 | The Tragedy of Nero |  |
Actus Tertius.
Enter Poppea Solus.Poppea:
I lookt Nimphidius would haue come ere this,
Makes he no greater hast to our embraces?
Or, doth the easines abate his edge?
Or, seeme we not as faire still as we did?
Or, is he so with Neroes playing wonne,
That he, before Poppea, doth preferre it?
Or doth he thinke to haue occasion still?
Sill, to haue time to waite on our stolne meetings?
Enter Nimphidius to her.
Poppe:
But see his presence now doth end those doubts.
What i'st Nimphidius hath so long detain'd you?
Nimph:
Faith Lady, causes strong enough,
High walls, bard dores, and guards of armed men.
Poppe:
Were you Imprisoned, then, as you were going
To the Theater.
Nimphi:
Not in my going Lady,
For, after he was once vpon the Stage,
The Gates were more seuerely lookt into
Then at a towne besieg'd; No man, no cause
Was Currant, no, nor passant; At other sights
The striefe is only to get in, but here
The stirre was all, in getting out againe;
Had, we not bin kept to it so, I thinke
T'would nere haue bin so tedious, though I know,
'Twas hard to iudge, whether his doing of it
Were more absur'd, then 'twas for time to doe it.
But when we once were forc't to be spectators,
compel'd to that, which should haue bin a pleasure
We could no longer beare the wearisomnesse:
No paine so irkesome, as a forc't delight;
Some fell downe dead, or seem'd at least to doe so,
Vnder that colour, to be carried forth,
Then death first pleasur'd men, the shape all feare
Was put on gladly, some clombe ore the walls,
And so, by falling caught in earnest that,
Which th'other did dissemble; There were women,
(That being not able to intreat the guard
To let them passe the gates,) were brought to bedde
Amid'st the throngs of men, and made Lucina
Blush, to see that vnwonted companie.
Poppe:
If'twere so straightly kept, how got you forth?
Nimp:
Faith Lady I came, pretending hast
In Face and Countenance, told them I was sent
For things, bith' Prince forgot about the sceane,
Which, both my credit made them to beleeue,
And Nero, newly whispered me before.
Thus did I passe the gates, the danger Ladie
I haue not yet escap't.
Poppe:
What danger meane you?
Nim:
The danger of his anger, when he knowes
How I thus shrunke away, for there stood knaues
That put downe in their Tables all that stir'd,
And markt in each there cheerefulnesse, or sadnesse.
I warrant Ile excuse you: But I pray,
Lett's be a little better for your sight;
How did our Princely husband act Orestes?
Did he not wish againe his Mother liuing?
Her death would adde great life vnto his part:
But come I pray, the storie of your sight.
Nim:
O doe not driue me to those hatefull paines;
Lady, I was too much in seeing vext,
Let it not be redoubled with the telling;
I now am well, and heare, my eares set free;
O be mercifull, doe not bring me backe
Vnto my prison, at least free your selfe,
It will not passe away, but stay the time;
Wracke out the houres in length; O giue me leaue,
as one that wearied with the toyle at sea,
And now on wished shore hath firm'd his foote;
He lookes about, and glads his thoughts and eyes,
With sight oth'greene cloath'd ground, and leauy trees,
Of flowers that begge more then the looking on,
And likes these other waters narrow shores;
So let me lay my wearines in these armes,
Nothing but kisses to this mouth discourse,
My thought be compast in those circl'd Eyes;
Eyes on no obiect looke, but on those Cheekes;
Be blest my hands with touch of those round brests,
Whiter and softer then the downe of Swans.
Let me of thee, and of thy beauties glory,
And endlesse tell, but neuer wearying story.
Exeunt.
Enter Nero, Ephaproditus, Neophilus.
Nero:
Come Sirs, Ifaith, how did you like my acting?
What? wast not as you lookt for?
Epaph:
Yes my Lord, and much beyond.
Nero:
Did I not doe it to the life?
Epaph:
The very doing neuer was so liuely
As now this counterfeyting.
Nero:
And when I came,
Toth'point of Agrippa, Clitemnestras death,
Did it not mooue the feeling auditory?
They had beene stones, whom that could not haue mou'd.
Nero:
Did not my voyce hold out well to the end?
And seru'd me afterwards afresh to sing with.
Neoph:
We know Apollo cannot match your voyce.
Epaph:
By Ioue, I thinke you are the God himselfe
Come from aboue, to shew your hidden arts;
And fill vs men with wonder of your skill.
