University of Virginia Library

Act. V.

Scæ. I.

Britannicus, Flavius, Attendants.
Brit.
Fire, fire, I'm all one flame, fly, my friends fly,
Or I shall blast you; O my breath is Brimstone,
My Lungs are Sulphur, my hot brains boil over;
Or you that needs will stay, let your eyes run,
If you did ever love this wretched Prince,
Now mourn, now weep; O, I will catch your tears
And drink the precious drops: I burn, I burn,
Fall, fall, you gentle Rills, you melting show'rs
Call all the winds to fan my furious fires;
Bring the cold North, I'le kiss his out-blown cheeks,
Upon my flaming brest I'le lay his head,
And hug him in my heart, for he is cold,
With my hot arms I'le clapse his frosty limbs,
And twine about him, like a wanton girle.
Oh! oh!

Fla.
Can there be Gods, and not revenge?
Can they behold this Noble copy of
Their own bright excellence poluted thus,
Thus rent and torn by Sacrilegious hands,
Yet idle sit, and sleep upon their Thrones?
The voice of Murder's loud as their own Thunder.
Awake, awake, you drowsy Deityes!
Here is a sight so pitifully strange,
'Twould melt the Scythian's Soul, who stands unmov'd
And Sullen at his Mothers Funeral.
When Fame reports this deed, the rugged Moore
will stand abash'd, and groan to hear it told,
Break, break, my heart: Oh you great GODS of ROME,
Where are you all? Is this my welcome home?

Brit.
Ha! de does weep! nay, pry'thee do not hide it;
By Heav'n, thou art my friend: lend me thy store;
My eyes shall pay thee use, trust me they shall;
Here, in my bosome, lay thy pearly stock;
Heav'ns, how he weeps! thou art a Virgin sure.
Fall, you dear drops; Oh let me hug thee close:
My Spirits are quite parch'd up, my palat's dry;
Th' Elizian shades are cool: oh, let me dye.

Flav.
Sir, I am Flavius: have you quite forgot me?

Brit.
I do remember thee; I lov'd thee well:
Thou art a Noble youth, the child of Honour.

Flav.
From France I come, and bring important news.

Brit.
Ha! hold, I'le tell thee news: Octavia's dead;
She's cold, alas but I am hot as fire.
You amiable floods, when do you stray?
Oh, come, and quench me, quench my raging flames.

Fla.
O Hear me, Heav'ns! hear me, you Just great Gods.
If still Your ears are open to our Pray'rs,
If yet you hold commerce with mortal sighs,
If yet the vows of humble Souls are heard,
Oh now look down, and hear my short address:
No sort of sustenance will I receive,
Nor shall the sparkling bowl salute my lips,
Nor drowny sleep visit my weary eyes,
E're I the author of this Murder know.

Brit.
'Tis like thee; thou wert alwayes a true friend.
In a bright flaming Chariot I'le ascend.
Cyara, Oh Octavia, my dear loves,
You Queens of Innocence, you spotless Doves,
Meet me, I come. Flavius? nay, pry'thee nigher;
Thus, in thy arms, let me, kind youth, expire.

[Dyes.]
Fla.
Farewel, bright Soul! thou Royal Excellence!
Rare union! Grandeur joyn'd with Innocence!
The Fates of wicked Men are gross and slow;
Thine mov'd apace:—but I forgot my vow.

Enter Petronius, Burrhus, with Guards.
Bur.
'Tis done, my Lord, ne'r doubt it.

Petr.
What is he?

Bur.
'Tis Flavius, new returned from France, he came
Just as the Prince had drunk the poyson'd wine.

Petr.
That was not quite so well, for he is honest;
But take no notice: where's the Prince—give way.
How came he dead? I charge you speak, answer me.
Lay hold of all, in the name of the Emperour.

Fla.
Hands off, I will declare the author of
This horrid Murder. Speak, who fill'd his wine?

Bur.
That, Sir, did I.

