change his Councellours,
That's alteration of the Government,
The common cloke that Treasons muffled in:
If laying force aside, to seeke by suite
And faire petition t'have the State reform'd,
That's tutering of the Prince and takes away
Th' one his person, this his Soveraigntie.
Barely in private talke to shew dislike
Of what is done is dangerous; therefore the action
Mislike you cause the doer likes you not.
Men are not fit to live ith' state they hate.

_Piso_. Though we would all have that imployment sought,
Yet, since your worthy forwardnesse _Scevinus_[35]
Prevents us and so Nobly beggs for danger,
Be this (thine?) the chosen hand to doe the deed;
The fortune of the Empire speed your sword.

_Scevin_. Vertue and Heaven speed it. You home-borne
Gods of our countrey, _Romulus_ and _Vesta_,
That _Thuscan Tiber_ and Romes towers defends,
Forbid not yet at length a happie end
To former evils; let this hand revenge
The wronged world; enough we now have suffered.

                                        [_Exeunt_.

    _Manet Milichus solus_.

_Mili_. Tush, all this long Consulting's more then words,
It ends not there; th'have some attempt, some plot
Against the state: well, I'le observe it farther
And, if I find it, make my profit of it.
                                          [_Exit_.

_Finis Actus Secundus. [Sic.]_




_Actus Tertius_.


    _Enter Poppea solus. [Sic.]_

_Poppea_. I lookt _Nimphidius_ would have come ere this.
Makes he no greater hast to our embraces,
Or doth the easiness abate his edge?
Or seeme we not as faire still as we did?
Or is he so with _Neroes_ playing wonne
That he before _Poppea_ doth preferre it?
Or doth he think to have occasion still,
Still to have time to waite on our stolne meetings?

    _Enter Nimphidius to her_.

But see, his presence now doth end those doubts.
What is't, _Nimphidius_, hath so long detain'd you?

_Nimphid_. Faith, Lady, causes strong enough,
High walls, bard dores, and guards of armed men.

_Poppea_. Were you Imprisoned, then, as you were going
To the Theater?

_Nimphid_.      Not in my going, Lady,
But in the Theater I was imprisoned.
For after he was once upon the Stage
The Gates[36] were more severely lookt into
Then at a town besieg'd: no man, no cause
Was Currant, no, nor passant. At other sights
The striefe is only to get in, but here
The stirre was all in getting out againe.
Had we not bin kept to it so I thinke
'Twould nere have been so tedious, though I know
'Twas hard to judge whether his doing of it
Were more absurd then 'twas for him[37] to doe it.
But when we once were forct to be spectators,
Compel'd to that which should have bin a pleasure,
We could no longer beare the wearisomnesse:
No paine so irksome as a forct delight.
Some fell down dead or seem'd at least to doe so,
Under that colour to be carried forth.
Then death first pleasur'd men, the shape all feare
Was put on gladly; some clomb ore the walls
And so, by falling, caught in earnest that
Which th'other did dissemble. There were women[38]
That (being not able to intreat the guard
To let them passe the gates) were brought to bed
Amidst the throngs of men, and made _Lucina_
Blush to see that unwonted companie.

_Poppea_. If 'twere so straightly kept how got you forth?

_Nimphid_. Faith, Lady, I came pretending hast
In Face and Countenance, told them I was sent
For things bith' Prince forgot about the sceane,
Which both my credit made them to beleeve
And _Nero_ newly whispered me before.
Thus did I passe the gates; the danger, Ladie,
I have not yet escapt.

_Poppea_.              What danger meane you?

_Nimphid_. The danger of his anger when he knowes
How I thus shranke away; for there stood knaves,
That put downe in their Tables all that stir'd
And markt in each there cheerefulnesse or sadnesse.

_Poppea_. I warrant He excuse you; but I pray
Lett's be a little better for your sight.
How did our Princely husband act _Orestes_?
Did he not wish againe his mother living?
Her death would adde great life unto his part.
But come, I pray; the storie of your sight.

_Nimph_. O doe not drive me to those hatefull paines.
Lady, I was too much in seeing vext;
Let it not be redoubled with the telling.
I now am well and heare, my eares set free;
O be mercifull, doe not bring me backe
Unto my prison, at least free your selfe.
It will not passe away, but stay the time;
Wracke out the houres in length. O give me leave:
As one that wearied with the toyle at sea
And now on wished shore hath firm'd his foote,
He lookes about and glads his thoughts and eyes
With sight oth' greene cloath'd ground and leavy trees,
Of flowers that begge more then the looking on,
And likes these other waters narrow shores;
So let me lay my wearines in these armes,
Nothing but kisses to this mouth discourse,
My thoughts be compast in those circl'd Eyes,
Eyes on no obiect looke but on these Cheekes;
Be blest my hands with touch of those round brests
Whiter and softer than the downe of Swans.
Let me of thee and of thy beauties glory
An[39] endless tell, but never wearying story.

                                        [_Exeunt_.



(SCENE 2.)


    _Enter Nero, Epaphroditus, Neophilus_.

_Nero_. Come Sirs, I faith, how did you like my acting?
What? wast not as you lookt for?

_Epaphr_. Yes, my Lord, and much beyond.

_Nero_. Did I not doe it to the life?

_Epaphr_. The very doing never was so lively
As was this counterfeyting.

_Nero_.                     And when I came
Toth' point of _Agripp[40]--Clytemnestras_ death,
Did it not move the feeling auditory?

_Epaphr_. They had beene stones whom that could not have mov'd.

_Nero_. Did not my voice hold out well to the end,
And serv'd me afterwards afresh to sing with?

_Neoph_. We know _Appollo_ cannot match your voice.

_Epaphr_. By Jove! I thinke you are the God himselfe
Come from above to shew your hidden arts
And fill us men with wonder of your skill.

_Nero_. Nay, faith, speake truely, doe not flatter me;
I know you need not; flattery's but where
Desert is meane.

_Epaphr_.        I sweare by thee, O _Caesar_,
Then whom no power of heaven I honour more,
No mortall Voice can passe or equall thine.

_Nero_. They tell of _Orpheus_, when he tooke his Lute
And moov'd the noble Ivory with his touch,
_Hebrus_ stood still, _Pangea_ bow'd his head,
_Ossa_ then first shooke off his snowe and came
To listen to the moovings of his song;
The gentle _Popler_ tooke the baye along,
And call'd the _Pyne_ downe from his Mountaine seate;
The _Virgine Bay_, although the Arts she hates
Oth' _Delphick_ God, was with his voice orecome;
He his twice-lost _Euridice_ bewailes
And _Proserpines_ vaine gifts, and makes the shores
And hollow caves of forrests now untreed
Beare his griefe company, and all things teacheth
His lost loves name; Then water, ayre, and ground
_Euridice, Euridice_ resound.
These are bould tales, of which the Greeks have store;
But if he could from Hell once more returne
And would compare his hand and voice with mine,
I, though himselfe were iudge, he then should see
How much the _Latine_ staines the _Thracian_ lyar.
I oft have walkt by _Tibers_ flowing bankes
And heard the Swan sing her own epitaph:
When she heard me she held her peace and died.
Let others raise from earthly things their praise;
Heaven hath stood still to hear my happy ayres
And ceast th'eternall Musicke of the _Spheares_
To marke my voyce and mend their tunes by mine.

_Neoph_. O divine voice!

_Epaphr_.                Happy are they that heare it!

    _Enter Tigellinus to them_.

_Nero_. But here comes _Tigellinus_; come, thy bill.
Are there so many? I see I have enemies.

_Epaphr_. Have you put _Caius_ in? I saw him frowne.

_Neoph_. And in the midst oth' Emperors action.
_Gallus_ laught out, and as I thinke in scorne.

_Nero_. _Vespasian_[41] too asleepe? was he so drowsie?
Well, he shall sleepe the Iron sleepe of death.
And did _Thrasea_ looke so sourely on us?

_Tigell_. He never smilde, my Lord, nor would vouchsafe
With one applause to grace your action.

