(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.]