Fla.
Then thou art his Murderer.
Start not, base villain, black as thou art, the Prince
With his last Noble breath did pardon thee,

Bur.
Sir, I was Order'd—

Fla.
Ha! is it then a truth?

Bur.
I know not; but—

Fla.
Thou ly'st; it is too true.
Guilt, and distraction, sit upon thy brow:
And 'tis as true that thou shalt dye for't, villain.

[Draws.]
Petr.
Hold, Sir: by what authority dare you do this?

Fla.
Why, by the Gods, by friendship, Justice, all:
I'le answer thee no farther.

Petr,
Ha! forbear.
Take him or kill him, Guards, I do Command you.

Flavius beats down Petronius, and kills Burrhus: the Guards disarm him.
Fla.
Pardon, you Gods, my former blasphemy;
O you are Just, and I adore your powers
Now lead me where you please, to life or death,
Let me but pay my last observance here,
My vow I have perform'd; and thou, dear Prince,
Art in some part reveng'd: what my poor power
Could possibly effect, is done; the rest
Belongs unto the Gods.

Petr.
Remove the bodyes,
And bring him away.

Exeunt.

Scæ. II.

Plautus, Mirmilon.
Plau.
Heear you the news?

Mir.
Not I: you seem amaz'd.

Plau.
A Currier from beyond the Alps arriv'd
Reports the French are all in Arms, resolv'd
To bring the War ev'n to the gates of ROME.
Fierce Vindex heads the Rebels, and all France
Contributes largely: this the Emperour hears,
And laughs; slights them, and swears he'll hang 'em all.
The people mutiny in every street;
Their tongues are Lawless; nay, they Murmur loud:
Some modestly retire to corners, where
They curse and damn him, call him paricide,
A burner of their houses, friends, and Gods,
Lo where he comes; the Lion's rous'd, his eyes
Look red with anger, Lightning flashes in them:
What Thunder follows? Let's stand by and hear.

Nero, Flavius, Guards,
Fla.
Was't not well done? I did his Murd'rer kill.

Nero.
Know, hardy fool, he suffer'd by my will:
I hated him, and did his death contrive.
Now, villain, think how long thou hast to live.

Fla.
To live? Oh who would live, thy humor's slave?
A torment worse than blackest Devils have.
Let parasites, the moths of Grandeur, fawn,
These guilded canker-worms, ambition's spawn:
I do despise thee, Tyrant as thou art;
There's nothing great, nor Manly in thy heart.

Nero.
Are you so hot? I'le alter your fierce tone.
Plautus, go burn the villain; see it done.

Fla.
Mid'st of devouring flames, I will despise
All that the Master Devil thou,
Or the black crew of lesser Fiends devise:
Thou shalt not hear a groan till I expire;
But then I'le shout defyance from the fire,
Smile at the shock of death, and to the Gods retire

Exeunt.
Enter Petronius.
Petr.
Dread Sir, two Messengers who come from Spain,
Report that Galba does new Wars maintain;
Heads the revolted Troops, and joyns with France;
The Germans too come in, and all advance
Against Your Majesty.

Nero.
I'le hear no more.
Is Galba false?

Petr.
They call him Emperour.

Nero.
They do; but what's the name, without the pow'r?
Let him come on; this arm shall strike him dead,
And snatch his borrowed Laurels from his head.

Petr.
Your Treasures are consum'd with late expence.

Nero.
His gather'd Sums shall help that indigence.

Petr.
Time flies; 'tis fit your wisdom had design'd—

Nero.
Do you consult, while I my pleasures mind.
Oh my Poppœa, where art thou retir'd?
Never was blessing.
So oft enjoy'd; yet still so much desir'd.

Exeunt.

Scæn. III.

Popepa, Piso, and Otho, listening.
Pop.
Are they both dead? Piso and Otho too?

Piso.
I saw 'em first oppose the pyrat's rage,
With numbers, scorning death, they did engage;
The GOD of battels blush'd as he look'd on,
Envying the just applause these Heroes won.