Nero:
Nay faith speake truely, doe not flatter me;
I know you need not: flattery's but where
Desert is meane.
Epaph:
I sweare by thee O Cæsar;
Then whom no power of Heauen I honour more,
No mortall voice can passe, or equall thine.
Nero:
They tell of Orpheus, when he tooke his Lute,
And moou'd the noble Iuory with his touch:
Hebrus stood still, Pangea bow'd his head,
Ossa then first shooke off his snowe, and came
To listen to the moouings of his song;
The gentle Popler, tooke the Oake along,
And call'd the Pyne downe, from his Mountaine seate;
The Virgine Bay, although the Arts she hates
Oth'Delphick God, was with his voice ore come,
He his twice-lost Euridice bewailes,
And Proserpines vaine gifts, and makes the shores
And hollow caues of forrests now vntreed
Beare his griefe company, and all things teacheth
His lost loues name: Then water, ayre, and ground
Euridice, Euridice, resound.
These are bould tales, of which the Greekes haue store;
But if he could from Hell once more returne,
And would compare his hand and voice with mine,
I, though himselfe were iudge, he then should see,
How much the Latine staines the Thracian lyar.
I oft haue walkt by Tibers flowing bankes,
And heard the Swan sing her owne Epitaph
When she heard me, she held her peace and died.
Let others raise from earthly things their praise,
Heauen hath stood still to heare my happy ayres
To marke my voyce and mend their tunes by mine.
Neoph:
O diuine voyce,
Epaph:
Happy are they that heare it.
Enter Tigellinus to them.
Nero:
But here comes Tigellinus, come, thy bill,
Are there so many; I see I haue enemies.
Epaph:
Haue you put Caius in, I saw him frowne
Neoph:
And, in the midst oth'Emperors act on
Gallus laught out, and as I thinke in scorne.
Nero:
Vespasian too a sleepe; was he so drowsie?
Well, he shall sleepe the Iron sleepe of death
And did Thrasea looke so sourely on vs?
Tigil:
He neuer smilde, my Lord, nor would vouchsafe
With one applause to grace your action.
Nero:
Our action needed not be grac'd by him,
Hee's our old enemie, and still Malignes vs;
T'will haue an end, nay it shall haue an end.
Why, I haue bin too pittifull too remisse,
My easinesse is laught at, and contemn'd,
But I will change it; Not, as heretofore,
By singling out them, one by one to death,
Each common man can such reuenges haue;
A Princes anger must lay desolate
Citties, Kingdomes consume, Roote vp mankind.
O could I liue to see the generall end,
Behold the world enwrapt in funerall flame,
When, as the Sunne shall lend his beames to burne
What he before brought forth, and water serue,
Not to extinguish, but to nurse the fire:
Then, like the Salamander, bathing me
In the last Ashes of all mortall things
Let me giue vp this breath; Priam was happie,
Happie indeed he saw his Troy burnt,
And Illion lye on heapes; Whil'st thy pure streames,
(Diuine Scamander) did run Phrygian blood
And heard the pleasant cries of Troian Mothers.
Could I see Rome, so!
Your Maiestie may easily,
Without this trouble to your sacred mind.
Nero:
What may I easily doe? kill thee, or him,
How may I rid you all? where is the Man
That will all others end, and last himselfe?
O that I had thy Thunder in my hand,
Thou idle Rouer, Ile not shoote at trees,
And spend in woods my vnregarded vengeance,
Ile sheuire them downe vpon thtir guilty roofes,
And fill the streetes with bloody burials.
But 'tis not Heauen can giue me what I seeke;
To you, you hated kingdomes of the night,
You severe powers, that not like those aboue,
Will with faire words, or childrens cryes be wonne,
That haue a stile beyond that Heauen is proud off,
Deriuing not from Art a makers Name,
But in destruction power, and terror shew:
To you I flye for succour: you, whose dwellings
For torments are bely'de, must giue me ease;
Furies, lend me your fires, no they are here,
They must be other fires; materiall brands
That must the burning of my heat allay;
I bring to you no rude vnpractiz'd hands,
Already doe they reeke with mothers blood:
Tush that's but innocents, to what now I meane,
Alasse what euell could those yeeres commit,
The world in this shall see my setled wit.
exeunt.
Enter Seneca, Petronius.
Senec:
Petroneus, you were at the Theater.