_Nero_. Our action needed not be grac'd by him:
Hee's our old enemie and still maligns us.
'Twill have an end, nay it shall have an end.
Why, I have bin too pittifull, too remisse;
My easinesse is laught at and contemn'd.
But I will change it; not as heretofore
By singling out them one by one to death:
Each common man can such revenges have;
A Princes anger must lay desolate
Citties, Kingdomes consume, Roote up mankind.
O could I live to see the generall end,
Behold the world enwrapt in funerall flame,
When as the _Sunne_ shall lend his beames to burne
What he before brought forth, and water serve
Not to extinguish but to nurse the fire;
Then, like the _Salamander_, bathing me
In the last Ashes of all mortall things
Let me give up this breath. _Priam_ was happie,
Happie indeed; he saw his _Troy_ burnt
And _Illion_ lye on heapes, whilst thy pure streames
(Divine _Scamander_) did run _Phrygian_ blood,
And heard the pleasant cries of _Troian_ mothers.
Could I see _Rome_ so!

_Tigell_. Your Maiestie may easily,
Without this trouble to your sacred mind.

_Nero_. What may I easily doe? Kill thee or him:
How may I rid you all? Where is the Man
That will all others end and last himselfe?
O that I had thy Thunder in my hand,
Thou idle Rover, I'de[42] not shoote at trees
And spend in woods my unregarded vengeance,
Ide shevire them downe upon their guilty roofes
And fill the streetes with bloody burials.
But 'tis not Heaven can give me what I seeke;
To you, you hated kingdomes of the night,
You severe powers that not like those above
Will with faire words or childrens cryes be wonne,
That have a stile beyond that Heaven is proud off,
Deriving not from Art a makers Name
But in destruction power and terror shew,
To you I flye for succour; you, whose dwellings
For torments are belyde, must give me ease.
Furies, lend me your fires; no, they are here,
They must be other fires, materiall brands
That must the burning of my heat allay.
I bring to you no rude unpractiz'd hands,
Already doe they reeke with mothers' blood.
Tush, that's but innocent[43] to what now I meane:
Alasse, what evell could those yeeres commit!
The world in this shall see my setled wit.

                                        [_Exeunt_.



(SCENE 3.)


    _Enter Seneca, Petronius_.

_Seneca. Petronius_, you were at the _Theater_?

_Petron_. _Seneca_, I was, and saw your Kingly Pupyll
In Mynstrills habit stand before the Iudges
Bowing those hands which the worlds Scepter hold,
And with great awe and reverence beseeching
Indifferent hearing and an equall doome.
Then Caesar doubted first to be oreborne;
And so he ioyn'd himselfe to th'other singers
And straightly all other Lawes oth' Stage observ'd,
As not (though weary) to sit downe, not spit,
Not wipe his sweat off but with what he wore.[44]
Meane time how would he eye his adversaries,
How he would seeke t'have all they did disgract;
Traduce them privily, openly raile at them;
And them he could not conquer so he would
Corrupt with money to doe worse then he.
This was his singing part: his acting now.

_Seneca_. Nay, even end here, for I have heard enough;
I[45] have a Fidler heard him, let me not
See him a Player, nor the fearefull voyce
Of _Romes_ great Monarch now command in Iest--
Our Prince be _Agamemnon_[46] in a Play!

_Petron_. Why,[47] _Seneca_, 'Tis better in [a] Play
Be _Agamemnon_ than himselfe indeed.
How oft, with danger of the field beset
Or with home mutineys, would he unbee
Himselfe; or, over cruel alters weeping,
Wish that with putting off a vizard hee
Might his true inward sorrow lay aside.
The showes of things are better then themselves.
How doth it stirre this ayery part of us
To heare our Poets tell imagin'd fights
And the strange blowes that fained courage gives!
When I[48] _Achilles_ heare upon the Stage
Speake Honour and the greatnesse of his soule,
Me thinkes I too could on a _Phrygian_ Speare
Runne boldly and make tales for after times;
But when we come to act it in the deed
Death mars this bravery, and the ugly feares
Of th'other world sit on the proudest browe,
And boasting Valour looseth his red cheeke.

    _A Romane to them_.

_Rom_. Fire, fire! helpe, we burne!

2 _Rom_. Fire, water, fire, helpe, fire!

_Seneca_. Fire? Where?

_Petron_. Where? What fire?

_Rom_. O round about, here, there, on every side
The girdling flame doth with unkind embraces
Compasse the Citie.

_Petron_. How came this fire? by whom?

_Seneca_. Wast chance or purpose?

_Petron_. Why is't not quencht?

_Rom_. Alas, there are a many there with weapons,
And whether it be for pray or by command
They hinder, nay, they throwe on fire-brands.[49]

    _Enter Antonius to them_.

_Anton_. The fire increaseth and will not be staid,
But like a stream[50] that tumbling from a hill
Orewhelmes the fields, orewhelmes the hopefull toyle
Oth' husbandman and headlong beares the woods;
The unweeting Shepheard on a Rocke afarre
Amazed heares the feareful noyse; so here
Danger and Terror strive which shall exceed.
Some cry and yet are well; some are kild silent;
Some kindly runne to helpe their neighbours house,
The whilest their own's afire;[51] some save their goods
And leave their dearer pledges in the flame;
One takes his little sonnes with trembling hands;
Tother his house-Gods saves, which could not him;
All bann the doer, and with wishes kill
Their absent Murderer.

_Petron_.              What, are the _Gauls_ returnd?
Doth _Brennus_ brandish fire-brands againe?

_Seneca_. What can Heaven now unto our suffrings adde?

    _Enter another Romane to them_.

_Rom_. O all goes downe, _Rome_ falleth from the Roofe;
The winds aloft, the conquering flame turnes all
Into it selfe. Nor doe the Gods escape;
_Plei[a]des_ burnes; _Iupiter, Saturne_ burnes;
The Altar now is made a sacrifice,
And _Vesta_ mournes to see her Virgin fires
Mingle with prophane ashes.

_Seneca_. Heaven, hast thou set this end to Roman greatnesse?
Were the worlds spoyles for this to Rome devided
To make but our fires bigger?
You Gods, whose anger made us great, grant yet
Some change in misery. We begge not now
To have our Consull tread on _Asian_ Kings
Or spurne the quivered _Susa_ at their feet;
This we have had before: we beg to live,
At least not thus to die. Let _Cannae_[52] come,
Let _Allias_[53] waters turne again to blood:
To these will any miseries be light.

_Petron_. Why with false _Auguries_ have we bin deceiv'd?
Why was our Empire told us should endure
With Sunne and Moone in time, in brightnesse pass them,
And that our end should be oth' world and it?
What, can Celestiall Godheads double too?

_Seneca_. _O Rome_, the envy late
But now the pitie of the world! the _Getes_[54]?
The men of _Cholcos_ at thy sufferings grive;
The shaggy dweller in the _Scithian_ Rockes,
The _Mosch_[55] condemned to perpetual snowes,
That never wept at kindreds burials
Suffers with thee and feeles his heart to soften.
O should the _Parthyan_ heare these miseries
He would (his low and native hate apart[56])
Sit downe with us and lend an Enemies teare
To grace the funerall fires of ending Rome.

                                           [_Exeunt_.



(SCENE 4.)


    _Soft Musique. Enter Nero above alone with a Timbrell_.

I, now my _Troy_ lookes beautious in her flames;
The _Tyrrhene_ Seas are bright with _Roman_ fires
Whilst the amazed Mariner afarre,
Gazing on th'unknowne light, wonders what starre
Heaven hath begot to ease the aged Moone.
When _Pirrhus_, stryding ore the cynders, stood
On ground where _Troy_ late was, and with his Eye
Measur'd the height of what he had throwne downe,--
A Citie great in people and in power,
Walls built with hands of God--he now forgive[s]
The ten yeares length and thinkes his wounds well heald,
Bath'd in the blood of _Priams_ fifty sonnes.
Yet am not I appeas'd; I must see more
Then Towers and Collomns tumble to the ground;
'Twas not the high built walls and guiltlesse stones
That _Nero_ did provoke: themselves must be the wood
To feed this fire or quench it with their blood.

    _Enter a Woman with a burnt Child_.

_Wom_. O my deare Infant, O my Child, my Child,
Unhappy comfort of my nine moneths paines;
And did I beare thee only for the fire,
Was I to that end made a mother?

