Chapter 5

_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_.