Petron:
Senica I was, and saw your kingly Pupyll
In Mynstrils habit, stand before the Iudges,
Bowing those hands, which the worlds Scepter hold,
And with great awe and reuerence beseeching
Indifferent hearing, and an equall doome:
Then Cæsar doubted first to be oreborne,
And so he ioyn'd himselfe to th'other singers,
And straightly all other Lawes oth'Stage obseru'd,
As not (though weary) to sit downe, not spit;
Meanetime how would he eye his aduersaries,
How he would seeke t'haue all they did disgrac't,
Traduce them priuily, openly raile at them:
And them he could not conquer so, he would
Corrupt with money, to doe worse then he.
This was his singing part, his acting now.
Senec:
Nay euen end here, for I haue heard enough,
I haue a Fidler heard him, let me not
See him a Player, nor the fearefull voyce
Of Romes great Monarch, now command in Iest
Our Prince be Ægamemnon in a Play.
Petron:
Why Seneca, Tis better in Play
Be Ægamemnon, then himselfe indeed;
How oft, with danger of the field beset,
Or with home mutineys, would he vnbee
Himselfe, or, ouer cruell alters weeping,
Wish, that with putting off a vizard, hee
Might his true inward sorrow lay aside;
The showes of things are better then themselues:
How doth it stirre this ayrye part of vs,
To heare our Poets tell imagin'd fights,
And the strange blowes, that fained courage giues,
When I Achilles heare vpon the Stage
Speake Honour, and the greatnesse of his soule;
Me thinkes I too, could on a Phrygian Speare
Runne boldly, and make tales for after times;
But when we come to act it in the deed,
Death mares this brauery, and the vgly feares
Of th'other world, sit on the proudest browe,
And boasting valour looseth his red cheeke.
A Romane to them.
Rom:
Fire, fire, helpe, we burne.
2. Rom:
Fire, water, fire helpe fire.
Senec:
Fire, where?
Petron:
Where? what fire.
Rom:
O round about, here, there, on euery side.
The girdling flame, doth with vnkind embraces
Petro:
How came this fire, by whom?
Senec:
Wast chance, or purpose?
Petro:
Why is't not quencht?
Rom:
Alas there are a many there with weapons,
Aod whether it be for pray, or by command,
They hinder: nay, they throwe on fire-brands.
Enter Antonius to them.
Anton:
The fire encreaseth, and will not be staid,
But like a streame that tumbling from a hill,
Orewhelmes the fields, orewhelmes the hopefull toyle
Oth'husbandman, and headlong beares the woods;
The vnweeting Shepheard on a Rocke a farre,
Amazed, heares the fearefull noyse; so here,
Danger and Terror striue, which shall exceed,
Some cry, and yet are well, some are kild silent,
Some kindly runne to helpe their neighbours house,
The whilest their own's a fire: some saue their goods,
And leaue their dearer pledges in the flame;
One takes his litle sonnes with trembling hands,
Tother his house-Gods saues, which could not him,
All bann the doore, and with wishes kill
Their absent murderer.
Petro:
What? are the Gaules returnd?
Doth Brenius brandish fire-brands againe.
Senec:
What can Heauen now vnto our suffrings adde.
Enter Another Romane to them.
Rom:
O all goes downe, Rome falleth from the Roofe,
The wind's aloft, the conquering flame turnes all
Into it selfe; Nor doe the Gods escape,
Pleidds burnes, Iupiter Stator burnes.
The Altar now is made a sacrifice;
An Vesta mournes, to see her Virgin sires
Mingle with prophane ashes.
Senec:
Heauen, hast thou set this end, to Roman greatnesse?
Were the worlds spoyles, for this, to Rome deuided,
To make but our fires bigger?
You Gods, whose anger made vs great, grant yet
To haue our Consull tread on Asian Kings,
Or spurne the quiuerd Susa at their feet;
This, we haue had before; we begg to liue,
At least not thus to die; Let Cannos come,
Let Allius waters turne againe to blood.
To these will any miseries be light.
Petro:
Why with false Auguries haue we bin deceiu'd?
Why was our Empire told vs, should endure
With Sunne, and Moone, in time; in brightnesse passe them,
And that our end should be oth'world, and it.
What, can Celestiall Godheads double too?
Senec:
O Rome, the enuy late,
But now, the pitie of the world thee gets,
The men of Choleos at thy sufferings griue,
The shaggy dweller in the Scithian Rockes;
The most condemned to perpetuall snowe
That neuer wept at kindreds burials,
Suffers with thee, and feeles his heart to soften.