_Nero_. I, now begins the sceane that I would have.

    _Enter a Man bearing another dead_.

_Man_. O Father, speake yet; no, the mercilesse blowe
Hath all bereft speech, motion, sense and life.

_Wom_. O beauteous innocence, whitenes ill blackt,
How to be made a coale didst thou deserve?

_Man_. O reverend wrinckles, well becoming palenesse,
Why hath death now lifes colours given thee
And mockes thee with the beauties of fresh youth?

_Wom_. Why wert thou given me to be tane away
So soone, or could not Heaven tell how to punish
But first by blessing mee?

_Man_.                     Why where thy years
Lengthened so long to be cut off untimely?

_Nero_. Play on, play on, and fill the golden skies
With cryes and pitie, with your blood; Mens Eyes[57]--

_Wom_. Where are thy flattering smiles, thy pretty kisses,
And armes that wont to writhe about my necke?

_Man_. Where are thy counsels? where thy good example,
And that kind roughnes of a Father's anger?

_Wom_. Whom have I now to leane my old age on?

_Man_. Who shall I now have to set right my youth?
Gods, if yee be not fled from Heaven, helpe us.

_Nero_. I like this Musique well; they like not mine.
Now in the teare[s] of all men let me sing,
And make it doubtfull to the Gods above
Whether the Earth be pleas'd or doe complaine.

                                  (_Within, cantat_.)

_Man_. But may the man that all this blood hath shed
Never bequeath to th'earth an old gray head;
Let him untimely be cut off before.
And leave a course like this, all wounds and gore;
Be there no friends at hand, no standers by
In love or pittie mov'd to close that Eye:
O let him die, the wish and hate of all,
And not a teare to grace his Funerall.

                                        [_Exeunt_.

_Wom_. Heaven, you will heare (that which the world doth scorn)
The prayers of misery and soules forlorne.
Your anger waxeth by delaying stronger,
O now for mercy be despis'd no longer;
Let him that makes so many Mothers childlesse
Make his unhappy in her fruitfulnesse.
Let him no issue leave to beare his name
Or sonne to right a Fathers wronged fame;
Our flames to quit be righteous in your yre,
And when he dies let him want funerall fire.

                                           [_Exeunt_.

_Nero_. Let Heaven do what it will, this I have done.
Already doe you feel my furies waight:
Rome is become a grave of her late greatnes;
Her clowdes of smoke have tane away the day,
Her flames the night.
Now, unbeleaving Eyes, what crave you more?

    _Enter Neophilus to him_.

_Neoph_. O save your selfe, my Lord: your Pallace burnes.

_Nero_. My Pallace? how? what traiterous hand?

    _Enter Tigellinus to them_.

_Tigell_. O flie, my Lord, and save your selfe betimes.
The winde doth beate the fire upon your house,
The eating flame devoures your double gates;
Your pillars fall, your golden roofes doe melt;
Your antique Tables and Greeke Imagery
The fire besets; and the smoake, you see,
Doth choake my speech: O flie and save your life.

_Nero_. Heaven thou dost strive, I see, for victory.

                                          [_Exeunt_.



(SCENE 5.)


    _Enter Nimphidius solus_.

See how Fate workes unto their purpos'd end
And without all selfe-Industry will raise
Whom they determine to make great and happy.
_Nero_ throwes down himselfe, I stirre him not;
He runnes unto destruction, studies wayes
To compasse danger and attaine the hate
Of all. Bee his owne wishis on his head,
Nor _Rome_ with fire more then revenges burne.
Let me stand still or lye or sleepe, I rise.
_Poppea_ some new favour will seeke out
My wakings to salute; I cannot stirre
But messages of new preferment meet me.
Now she hath made me Captaine of the Guard
So well I beare me in these night Alarmes
That she imagin'd I was made for Armes.
I now command the Souldier,[58] he the Citie:
If any chance doe turne the Prince aside
(As many hatreds, mischiefes threaten him)
Ours is his wife; his seat and throwne is ours:
He's next in right that hath the strongest powers.
                                              [_Exit_.



(SCENE 6.)


    _Enter Scevinus, Milichus_.

_Scevin_. O _Troy_ and O yee soules of our forefathers
Which in your countreys fires were offered up,
How neere your Nephews[59] to your fortunes come.
Yet they were _Grecian_ hands began your flame;
But that our Temples and our houses smoake,
Our Marble buildings turne to be our Tombes,
Burnt bones and spurnt at Courses fill the streets,
Not _Pirrhus_ nor thou, _Hanniball_, art Author:
Sad _Rome_ is ruin'd by a _Romane_ hand.
But if to _Neroes_ end this onely way
Heavens Justice hath chose out, and peoples love
Could not but by these feebling ills be mov'd,
We doe not then at all complaine; our harmes
On this condition please us; let us die
And cloy the _Parthian_ with revenge and pitie.

_Mili_. My Master hath seald up his Testament;
Those bond-men which he liketh best set free;
Given money, and more liberally then he us'd.
And now, as if a farewell to the world
Were meant, a sumpteous banquet hath he made;
Yet not with countenance that feasters use,
But cheeres his friends the whilest himselfe lookes sad.

_Scevin_. I have from Fortunes Temple[60] tane this sword;
May it be fortunate and now at least,
Since it could not prevent, punish the Evill.
To _Rome_ it had bin better done before,
But though lesse helping now they'le praise it more.
Great Soveraigne of all mortall actions.
Whom only wretched men and Poets blame,
Speed thou the weapon which I have from thee.
'Twas not amid thy Temple Monuments
In vaine repos'd; somewhat I know't hath done:
O with new honours let it be laid up.
Strike bouldly, arme; so many powerful prayers
Of dead and living hover over thee.

_Mili_. And though sometimes with talk impertinent
And idle fances he would fame a mirth,
Yet is it easie seene somewhat is heere
The which he dares not let his face make shew of.

_Scevin_. Long want of use[61] hath made it dull and blunt.--
See, _Milichus_, this weapon better edg'd.

_Mili_. Sharpning of swords? When must wee then have blowes?
Or meanes my Master, _Cato_-like, to exempt
Himselfe from power of Fates and, cloy'd with life,
Give the Gods backe their unregarded gift?
But he hath neither _Catoes_ mind nor cause;
A man given ore to pleasures and soft ease.
Which makes me still to doubt how in affaires
Of Princes he dares meddle or desires.

_Scevin_. We shall have blowes on both sides.--_Milichus_,
Provide me store of cloathes to bind up wounds.--
What an't be heart for heart; Death is the worst.
The Gods sure keepe it, hide from us that live.
How sweet death is because we should goe on
And be their bailes.--There are about the house
Some stones that will stanch blood; see them set up.--
This world I see hath no felicitie:
Ile trie the other.

_Mili_.             _Neroes_ life is sought;[62]
The sword's prepar'd against anothers breast,
The helpe for his. It can be no private foe,
For then 'twere best to make it knowne and call
His troupes of bond and freed men to his aide.
Besides his Counsellors, _Seneca_
And _Lucan_, are no Managers of quarrels.

_Scevin_. Me thinkes I see him struggling on the ground,
Heare his unmanly outcries and lost prayers
Made to the Gods which turne their heads away.
_Nero_, this day must end the worlds desires
And head-long send thee to unquenched fires.         [_Exit_.

_Mili_. Why doe I further idly stand debating?
My proofes are but too many and too frequent,
And Princes Eares still to suspitions open.
Who ever, being but accus'd, was quit?
For States are wise and cut of ylls that may be.
Meane men must die that t'other may sleepe sound.
Chiefely that[63] rule whose weaknes, apt to feares,
And bad deserts of all men makes them know
There's none but is in heart what hee's accused.
                                            [_Exit_.

_Finis Actus Tertii_.



_Actus Quartus.


    Enter Nero, Poppaea, Nimphidius, Tigellinus, Neophilus,
    and Epaphroditus_.

