Chapter 4

_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.