O, should the Parthyan heare these miseries,
He would, (his low and natiue hate apart)
Sit downe with vs. and lend an Enemies teare,
To grace the funerall fires of ending Rome.
Exeunt.
Soft Musique, Enter Nero aboue alone with a Timbrell.
I, now my Troy lookes beautious in her flames,
The Trirhnen Seas are bright with Roman fires,
Whilest the amazed Marriner a farre,
Gazing on th'vnknowne light, wonders what starre
Heauen hath begot, to ease the aged Moone.
When Pirrhus, stryding ore the cynders, stood
On ground, where Troy late was; and with his Eye
Measur'd the height of what he had throwne downe,
A Citie, great in people, and in power:
Walls built with hands of Gods; He now forgiue
The ten yeares length, and thinkes his wounds well heald,
Bath'd in the blood of Priams fifty sonnes.
Yet am not I appeas'd, I must see more
'Twas not the high built walles, and guiltlesse stones
That Nero did prouoke; Themselues must be the wood
To feed this fire, or quench it with their blood.
Enter a Woman with a burnt Child.
Wom:
O my deare Infant, O my Child, my Child;
Vnhappy comfort of my nine moneths paines;
And did I beare thee, onely for the fire,
Was I to that end made a Mother?
Nero:
I, now begins the sceane that I would haue.
Enter a Man bearing another dead.
Man:
O Father speake yet; no, the mercilesse blowe
Hath all bereft, speech, motion, sense, and life.
Wom:
O beauteous innocence, whitnes ill blackt,
How to be made a coale couldst thou deserue?
Man:
O reuerend wrinckles, well becomming palenesse,
Why hath death now lifes colours giuen thee,
And mockes thee with the beauties of fresh youth?
Wom:
Why wert thou giuen me, to be tane away
So soone, or could not Heauen tell how to punish
But first by blessing mee.
Man:
Why were thy yeares lengthned so long,
To be cut off vntimely?
Nero:
Play on, play on, and fill the golden skies
With cryes, and pitie; with your blood; Mens Eyes.
Wom:
Where are thy flattering smiles, thy pretty kisses,
And armes, that wont to writhe about my necke?
Man.
Where are thy Counsels, where their good example?
And that kind roughnes of a Fathers anger?
Wom:
Whom haue I now to leaue my old age on?
Man:
Who shall I now haue to set right my youth,
Within.
Gods if yee be not fled from Heauen helpe vs.
Nero:
I like this Musique well; they like not mine:
Now in the teares of all men, let me sing,
Cantat.
And make it doubtfull to the Gods aboue;
Whether the Earth be pleas'd, or doe complaine.
Man:
But, may the man, that all this blood hath shed,
Neuer bequeath to th'earth, an old gray head;
And leaue a course like this all wounds and gore.
Be there no friend at hand, no standers by,
In loue, or pittie mou'd, to close that Eye.
O let him die the wish, and hate of all;
And not a teare to grace his Funerall.
exeunt.
Wom:
Heauen, you will heare (that which the world doth scorne,)
The prayers of misery, and soules forlorne:
Your anger waxeth by delaying stronger,
O now for mercy be dispis'd no longer.
Let him, that makes so many Mothers childlesse,
Make his vnhappy, in her fruitfulnesse.
Let him no issue leaue to beare his name
Or some to right a Fathers wronged fame,
Our flames to quit; be righteous in your yre,
And when he dies, let him want funerall fire.
exeunt.
Nero:
Let Heauen doe what it will this I haue done
Already: doe you feele my furies waight,
Rome is become a graue of her late greatnes;
Her clowdes of smoke haue tane away the day,
Her flames the night.
Now vnbeleeuing Eyes what craue you more?
Enter Neophilus to him.
Neoph:
O saue your selfe (my Lord) your Pallace burnes.
Nero:
My Pallace? how? what traiterous hand?
Enter Tigellinus to them.
Tigel:
O flie my Lord, and saue your selfe betimes,
The winde doth beate the fire vpon your house,
The eating flame deuoures your double gates,
Your pillars fall, your golden roofes doe melt,
Your antique Tables, and Greeke Imagery:
The fire besets, and the smoake you see
Doth choake my speech, O flie, and saue your life.
Nero:
Heauen, thou dost striue, I see, for victory.
exeunt.
Enter Nimphideus solus.