_Nero_. This kisse, sweete love Ile force from thee, and this;
And of such spoiles and victories be prowder
Than if I had the fierce _Pannonian_
Or gray-eyed _German_ ten times overcome.
Let _Iulius_ goe and fight at end oth' world
And conquer from the wilde inhabitants
Their cold and poverty, whilst _Nero_ here
Makes other warres, warres where the conquerd gaines,
Where to orecome is to be prisoner.
O willingly I give my freedome up
And put on my owne chaines,
And am in love with my captivitie.
Such _Venus_ is when on the sandy shore
Of _Xanthus_ or on _Idas_ pleasant greene
She leades the dance; her the Nymphes all a-rowe[64]
And smyling graces do accompany.
If _Bacchus_ could his stragling Mynion
Grace with a glorious wreath of shining Starres,
Why should not Heaven my _Poppaea_ Crowne?
The Northerne teeme shall move into a round,
New constellations rise to honour thee;
The earth shall wooe thy favours and the Sea
Lay his rich shells and treasure at thy feete.
For thee _Hidaspis_ shall throw up his gold,
_Panchaia_ breath the rich delightful smells;
The _Seres_ and the feather'd man of _Inde_
Shall their fine arts and curious labours bring;
And where the Sunn's not knowne _Poppaeas_ name
Shall midst their feasts and barbarous pompe be sung.

_Poppea_. I, now I am worthy to be Queene oth' world,
Fairer then _Venus_ or the _Bacchus_ love;
But you'le anon unto your cutt-boy[65] _Sporus_,
Your new made woman; to whom now, I heare,
You are wedded too.

_Nero_.             I wedded?

_Poppaea_.                    I, you wedded.
Did you not heare the words oth' _Auspyces_?
Was not the boy in bride-like garments drest?
Marriage bookes seald as 'twere for yssue to
Be had betweene you? solemne feasts prepar'd,
While all the Court with _God-give-you-Ioy_ sounds?
It had bin good _Domitius_ your Father
Had nere had other wife.

_Nero_. Your froward, foole; y'are still so bitter.
Whose that?

    _Enter Milichus to them_.

_Nimph_. One that it seemes, my Lord, doth come in hast.

_Nero_. Yet in his face he sends his tale before him.
Bad newes thou tellest?

_Mili_. 'Tis bad I tell, but good that I can tell it
Therefore your Maiestie will pardon me
If I offend your eares to save your life.

_Nero_. Why? is my life indangerd?
How ends the circumstance? thou wrackst my thoughts.

_Mili_. My Lord, your life is conspir'd against.

_Nero_. By whom?

_Mili_. I must be of the world excus'd in this,
If the great dutie to your Maiestie,
Makes me all other lesser to neglect.

_Nero_. Th'art a tedious fellow. Speake: by whom?

_Mili_. By my Master.

_Nero_. Who's thy Master?

_Mili_. _Scevinus_.

_Poppea_. _Scevinus_? why should he conspire?--
Unlesse he thinke that likenesse in conditions
May make him, too, worthy oth' Empire thought.

_Nero_. Who are else in it?

[_Mili_]. I thinke _Natalis, Subrius, Flavus_,[66]
_Lucan, Seneca, and Lucius Piso,
Asper_ and _Quintilianus_.

_Nero_.                    Ha done,
Thou'ilt reckon all Rome anone; and so thou maist,
Th'are villaines all, Ile not trust one of them.
O that the _Romanes_ had all but one necke!

_Poppea_. _Pisoes_ slie creeping into mens affections
And popular arts have given long cause of doubt;
And th'others late observed discontents,
Risen from misinterpreted disgraces,
May make us credit this relation.

_Nero_. Where are they? come they not upon us yet?
See the Guard doubled, see the Gates shut up.
Why, they'le surprise us in our Court anon.

_Mili_. Not so, my Lord; they are at _Pisoes_ house
And thinke themselves yet safe and undiscry'd.

_Nero_. Lets thither then,
And take them in this false security.

_Tigell_. 'Twere better first to publish them traytors.

_Nimph_. That were to make them so
And force them all upon their Enemies.
Now without stirre or hazard theyle be tane
And boldly triall dare and law demaund;
Besides, this accusation may be forg'd
By mallice or mistaking.

_Poppea_. What likes you doe, _Nimphidius_, out of hand:
Two waies distract when either would prevaile.
If they, suspecting but this fellowes absence,
Should try the Citie and attempt their friends
How dangerous might _Pisoes_ favour be?

_Nimph_. I to himselfe[67] would make the matter cleare
Which now upon one servants credit stands.
The Cities favour keepes within the bonds
Of profit, they'le love none to hurt themselves;
Honour and friendship they heare others name,
Themselves doe neither feele nor know the same.
To put them yet (though needlesse) in some feare
Weele keepe their streets with armed companies;
Then, if they stirre, they see their wives and houses
Prepar'd a pray to th'greedy Souldier.

_Poppea_. Let us be quicke then, you to _Pisoes_ house,
While I and _Tigellinus_ further sift
This fellowes knowledge.

                             [_Ex. omnes praeter Nero_.

_Nero_. Looke to the gates and walles oth' Citie; looke
The river be well kept; have watches set
In every passage and in every way.--
But who shall watch these watches? What if they,
Begin and play the Traitors first? O where shall I
Seeke faith or them that I may wisely trust?
The Citie favours the conspirators;
The Senate in disgrace and feare hath liv'd;
The Camp--why? most are souldiers that he named;
Besides, he knowes not all, and like a foole
I interrupted him, else had he named
Those that stood by me. O securitie,
Which we so much seeke after, yet art still
To Courts a stranger and dost rather choose
The smoaky reedes and sedgy cottages
Then the proud roofes and wanton cost of kings.
O sweet dispised ioyes of poverty,
A happines unknowne unto the Gods!
Would I had rather in poore _Gabii_[68] bin
Or _Ulubrae_ a ragged Magistrate,
Sat as a Iudge of measures and of corne
Then the adored Monarke of the world.
Mother, thou didst deservedly in this,
That from a private and sure state didst raise
My fortunes to this slippery hill of greatnesse
Where I can neither stand nor fall with life.
                                        [_Exit_.



(SCENE 2.)


    _Enter Piso, Lucan, Scevinus, Flavius_.

_Flav_. But, since we are discover'd, what remaines
But put our lives upon our hands? these swords
Shall try us Traitors or true Citizens.

_Scevin_. And what should make this hazard doubt successe?
Stout men are oft with sudden onsets danted:
What shall this Stage-player be?

_Lucan_.                         It is not now
_Augustus_ gravitie nor _Tiberius_ craft,
But _Tigellinus_ and _Chrisogonus_,
Eunuckes and women that we goe against.

_Scevin_. This for thy owne sake, this for ours we begg,
That thou wilt suffer him to be orecome;
Why shouldst thou keepe so many vowed swords
From such a hated throate?

_Flav_.                    Or shall we feare
To trust unto the Gods so good a cause?

_Lucan_. By this we may ourselves Heavens favour promise
Because all noblenesse and worth on earth
We see's on our side. Here the _Fabys_ sonne,
Here the _Corvini_ are and take that part
There noble Fathers would, if now they liv'd.
There's not a soule that claimes Nobilitie,
Either by his or his forefathers merit,
But is with us; with us the gallant youth
Whom passed dangers or hote bloud makes bould;
Staid men suspect their wisdome or their faith
To whom our counsels we have not reveald;
And while (our party seeking to disgrace)
They traitors call us, each man treason praiseth
And hateth faith when _Piso_ is a traitor.

_Scevin_. And,[69] at adventure, what by stoutnesse can
Befall us worse than will by cowardise?
If both the people and the souldier failde us
Yet shall we die at least worthy our selves,
Worthy our ancestors. O _Piso_ thinke,
Thinke on that day when in the _Parthian_ fields
Thou cryedst to th'flying Legions to turne
And looke Death in the face; he was not grim
But faire and lovely when he came in armes.
O why there di'd we not on _Syrian_ swords?
Were we reserv'd to prisons and to chaines?
Behold the Galley-asses in every street;
And even now they come to clap on yrons.
Must _Pisoes_ head be shewed upon a pole?
Those members torne, rather then _Roman_-like
And _Piso_-like with weapons in our hands
Fighting in throng of enemies to die?
And that it shall not be a civill warre
_Nero_ prevents, whose cruelty hath left
Few Citizens; we are not Romans now
But Moores, and Jewes, and utmost Spaniards,
And _Asiaes_ refuse[70] that doe fill the Citie.

