University of Virginia Library

Scena I.

Drusillus and a Roman.
Drusil.
Barb'rous. and horrid! O, the raging Fiend,
When will his black impieties have end?
The great, the wise, the worthy Seneca
Is, by this Bloody Monster made away.
Poor City! whither are thy Founders fled,
To what low distance Regions of the dead,
That at their Country's call they will not rise,
And this ungovern'd Tyrants rage chastise?

Ro.
I saw the best and wisest of mankind,
The Pilot of the will, the guide oth' mind,
Dying and pale; from every gen'rous vein
Base Executioners his life did drain;
By Nero kill'd, by Nero whom he lov'd;
Whose youth by painful studies he improv'd,
And warm'd so long the viper in her brest
That the kind Host was poyson'd by the guest.

Dru.
In vain we mourn: some noble Roman should
Dare to be glorious, dangerously good,
And kill this Tyrant; kill him gorg'd with wine,
Forcing a day, and making black night shine,
Debauch'd, and sordidly ambitious grown,
Midst all his Revels, would the deed were done.

Ro.
Guilt, the mind's wild-fire, lick his Spirits up;
Press him good GODS, press him, until he droop,
Sink, and be damn'd, beneath the lowest Hell:
After his death we may in safety dwell.

Dru.
But, while he lives, no honest Roman may
Pass night in rest, or view one peaceful day.

Exeunt.