See how Fate workes vnto their purpos'd end;
And without all selfe-Industry will raise,
Whom they determine to make great and happy;
He runnes vnto destruction, studies wayes
To compasse danger, and attaine the hate
Of all; Bee his owne wish is on his head:
Nor Rome with fire, more then reuenges burne;
Let me stand still, or lye, or sleepe, I rise.
Poppea some new fauour will seeke out
My wakings to salute, I cannot stirre,
But messagers of new preferment meet me:
Now, she hath made me Captaine of the Guard,
So well I beare me in these night Allarmes,
That she imagin'd I was made for Armes;
I now command the Souldier, he the Citie,
If any chance doe turne the Prince aside,
(As many hatreds, mischiefes threaten him,)
Ours is his wife, his seat and throwne is ours.
He's next in right that hath the strongest powers.
exit.
Enter Sceuinus, Melechus.
Sceui:
O Troy, and O yee soules of our Forefathes,
Which in your countreys fires were offred vp,
How neere your Nephewes, to your fortunes come:
Yet they were Grecian hands began your flame;
But that our Temples, and our houses smoake,
Our Marble buildings turne to be our Tombes,
Burnt bones, and spurnt at Courses fill the streets,
Not Pirrhus, nor thou Hanniball, art Author,
Sad Rome is ruin'd by a Romane hand.
But if to Neroes end, this onely way
Heauens Iustice hath chose out, and peoples loue
Could not but by this feebling ills be mou'd;
We doe not then at all complaine our harmes,
On this condition please vs, let vs die,
And cloy the Parthian, with reuenge and pitie.
Melic:
My Master hath seald vp his Testament,
Those bond-men which he liketh best set free,
Giuen money, and more liberally then he vs'd:
And now, as if a farewell to the world
Were meant, A sumpteous banquet hath he made;
But cheeres his friends the whilest himselfe lookes sad.
Scen:
I haue from fortunes Temple tane this sword,
May it be fortunate, and now at least
Since it could not preuent, punish the Euill;
To Rome it had bin better done before,
But though lesse helping now, they'le praise it more.
Great Soueraigne of all mortall actions
Whom onely wretched men, and Poets blame,
Speed thou the weapon, which I haue from thee.
'Twas not amidst thy Temple Monuments
In vaine repos'd, somewhat I know't hath done:
O with new honours let it be laid vp:
Strike bouldly, arme so many powerfull prayers
Of dead, and liuing houer ouer thee.
Melic:
And though sometimes, with talke impertinent,
And idle fances, he would faine a mirth;
Yet is it easie seene, somewhat is here
The which, he dares not let his face make shew of.
Sceuin:
Long want of losse hath made it dull, and blunt:
See, Melichus, this weapon better edg'd.
Melic:
Sharpning of swords, when must wee then haue blowes,
Or meanes my Master, Cato-like, to exempt
Himselfe from power of Fates, and cloy'd with life,
Giue the Gods backe their vnregarded gift,
But he hath neither Catoes minde, nor cause;
A man giuen ore to pleasures, and soft ease:
Which makes me still to doubt, how in affaires
Of Princes he dares meddle, or desires?
Sceuin:
We shall haue blowes on both sides, Melichus;
Prouide me store of cloathes to bind vp wounds:
What an't be heart, for heart, Death is the worst;
The Gods sure keepe it, hide from vs that liue
How sweet death is, because we should goe on
And be their bailes: There are about the house
Some stones that will stanch blood, see them set vp:
This world I see hath no felicitie,
Ile trie the other.
Neroes life is soft,
The sword's prepar'd against anothers breast,
The helpe for his; it can be no priuate foe,
For then 'twere best to make it knowne, and call
His troupes of bond, and freed men to his aide:
Besides his Counsellors, Seneca,
And Lucan, are no Managers of quarrels.
Sceuin:
Me thinkes, I see him struggling on the ground.
Heare his vnmanly outcries, and lost prayers
Made to the Gods, which turne their heads away.
Nero, this day must end the worlds desires,
And head-long send thee, to vnquenched fires.
exit.
Melic:
Why doe I further idly stand debating,
My proofes are but too many, and too pregnant,
And Princes Eares still to suspitions open:
Who euer, being but accus'd, was quit;
For States are wise, and cut of ylls that may be;
Meane men must die, that t'other may sleepe sound,
Chiefely, that rule, whose weaknes apt to feares,
And bad deserts of all men, makes them know
There's none but is in heart, what hee's accus'd.
exit.
Finis Actus Tertij.
| The Tragedy of Nero | |