_Piso_. Part of us are already tak'n; the rest
Amaz'd and seeking holes. Our hidden ends
You see laid open; Court and Citie arm'd
And for feare ioyning to the part they feare.
Why should we move desperate and hopelesse armes
And vainely spill that noble bloud that should
Christall _Rubes_[71] and the _Median_ fields,
Not _Tiber_ colour? And the more your show be,
Your loves and readinesse to loose your lives,
The lother I am to adventure them.
Yet am I proud you would for me have dy'd;
But live, and keepe your selves to worthier ends.
No Mother but my owne shall weepe my death
Nor will I make, by overthrowing us,
Heaven guiltie of more faults yet; from the hopes
Your owne good wishes rather then the thing
Doe make you see, this comfort I receive
Of death unforst. O friends I would not die
When I can live no longer; 'tis my glory
That free and willing I give up this breath,
Leaving such courages as yours untri'd.
But to be long in talk of dying would
Shew a relenting and a doubtfull mind:
By this you shall my quiet thoughts intend;
I blame not Earth nor Heaven for my end.[72]
                                     (_He dies_.)

_Lucan_. O that this noble courage had bin shewne
Rather on enemies breasts then on thy owne.

_Scevin_. But sacred and inviolate be thy will,
And let it lead and teach us.
This sword I could more willingly have thrust
Through _Neroes_ breast; that fortune deni'd me,
It now shall through _Scevinus_.

                                     [_Exeunt_.



(SCENE 3.)


    _Enter Tigellinus solus_.

What multitudes of villaines are here gotten
In a conspiracy, which _Hydra_ like
Still in the cutting off increaseth more.
The more we take the more are still appeach[t],
And every man brings in new company.
I wonder what we shall doe with them all!
The prisons cannot hold more then they have,
The Iayles are full, the holes with Gallants stincke;
Strawe and gold lace together live, I thinke.
'Twere best even shut the gates oth' Citie up
And make it all one Iayle; for this I am sure,
There's not an honest man within the walles.
And, though the guilty doth exceed the free,[73]
Yet through a base and fatall cowardise
They all assist in taking one another
And by their owne hands are to prison led.
There's no condition nor degree of men
But here are met; men of the sword and gowne,
_Plebeians, Senators_, and women too;
Ladies that might have slaine him with their eye
Would use their hands; Philosophers
And Polititians. Polititians?
Their plot was laid too short. Poets would now
Not only write but be the arguments
Of Tragedies. The Emperour's much pleased:
But[74] some have named _Seneca_; and I
Will have _Petronius_. One promise of pardon
Or feare of torture will accusers find.
                                    [_Exit_.



(SCENE 4.)


    _Enter Nimphidius, Lucan, Scevinus, with a guard_.

_Nimph_. Though _Pisoes_ suddennesse and guilty hand
Prevented hath the death he should have had,
Yet you abide it must.

_Lucan_. O may the earth lye lightly on his Course,
Sprinckle his ashes with your flowers and teares;
The love and dainties of mankind is gone.

_Scevin_. What onely now we can, we'le follow thee
That way thou lead'st and waite on thee in death;
Which we had done had not these hindred us.

_Nimph_. Nay, other ends your grievous crimes awaite,
Ends which the law and your deserts exact.

_Scevin_. What have we deserved?

_Nimph_. That punishment that traitors unto Princes,
And enemies to the State they live, in merit.

_Scevin_. If by the State this government you meane
I iustly am an enemy unto it.
That's but to _Nero_, you and _Tigellinus_.
That glorious world that even beguiles the wise,
Being lookt into, includes but three or foure
Corrupted men, which were they all remov'd
'Twould for the common State much better be.

_Nimph_. Why, what can you ith' government mislike,
Unlesse it grieve you that the world's in peace
Or that our arm[i]es conquer without blood?
Hath not his power with forraine visitations
And strangers honour more acknowlldg'd bin
Then any was afore him? Hath not hee
Dispos'd of frontier kingdomes with successe?
Given away Crownes, whom he set up availing?
The rivall seat of the _Arsacidae_,
That thought their brightnesse equall unto ours,
Is't crown'd by him, by him doth raigne?
If we have any warre it's beyond _Rhene_
And _Euphrates_, and such whose different chances
Have rather serv'd for pleasure and discourse
Then troubled us. At home the Citie hath
Increast in wealth, with building bin adorn'd,
The arts have flourisht and the Muses sung;
And that his Iustice and well tempered raigne
Have the best Iudges pleas'd, the powers divine,
Their blessings and so long prosperitie
Of th'Empire under him enough declare.

_Scevin_. You freed the State from warres abroad, but 'twas
To spoile at home more safely and divert
The _Parthian_ enmitie on us; and yet
The glory rather and the spoyles of warre
Have wanting bin, the losse and charge we have.
Your peace is full of cruelty and wrong;
Lawes taught to speake to present purposes;
Wealth and faire houses dangerous faults become;
Much blood ith' Citie and no common deaths,
But Gentlemen and Consulary houses.
On _Caesars_ owne house looke: hath that bin free?
Hath he not shed the blood he calls divine?
Hath not that neerenes which should love beget
Always on him bin cause of hate and feare?
Vertue and power suspected and kept downe?
They, whose great ancestors this Empire made,
Distrusted in the government thereof?
A happy state where _Decius_ is a traytor,
_Narcissus_ true! nor onley wast unsafe
T'offend the Prince; his freed men worse were feard,
Whose wrongs with such insulting pride were heard
That even the faultie it made innocent
If we complain'd that was it selfe a crime,
I, though it were to _Caesars_ benefit:
Our writings pry'd into, falce guiltines
Thinking each taxing pointed out it selfe;
Our private whisperings listned after; nay,
Our thoughts were forced out of us and punisht;
And had it bin in you to have taken away
Our understanding as you did our speech,
You would have made us thought this honest too.

_Nimph_. Can malice narrow eyes
See anything yet more it can traduce?

_Scevin_. His long continued taxes I forbeare,
In which he chiefely showed him to be Prince;
His robbing Alters,[75] sale of Holy things,
The Antique Goblets of adored rust
And sacred gifts of kings and people sold.
Nor was the spoile more odious than the use
They were imployd on; spent on shame and lust,
Which still have bin so endless in their change
And made us know a divers servitude.
But that he hath bin suffered so long
And prospered, as you say; for that to thee,
O Heaven, I turne my selfe and cry, "No God
Hath care of us." Yet have we our revenge,
As much as Earth may be reveng'd on Heaven:
Their divine honour _Nero_ shall usurpe,
And prayers and feasts and adoration have
As well as _Iupiter_.

_Nimph_.              Away, blaspheming tongue,
Be ever silent for thy bitternesse.

                               [_Exeunt_.



(SCENE 5.)


    _Enter Nero, Poppaea, Tigellinus, Flavius, Neophilus,
    Epaphroditus, and a yong man_.

_Nero_. What could cause thee,
Forgetfull of my benefits and thy oath,
To seeke my life?

_Flav_. _Nero_, I hated thee:
Nor was there any of thy souldiers
More faithful, while thou faith deserv'dst, then I.
Together did I leave to be a subject,
And thou a Prince. Caesar was now become
A Player on the Stage, a Waggoner,
A burner of our houses and of us,
A Paracide of Wife and Mother.[76]

_Tigell_. Villaine, dost know where and of whom thou speakst?

_Nero_. Have you but one death for him? Let it bee
A feeling one; _Tigellinus_, bee't[77]
Thy charge, and let me see thee witty in't.

_Tigell_. Come, sirrah;
Weele see how stoutly you'le stretch out your necke.

_Flav_. Wold thou durst strike as stoutly.
                    [_Exit Tigell. and Flav_.

_Nero_. And what's hee there?

_Epaphr_. One that in whispering oreheard[78]
What pitie 'twas, my Lord, that _Pisoe_ died.

_Nero_. And why was't pitie, sirrah, _Pisoe_ died?

_Yong_. My Lord, 'twas pitie he deserv'd to die.

_Poppaea_. How much this youth my _Otho_ doth resemble;    (_aside_.)
_Otho_ my first, my best love who is now
(Under pretext of governing) exyl'd
To _Lucitania_, honourably banish't.