Pop.
Virtue is still by violence opprest.
How his eyes sparkle! Pray relate the rest.

Piso.
I have my self the doubtful hazard stood
Of fifteen battles, plung'd in waves of blood,
The dreadful cast on Fortune's bank I threw,
Life was my lot; yet still in all my view
Of wounds, of War, and death, I never saw
Such pleasing horror, such delightful awe,
Such mighty force and art together laid;
Never was Game of death so bravely play'd:
At last, O that I live such news to tell!
With conqu'ring tir'd, these Sons of Valour fell.

Pop.
Oh pow'r of Love! his words my Soul invade!
Sure 'tis some GOD, delightning in a shade:
The Glories of his eyes, like Stars in night,
Or mourning Beauties, charm my wounded sight.
Since Honours are by Cæsar, round my hurl'd,
Since I am made the Empress of the World,
Since all's my choice, why do I doubtful stand,
And wish a pleasure which I may command?
If, when I dye, I must to torments go,
'Tis fit no time be lost; let pleasures flow.
Fancy its eager appetite shall cloy;
Let resolution Holy qualms destroy;
Henceforth, what e're I like, I will enjoy.

Exit beckoning Piso.
Otho,
Solus.
O Hell! her crimes thy horror cannot match:
Be swift, my Sword, her lust and life dispatch.
This key unlocks all doors throughout the Court.
Are you so wanton? Yes you shall have sport.
How am I Rob'd of all I ever lov'd!
My soul is heavy, and would be remov'd.
Once she was fair, the softest, sweetest wife,
My heart's lov'd Joy, the Jewel of my life;
Had she stood so how happy had I been!
But she's fallen, and Glories in her sin.
Ah, the whole Sex is naught, false, and unkind;
Falser than flatt'ring Seas, or fleeting wind:
With panting hopes and fears they rack our brest,
Snatch our soft sleeps, and ravish downy rest:
Oh, they are skill'd, practis'd in paint and art;
Smile in our face, and stab us to the heart.
Yet we see all, think nothing is unspy'd
While they like Serpents, on their bellies glide,
And leave no Print behinde our search to guide.

Exit.
Poppea, Piso.
Piso.
War is my Mistress; here I am unfit:
Love's chaplet misbecoms a Warrior's head;
I cannot cringe, my nerves too firm are knit;
These limbs ne'r lay upon a silken bed.
Can you, that are the World's great Empress, take
Delight in the embraces of a slave?

Pop.
The Sun, for thy lov'd cheek, did Heav'n forsake;
Why should not I the like advantage have?
From a bright Orb of Glory I'le descend,
And in thy gloomy Cell make my abode:
No more a slave; henceforth thou art my friend:
A Cottage has, ere now, receiv'd a GOD.

Piso.
Who ever knew Night mingle with the Day?

Pop.
Nothing agrees with Love so well as Night;
Hush'd, and in darkness hid, the bashful play,
And, happy as the bold, ravish delight:
The most obdurate, are by kindness won.
Your touches charm; nay, why do you withdraw?
Grow thus, like a soft cloud upon the Sun;
My pow'rful flame thy Icy fears will thaw.

Piso.
Your Grandeur aws me; yet, why should I fear?
Somthing there is which my blood strangely moves;
I am your slave; but are we private here?

Pop.
As Hermits in their Cells, or Gods in groves.

Piso.
Why did you name the Gods? that Sacred sound
The force of Thunder bears, and turns my blood;
My Spirits fly low, yet with your touch rebound,
Like wanton Swallows, when they kiss the flood.

Pop.
Such fears unworthy are my blood or Throne;
Give me a Fancy fixt to its delight:
Tremblings and starts the fearful well may own;
The valiant still refuse a distant fight.

Enter Otho.
Otho.
Here's one that fain would try your mighty Art:
What mean you? ere the Fight's begun, you start.

Pop.
Night, horror, death! Ah, whither shall I fly?

Otho.
Can you be valiant, and yet fear to dye?

