(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.