_Nero_. Well, if you be so passionate,
Ile make you spend your pitie on your Prince
And good men, not on traytors.

_Yong_. The Gods forbid my Prince should pitie need.
Somewhat the sad remembrance did me stirre
Oth' fraile and weake condition of our kind,
Somewhat his greatnesse; then whom yesterday
The world but _Caesar_ could shew nothing higher.
Besides, some vertues and some worth he had,
That might excuse my pitie to an end
So cruell and unripe.

_Poppaea_. I know not how this stranger moves my mind.    (_Aside_.)
His face me thinkes is not like other mens,
Nor do they speake thus. Oh, his words invade
My weakned senses and overcome my heart.

_Nero_. Your pitie shewes your favour and your will,
Which side you are inclinde too, had you[79] power:
You can but pitie, else should _Caesar_ feare.
Your ill affection then shall punisht bee.
Take him to execution; he shall die
That the death pities of mine enemie.

_Yong_. This benefit at least
Sad death shall give, to free me from the power
Of such a government; and if I die
For pitying humane chance and _Pisoes_ end
There will be some too that will pitie mine.

_Poppaea_. O what a dauntlesse looke, what sparkling eyes,    (_aside.)_
Threating in suffering! sure some noble blood
Is hid in ragges; feares argues a base spirit;
In him what courage and contempt of death!
And shall I suffer one I love to die?
He shall not die.--Hands of this man! Away!
_Nero_, thou shalt not kill this guiltlesse man.

_Nero_. He guiltlesse? Strumpet!

            (_Spurns her, and Poppaea falls_.)

She is in love with the smooth face of the boy.

_Neoph_. Alas, my Lord, you have slaine her.

_Epaphr_. Helpe, she dies.

_Nero_. _Poppaea, Poppaea_, speake, I am not angry;
I did not meane to hurt thee; speake, sweet love.

_Neoph_. She's dead, my Lord.

_Nero_. Fetch her againe, she shall not die:
Ile ope the Iron gates of hell
And breake the imprison'd shaddowes of the deepe,
And force from death this farre too worthy pray.
She is not dead:
The crimson red that like the morning shone,
When from her windowes (all with Roses strewde)
She peepeth forth, forsakes not yet her cheekes;
Her breath, that like a hony-suckle smelt,
Twining about the prickled Eglintine,
Yet moves her lips; those quicke and piercing eyes,
That did in beautie challenge heaven's eyes,[80]
Yet shine as they were wont. O no, they doe not;
See how they grow obscure. O see, they close
And cease to take or give light to the world.
What starres so ere you are assur'd to grace
The[81] firmament (for, loe, the twinkling fires
Together throng and that cleare milky space,
Of stormes and _Phiades_ and thunder void,
Prepares your roome) do not with wry aspect
Looke on your _Nero_, who in blood shall mourne
Your lucklesse fate, and many a breathing soule
Send after you to waite upon their Queene.
This shall begin; the rest shall follow after,
And fill the streets with outcryes and with slaughter.

                                           [_Exeunt_.]



(SCENE 6.)


    _Enter Seneca with two of his friends_.

_Seneca_. What meanes your mourning, this ungrateful sorrow?
Where are your precepts of _Philosophie_,
Where our prepared resolution
So many yeeres fore-studied against danger?
To whom is _Neroes_ cruelty unknowne,
Or what remained after mothers blood
But his instructors death? Leave, leave these teares;
Death from me nothing takes but what's a burthen,
A clog to that free sparke of Heavenly fire.
But that in _Seneca_ the which you lov'd,
Which you admir'd, doth and shall still remaine,
Secure of death, untouched of the grave.

1 _Friend_. Weele not belie our teares; we waile not thee,
It is our selves and our owne losse we grieve:
To thee what losse in such a change can bee?
Vertue is paid her due by death alone.
To our owne losses do we give these teares,
That loose thy love, thy boundlesse knowledge loose,
Loose the unpatternd sample of thy vertue,
Loose whatsoev'r may praise or sorrow move.
In all these losses yet of this we glory,
That 'tis thy happinesse that makes us sorry.

2 _Friend_. If there be any place for Ghosts of good men,
If (as we have bin long taught) great mens soules
Consume not with their bodies, thou shalt see
(Looking from out the dwellings of the ayre)
True duties to thy memorie perform'd;
Not in the outward pompe of funerall,
But in remembrance of thy deeds and words,
The oft recalling of thy many vertues.
The Tombe that shall th'eternall relickes keepe
Of _Seneca_ shall be his hearers hearts.

_Seneca_. Be not afraid, my soule; goe cheerefully
To thy owne Heaven, from whence it first let downe.
Thou loathly[82] this imprisoning flesh putst on;
Now, lifted up, thou ravisht shalt behold
The truth of things at which we wonder here,
And foolishly doe wrangle on beneath;
And like a God shalt walk the spacious ayre,
And see what even to conceit's deni'd.
Great soule oth' world, that through the parts defus'd
Of this vast All, guid'st what thou dost informe;
You blessed mindes that from the _[S]pheares_ you move,
Looke on mens actions not with idle eyes,
And Gods we goe to, aid me in this strife
And combat of my flesh that, ending, I
May still shew _Seneca_ and my selfe die.

                                    [_Exeunt_.



(SCENE 7.)


    _Enter Antonius, Enanthe_.

_Anton_. Sure this message of the Princes,
So grievous and unlookt for, will appall
_Petronius_ much.

_Enan_.           Will not death any man?

_Anton_. It will; but him so much the more
That, having liv'd to his pleasure, shall forgoe
So delicate a life. I doe not marvell[83]
That _Seneca_ and such sowre fellowes can
Leave that they never tasted, but when we
That have the _Nectar_ of thy kisses felt,
That drinkes away the troubles of this life,
And but one banquet make[s] of forty yeeres,
Must come to leave this;--but, soft, here he is.

    _Enter Petronius and a Centurion_.

_Petron_. Leave me a while, _Centurion_, to my friends;
Let me my farewell take, and thou shalt see
_Neroes_ commandement quickly obaid in mee.    [_Ex. Centur_.
--Come, let us drinke and dash the posts with wine!
Here throw your flowers; fill me a swelling bowle
Such as _Mecenas_ or my _Lucan_ dranke
On _Virgills_ birth day.[84]

_Enan_. What meanes, _Petronius_, this unseasonable
And causelesse mirth? Why, comes not from the Prince
This man to you a messenger of death?

_Petron_. Here, faire _Enanthe_, whose plumpe, ruddy cheeke
Exceeds the grape!--It makes this[85]--here, my geyrle.  (_He drinks_.)
--And thinkst thou death a matter of such harme?
Why, he must have this pretty dimpling chin,
And will pecke out those eyes that now so wound.

_Enan_. Why, is it not th'extreamest of all ills?

_Petron_. It is indeed the last and end of ills.
The Gods, before th'would let us tast deaths Ioyes,
Plact us ith' toyle and sorrowes of this world,
Because we should perceive th'amends and thanke them;
Death, the grim knave, but leades you to the doore
Where, entred once, all curious pleasures come
To meete and welcome you.
A troope of beauteous Ladies, from whose eyes
Love thousand arrows, thousand graces shootes,
Puts forth theire fair hands to you and invites
To their greene arbours and close shadowed walkes,[86]
Whence banisht is the roughness of our yeeres!
Onely the west wind blowes, its[87] ever Spring
And ever Sommer. There the laden bowes
Offer their tempting burdens to your hand,
Doubtful your eye or tast inviting more.
There every man his owne desires enioyes;
Fair _Lucrese_ lies by lusty _Tarquins_ side,
And woes him now againe to ravish her.
Nor us, though _Romane, Lais_ will refuse;
To _Corinth_[88] any man may goe; no maske,
No envious garment doth those beauties hide,
Which Nature made so moving to be spide.
But in bright Christall, which doth supply all,
And white transparent vailes they are attyr'd,
Through which the pure snow underneath doth shine;
(Can it be snowe from whence such flames arise?)
Mingled with that faire company shall we
On bankes of _Violets_ and of _Hiacinths_,
Of loves devising, sit and gently sport;
And all the while melodious Musique heare,
And Poets songs that Musique farre exceed,
The old _Anaiccan_[89] crown'd with smiling flowers,
And amorous _Sapho_ on her Lesbian Lute
Beauties sweet Scarres and Cupids godhead sing.