Pop.
Thus, at your feet, let me one moment grow;
A little respite for my Soul allow.
Repentance seizes on each vital part,
And serions grief clings about my heart;
Yet, ere I dye, let me my thoughts declare,
O you are wrong'd; my still loved Lord, you are:
Your bed's defil'd, and I am all one stain;
But yet my blood may wash me white again.
By killing me, you only can forgive;
I am so wicked, that I would not live.
In pity say this of me, when 'Im dead,
She was not easily to ruin led;
'Twas not a common Crown her virtue bought;
But mighty Glory with great Courtship wrought;
Then she was young:
This, Sir, perhaps, may mitigate my fault.

Oth.
Her cunning tongue retains its wonted charms.
Peace, Syren, and hold off thy guilty arms.
I feel a gentle load drop on my feet.
Look, Piso, I suspect, but dare not see't.

Piso
Oh, do not, Sir: my eyes, by chance, did stray
And half my resolution's ta'ne away.
She weeps, she weeps! Gods! who would not admire
To see such floods rise from a Spring of fire?

Otho.
Yes, I will see her: O thou false one, speak;
For thou shalt die,
Though, will the Fatal stroke, my own heart break.
Look up, seek not to hide thy known disgrace;
But shew thy fair, thy false, thy once lov'd face.
Oh answer me, what have I ever done
That thou should'st use me thus? cease thy vain moan,
And speak, or practice o're thy mournful art,
And sob an answer. Oh my troubled heart!

Pop.
Yes, I will speak, my Noble Lord, I will;
'Tis but a short request,: be kind, and kill.
Your words, like Daggers, through my brest make way;
A thousand deaths you give me by delay.
This one last look.—Oh put me out of pain;
I'le speak no more;
Nor shall my eyes e'er look forth again.

Otho.
A mortal agony invades my blood;
Somthing now whispers me, she may be good;
And shall we blast young Virtue in the bud?
An Earth-quake's here, all in confusion Tost,
In the disorder too, Revenge is lost.

Piso.
Here you shall find it; let me give the blow.

Otho.
Thou art so hasty still.

Piso.
And you as slow.

Oth.
She ne'r offended thee; I charge you hold.

Piso.
His old love burns again.

Oth.
Alas, I'm cold.
Compassion this last ardency did move;
Twas the effect of pity, not of Love

Enter Nero.
Nero.
The Empress dying? hold thy bloody hand.

Piso.
If thou wouldst save her life, I charge thee stand;
The bound of thy Progression there shall be:
When e're thou stirr'st,
She takes a step to immortality.

Nero.
Shall I be brav'd by a black Dog, a Slave?
Hold, hold: my Pardon, on my knees humbly thus I crave.
Stiff as an Elephant, I cannot bend;
My little fault, let this submission mend.

Piso.
You stirr'd an inch; 'tis vain to weep or Pray.

Nero.
Thou Son of Night, pernicious creature, stay:
I'th' name of all the Gods, Oh, let her live;
Let me this bounty, on my knees, receive,
And thou, in all my Glories, shalt have share;
Thy sooty hand shall the World's Scepter bear,
And Diamond wreaths shall round thy temples mourn,
And Pearly threds thy Jetty neck adorn.

Piso.
Just as you move, my Justice shall proceed.
She shall not dye this time, though she must bleed.

Stabs Her in the Arm.
Nero.
What hast thou done?

Piso.
Not much: your posture keep,
And stir not, lest I make a wound more deep.

Nero.
Behold I'm fix'd: thou art not humane sure,
O, mighty Love!
'Tis for thy sake, I this disgrace endure:
Had'st thou a Generous Soul, thou could'st not see
The Lord O'th' world thus long upon his knee.

Piso.
Like a Tall Tree, to dull Earth thou shalt grow;
You were a mighty God a while a goe,
And 'tis my Pride to make your Godhead bow.

Nero.
I cannot suffer this. Awake, my Soul,
Let haughty rage all thoughts of Love controul.

Piso.
Nay, then 'tis time: Brother strike home.

