(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.