_Anton_. What? be not ravisht with thy fancies; doe not
Court nothing, nor make love unto our feares.

_Petron_. Is't nothing that I say?

_Anton_.                           But empty words.

_Petron_. Why, thou requir'st some instance of the eye.
Wilt thou goe with me, then, and see that world
Which either will returne thy old delights,
Or square thy appetite anew to theirs?

_Anton_. Nay, I had rather farre believe thee here;
Others ambition such discoveries seeke.
Faith, I am satisfied with the base delights
Of common men. A wench, a house I have,
And of my own a garden: Ile not change
For all your walkes and ladies and rare fruits.

_Petron_. Your pleasures must of force resign to these:
In vaine you shun the sword, in vaine the sea,
In vaine is _Nero_ fear'd or flattered.
Hether you must and leave your purchast houses,
Your new made garden and your black browd wife,
And of the trees thou hast so quaintly set,
Not one but the displeasant Cipresse shall
Goe with thee.[90]

_Anton_.       Faith 'tis true, we must at length;
But yet, _Petronius_, while we may awhile
We would enjoy them; those we have w'are sure of,
When that thou talke of's doubtful and to come.

_Petron_. Perhaps thou thinkst to live yet twenty yeeres,
Which may unlookt for be cut off, as mine;
If not, to endlesse time compar'd is nothing.
What you endure must ever, endure now;
Nor stay not to be last at table set.
Each best day of our life at first doth goe,
To them succeeds diseased age and woe;
Now die your pleasures, and the dayes you[91] pray
Your rimes and loves and jests will take away.
Therefore, my sweet, yet thou wilt goe with mee,
And not live here to what thou wouldst not see.

_Enan_. Would y'have me then [to] kill my selfe, and die,
And goe I know not to what places there?

_Petron_. What places dost thou feare?
Th'ill-favoured lake they tell thee thou must passe,
And the[92] blacke frogs that croake about the brim?

_Enan_. O, pardon, Sir, though death affrights a woman,
Whose pleasures though you timely here divine,
The paines we know and see.

_Petron_. The paine is lifes; death rids that paine away.
Come boldly, there's no danger in this foord;
Children passe through it. If it be a paine
You have this comfort that you past it are.

_Enan_. Yet all, as well as I, are loath to die.

_Petron_. Judge them by deed, you see them doe't apace.

_Enan_. I, but 'tis loathly and against their wils.

_Petron_. Yet know you not that any being dead
Repented them and would have liv'd againe.
They then there errors saw and foolish prayers,
But you are blinded in the love of life;
Death is but sweet to them that doe approach it.
To me, as one that tak'n with _Delphick_ rage,
When the divining God his breast doth fill,
He sees what others cannot standing by,
It seemes a beauteous and pleasant thing.--
Where is my deaths Phisitian?

_Phisi_.                      Here, my Lord.

_Petron_. Art ready?

_Phisi_.             I, my Lord.

_Petron_.                        And I for thee:
Nero, my end shall mocke thy tyranny.

                                [_Exeunt_.

_Finis Actus Quarti_.




_Actus Quintus_.


    _Enter Nero, Nimphidius, Tigellinus, Neophilus,
    Epaphroditus and other attendants_.

_Nero_. Enough is wept, _Poppaea_, for thy death,
Enough is bled: so many teares of others
Wailing their losses have wipt mine away.
Who in the common funerall of the world
Can mourne on[e] death?

_Tigell_. Besides, Your Maiestie this benefit
In their diserved punishment shall reape,
From all attempts hereafter to be freed.
Conspiracy is how for ever dasht,
Tumult supprest, rebellion out of heart;
In _Pisoes_ death danger it selfe did die.

_Nimph_. _Piso_ that thought to climbe by bowing downe,
By giving a way to thrive, and raising others
To become great himselfe, hath now by death
Given quiet to your thoughts and feare to theirs
That shall from treason their advancement plot;
Those dangerous heads that his ambition leand on;
And they by it crept up and from their meannesse
Thought in this stirre to rise aloft, are off.
Now peace and safetie waite upon your throne;
Securitie hath wall'd your seat about;
There is no place for feare left.

_Nero_. Why, I never feard them.

_Nimph_.                         That was your fault:
Your Maiestie might give us leave to blame
Your dangerous courage and that noble soule
To prodigall[93] of it selfe.

_Nero_. A Princes mind knowes neither feare nor hope:
The beames of royall Maiestie are such
As all eyes are with it amaz'd and weakened,
But it with nothing. I at first contemn'd
Their weak devises and faint enterprise.
Why, thought they against him to have prevail'd
Whose childhood was from _Messalinas_ spight
By Dragons[94] (that the earth gave up), preserv'd?
Such guard my cradle had, for fate had then
Pointed me out to be what now I am.
Should all the Legions and the provinces,
In one united, against me conspire
I could disperce them with one angry eye;
My brow's an host of men. Come, _Tigellinus_,
Let turne this bloody banquet _Piso_ meant us
Into a merry feast; weele drink and challenge
Fortune.--Whose that _Neophilus_?

    _Enter a Roman_.

_Neoph_. A Currier from beyond the Alpes, my Lord.

_Nero_. Newes of some German victory, belike,
Or Britton overthrow.

_Neoph_.              The letters come from France.

_Nimph_. Why smiles your Maiestie?

_Nero_. So, I smile? I should be afraid; there's one
In Armes, _Nimphidius_.

_Nimph_. What, arm'd against your Maiestie?

_Nero_. Our lieutenant of the Province, _Julius Vindex_.

_Tigell_. Who? that guiddy French-man?

_Nimph_. His Province is disarm'd, my Lord; he hath
No legion nor a souldier under him.

_Epaphr_. One that by blood and rapine would repaire
His state consum'd in vanities and lust.

    _Enter another Roman_.

_Tigell_. He would not find out three to follow him.

_A Mess_. More newes, my Lord.

_Nero_. Is it of _Vindex_ that thou hast to say?

_Mess_. _Vindex_ is up and with him France in Armes;
The Noblemen and people throng to th'cause;
Money and Armour Cities doe conferre;
The countrey doth send in provision;
Young men bring bodies, old men lead them forth;
Ladies doe coine their Iewels into pay;
The sickle now is fram'd into a sword
And drawing horses are to manage taught;
France nothing doth but warre and fury breath.

_Nero_. All this fierce talk's but "Vindex doth rebell";
And I will hang him.

_Tigell_. How long came you forth after the other messenger?

_Mess_. Foure dayes, but by the benefit of sea and
Weather am arrivd with him.

_Nimph_. How strong was _Vindex_ at your setting forth?

_Mess_. He was esteem'd a hundred thousand.

_Tigell_. Men enough.

_Nimph_. And souldiers few enough;
Tumultuary troops, undisciplin'd,
Untrain'd in service; to wast victuals good,
But when they come to look on warres black wounds,
And but afarre off see the face of death--

_Nero_. It falles out for my empty coffers well,
The spoyle of such a large and goodly Province
Enricht with trade and long enioyed peace.

_Tigell_. What order will your Maiestie have taken
For levying forces to suppresse this stirre?

_Nero_. What order should we take? weele laugh and drinke.
Thinkst thou it fit my pleasures be disturb'd
When any French-man list to breake his necke!
They have not heard of _Pisoes_ fortune yet;
Let that Tale fight with them.

_Nimph_. What order needs? Your Maiestie shal finde
This French heat quickly of it selfe grow cold.

_Nero_. Come away:
Nothing shall come that this nights sport shall stay.

              [_Ex. Ner. Nimph. Tig. and attendants_.


    _Mane[n]t Neophilus, Epaphroditus_.

_Neoph_. I wonder what makes him so confident
In this revolt now growne unto a warre,
And ensignes in the field; when in the other,
Being but a plot of a conspiracie,
He shew'd himselfe so wretchedly dismaid?

