University of Virginia Library

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.