Otho.
I have.
May all her faults be buried in her grave.

Nero.
Hence, from my fight; the slaves to torments bear;
Mark me, let 'em be dying all the Year.
Tortures in this small Book you may explore,
The Rack, the Wheel, Phalaris Bull; nay more;
With care, turn all the bloody pages o're:
On fiery brazen pavements let 'em run,
Their eye-lids snatch, let them Face the Sun.
'S death, dare you stay? begone, I will not hear
A word;—what need I thus my Spirits tear?
My looks hereafter shall my mind declare.
Where is the Empress? bring her to my bed.

Plau.
The Empress, said you, Sir? Alas she is dead.

Nero.
Villain, thou ly'st; go pull his tongue out, haste;
I'le see the roots on't; fly, h' has spoke his last.
Who answers now? Statues, By Heav'n! All dull?

Mir.
If she were dead—

Nero.
What then, Sententious fool?
If she were dead, I would restore her breath,
And she should live,
Spight of her self, spight of the Gods, and Death.
My Pow'r's unlimited, as is their own:
My smile brings Life, and death attends my frown.
My Empires bounds Nature alone does make;
The Sun his lodging in my Sea does take,
The grateful God too owns the mighty debt,
Thaws me down clouds, and payes me gen'rous heat.
If she were dead?
Curse o' your criming and base flattery;
Ye are lyars all: hence, from my presence fly.

Enter Messenger.
Drus.
Lost, and undone: fly Sacred Sir, you'r lost:
Galba is just arriv'd upon our Coast;
With four score thousand strong he beats the way,
The treacherous Senate too their trust betray;
Through all the Streets Proclaim him Emperour;
But call you Tyrant, curse your Name and Pow'r.

Exit.
Mir.
Flie, flie, dread Sir; flie from this fatal ground;
The base Plebeians have beset you round:
Petronius, who a while sustain'd their heat,
I saw, all bloody, from the walls retreat
Otho, and Piso, from your Guards are freed
All ROME applauds them for this last great Deed.

Exit.
Enter Petronius staggering.
Nero.
Speak, my true friend; I'le be advis'd by you;
What more remains, in these extreams, to do?

Petr.
With faithful truth, Sir, I have serv'd you long:
Yours was the right, I did my self the wrong;
But now it matters not, 'twas Loyalty,
And, as I liv'd, I in your service dye.
My counsel is, you by your own hand bleed;
The Senate has some base poor death decreed.
Death's but a name; by my example fall:
I fear no lakes, nor stigian Frogs; that's all.

[Dies.]
Nero.
O Gods! but wherefore name I these feign'd powr's?
The Elements, the Seasons, Days, and hours,
Were alwayes as they are, and will be so,
And Nature her eternal round will go.
The Gods when we're awake their Dæmons keep
At home, and only fright us when we sleep.
I would the utmost know of Destiny,
And therefore, dying, do their pow'rs defie
If they have any Thunder, let it come;
I'le stand the heavy shock, and brave my doom.
Down all at once—Ha! whence proceeds this noise?
(Thunder.)
If there be Gods, sure this must be their voice.
Speak on, talk lowder yet. What shapes are these?
O dismal Scene of death! my Arteries.
Tremble, and nature sinks beneath her weight.
I know you all: smile on, Thou art my Fate.
What God was't hung thee there? He is my friend:
By thee, he points me out a noble end.

[Dies.]
Otho, Piso, Attendants.
Otho.
'Tis he, and as it seems, by himself slain.
ROME's Sacred Genius, now look forth again;
Come from thy shroud, show thy Majestick head;
Direct our Joyes, the dreadful Tyrant's dead.

Piso.
Let's to the FORUM haste, and there proclaim
A mighty donative in Galba's name.
With all the Pomp Oth' Court his Camp wee'll meet,
And his approach with Joyful shoutings greet:
Proclaim him Emperour with Trumpets Sound
While he, now made a God, shall scorn the ground,
And, on our shoulders ride, with Lawrels Crown'd.