_Epaphr_. Faith, the right nature of a coward to set light
Dangers that seeme farre off. _Piso_ was here,
Ready to enter at the Presence doore
And dragge him out of his abused chaire;
And then he trembled. _Vindex_ is in France,
And many woods and seas and hills betweene.

_Neoph_. 'Twas strange that _Piso_ was so soone supprest.

_Epaphr_. Strange? strange indeed; for had he but come up
And taken the Court in that affright and stirre
While unresolv'd for whom or what to doe,
Each on [of?] the other had in iealousie
(While as apaled Maiestie not yet
Had time to set the countenance), he would
Have hazarded the royall seat.

_Neoph_. Nay, had it without hazard; all the Court
Had for him bin and those disclos'd their love
And favour in the cause, which now to hide
And colour their good meanings ready were
To shew their forwardnesse against it most.

_Epaphr_. But for a stranger with a naked province,
Without allies or friends ith' state, to challenge
A Prince upheld with thirty Legions,
Rooted in foure discents of Ancestors
And foureteene yeares continuance of raigne,
Why it is--

    _Enter Nero, Nimphidius, Tigellinus to them_.

_Nero_. Galba and Spaine? What? Spaine and Gal[b]a too?

                                     [_Ex. Ner. Nimph_.

_Epaph_. I pray thee, _Tigellinus_, what furie's this?
What strange event, what accident hath thus
Orecast your countenances?

_Tigell_. Downe we were set at table and began
With sparckling bowles to chase our feares away,
And mirth and pleasure lookt out of our eyes;
When, loe, a breathless messenger arrives
And tells how _Vindex_ and the powers of France
Have _Sergius Galba_ chosen Emperor;
With what applause the Legions him receive;
That Spaines revolted, Portingale hath ioyn'd;
As much suspected is of Germany.
But _Nero_, not abiding out the end,
Orethrew the tables, dasht against the ground
The cuppe which he so much, you know, esteem'd;
Teareth his haire and with incensed rage
Curseth false men and Gods the lookers on.

_Neoph_. His rage, we saw, was wild and desperate.

_Epaph_. O you unsearched wisedomes which doe laugh
At our securitie and feares alike,
And plaine to shew our weaknesse and your power
Make us contemne the harmes which surest strike;
When you our glories and our pride undoe
Our overthrow you make ridiculous too.

                              [_Exeunt_.



(SCENE 2.)


    _Enter Nimphidius solus_.

Slow making counsels and the sliding yeere
Have brought me to the long foreseene destruction
Of this misled young man. His State is shaken
And I will push it on; revolted France
Nor the coniured Provinces of Spaine
Nor his owne guilt shall like to me oppresse him.
I to his easie yeelding feares proclaime
New German mutenys and all the world
Rowsing it selfe in hate of _Neroes_ name;
I his distracted counsels doe disperce
With fresh despaires; I animate the Senate
And the people, to ingage them past recall
In preiudice of _Nero_: and in briefe
Perish he must,--the fates and I resolve it.
Which to effect I presently will goe
Proclaime a _Donative_ in _Galbaes_ name.

    _Enter Antoneus to him_.

_Anton_. Yonders _Nimphidius_, our Commander, now.
I with respect must speake and smooth my brow.
--Captaine, all haile.

_Nimph_.               _Antoneus_, well met.
Your place of _Tribune_ in this Anarchi.

_Anton_. This Anarchy, my Lord? is _Nero_ dead?

_Nimph_. This Anarchy, this yet unstiled time
While Galba is unseased of the Empire
Which _Nero_ hath forsooke.

_Anton_. Hath _Nero_ then resign'd the Empire?

_Nimph_. In effect he hath for he's fled to _Egypt_.

_Anton_. My Lord, you tell strange newes to me.

_Nimph_. But nothing strange to mee,
Who every moment knew of his despaires.
The Curriers came so fast with fresh alarmes
Of new revolts that he, unable quite
To beare his feares which he had long conceal'd,
Is now revolted from himselfe and fled.

_Anton_. Thrust with report and rumours from his seat!
My Lord, you know the Campe depends on you
As you determine.

_Nimph_.          There it lies _Antonius_.
What should we doe? it boots not to relie
On Neroes stinking fortunes; and to sit
Securely looking on were to receive
An Emperor from Spaine: which how disgracefull
It were to us who, if we waigh our selves,
The most materiall accessions are
Of all the Roman Empire. Which disgrace
To cover we must ioyne ourselves betimes,
And therefore seeme to have created _Galba_.
Therefore He straight proclaime a _Donative_
Of thirty thousand sesterces a man.

_Anton_. I thinke so great a gift was never heard of.
_Galba_, they say, is frugally inclinde:
Will he avow so great a gift as this?

_Nimph_. Howere he like of it he must avow it,
If by our promise he be once ingaged;
And since the souldiers care belongs to mee,
I will have care of them and of their good.
Let them thank me if I through this occasion
Procure for them so great a donative.
                                       [_Ex. Nimph_.

_Anton_. So you be thankt it skils not who prevaile,
_Galba_ or _Nero_,--traitor to them both.
You give it out that _Neroes_ fled to _Egypt_,
Who, with the frights of your reports amaz'd,
By our device doth lurke for better newes,
Whilst you inevitably doe betray him.
Workes he all this for _Galba_ then? Not so:
I have long seene his climbing to the Empire
By secret practises of gracious women.
And other instruments of the late Court.
That was his love to her that me refus'd;
And now by this he would [gain?] give the souldiers favour.
Now is the time to quit _Poppaeas_ scorne
And his rivallity. Ile straight reveale
His treacheries to _Galbaes_ agents here.
                                     [_Exit_.



(SCENE 3.)


    _Enter Tigellinus with the Guard_.

_Tigell_. You see what issue things doe sort unto;
Yet may we hope not only impunitie
But with our fellowes part oth' guift proclaim'd.

    _Nero meets them_.

_Nero_. Whether goe you? stay, my friends;
'Tis Caesar calls you; stay, my loving friends.

_Tigell_. We were his slaves, his footstooles, and must crouch
But now with such observance to his feet;
It is his misery that calles us friends.

_Nero_. And moves you not the misery of a Prince?
O stay, my friends, stay, harken to the voyce
Which once yee knew.

_Tigell_.            Harke to the peoples cryes,
Harke to the streets that _Galba, Galba_, ring.

_Nero_. The people may forsake me without blame,
I did them wrong to make you rich and great,
I tooke their houses to bestow on you;
Treason in them hath name of libertie:
Your fault hath no excuse, you are my fault
And the excuse of others treachery.

_Tigell_. Shall we with staying seeme his tyrannies
T'uphold, as if we were in love with them?
We are excus'd (unlesse we stay too long)
As forced Ministers and a part of wrong.

                               [_Ex. praeter Nero_.

_Nero_. O now I see the vizard from my face,
So lovely and so fearefull, is fall'n off,
That vizard, shadow, nothing, Maiestie,
Which, like a child acquainted with his feares,
But now men trembled at and now contemne.
_Nero_ forsaken is of all the world,
The world of truth. O fall some vengeance downe
Equall unto their falsehoods and my wrongs!
Might I accept the Chariot of the Sunne
And like another _Phaeton_ consume
In flames of all the world, a pile of Death
Worthy the state and greatnesse I have lost!
Or were I now but Lord of my owne fires
Wherein false Rome yet once againe might smoake
And perish, all unpitied of her Gods,
That all things in their last destruction might
Performe a funerall honour to their Lord!
O _Iove_ dissolve with _Caesar Caesars_ world;
Or you whom _Nero_ rather should invoke,
Blacke _Chaos_ and you fearefull shapes beneath,
That with a long and not vaine envy have
Sought to destroy this worke of th'other Gods;
Now let your darknesse cease the spoyles of day,
And the worlds first contention end your strife.

    _Enter two Romanes to him_.

1 _Rom_. Though others, bound with greater benefits,
Have left your changed fortunes and doe runne
Whither new hopes doe call them, yet come we.

_Nero_. O welcome come you to adversitie;
Welcome, true friends. Why, there is faith on earth;
Of thousand servants, friends and followers,
Yet two are left. Your countenance, me thinks,
Gives comfort and new hopes.

2 _Rom_.                     Doe not deceive your thoughts:
My Lo