Octavia :: :: University of Virginia Library

Octavia, Seneca.
Oct.
Oh Seneca, approach; let me at least
Shed tears with thee: hard lot! I find not one,
Not one to pity, and to weep with me.

Sen.
Lady, and is it true? This infamous
And lying accusation ...

Oct.
Save this last
Dire outrage, all from Nero I expected;
And this alone increases all my suffering.

Sen.
Were ever folly and atrocity
So mingled in fatuity of guilt?
Thou paragon of innocence and faith,
Thou modest, gentle, and compassionate,

Thou, though accustomed to consort with Nero,
Pure and unspotted: shalt thou of thy fame
Be thus despoil'd? Oh no, it shall not be!
I yet exist, the living evidence
Of all thy virtue; Rome shall hear me yet
Proclaim thee innocent with my last breath:
What heart so hard as not to pity thee?
Ah! tell me not (what words can ill express)
How bitter are thy tears: I feel it all,
And share thy grief.

Oct.
But thou dost hope in vain.
Nothing, till he has robb'd me of my fame,
Does Nero deem that he has taken from me.
All at his mercy lies: thyself wouldst share
Ruin, and all in vain: ah! thou indeed
Makest me tremble for thyself. But yet
Thy fame beyond the reach of man is placed
By a long series of virtuous deeds:
Ah, were it so with mine! ... But young, a woman,
In a flagitious court brought up, oh Heaven!
Guilty I may be deemed of shameful crimes.
The world believes not, nor should it believe,
That I preserve a love for Nero still:
Yet though a thousand times in thousand forms
He has infix'd the dagger in my breast,
Still is the seeing that he loves another
The grief surpassing every other grief.

Sen.
Nero still spares my life: I know not why;
Nor do I know what destiny of mine
Withdraws me from the track that Burrhus trod,
And a few others eminent for virtue,
That he has slain. Yet Nero, though he spare,
Has not yet cancell'd from his book of death

My proscribed name. Already had my hand
Cut the precarious thread of my frail life,
Had not the hope restrain'd me (ah deceived,
And scarce remaining hope!) that I one day
Might reconduct him to the path of virtue.
Yet, at the risk of this poor span of life,
At least I hope to rescue from his hand
Some innocent. Ah, mightest thou be she!
Oh might I spare thee infamy at least!
Having done this, oh, how exultingly
Should I expire!

Oct.
At once I laid aside
All thoughts of life when I these thresholds pass'd.
Not that I fear not death; whence should I gain
Such strength of mind? 'Tis true, I fear to die:
And yet I wish it; and, with anxious thought,
I turn to thee, thou master in the science.

Sen.
Ah! ... think ... Thou tear'st my heart ...

Oct.
Thou canst alone
Deliver me; from infamy at least ...
Infamy! now thou seest whence it falls
On me: Poppæa dares impute to me
The most disgraceful love.

Sen.
Oh worthy spouse
Of cruel Nero!

Oct.
Virtue certainly
Does not enamour him: audacious, free,
And overbearing manners, act on him,
At once, as an incentive and a yoke:
Tenderness wearies him. What have I not done
To please him? I respected, as a law,
His smallest intimation; and held sacred
His every wish. Clandestinely I wept

My murdered brother; for that act of his,
If from my lips Nero obtain'd no praise,
Censure he never heard. I wept in silence;
And feign'd to think him guiltless of that blood:
But to no purpose: 'twas my cruel fate,
Whatever I attempted, to displease him.

Sen.
Could Nero ever love thee if thou wert not
Impious and cruel? Calm thyself a little.
The day now dawns. Soon as the multitude
Of thy return shall hear, 'twill wish to see thee,
And give thee proofs of its entire attachment.
From it I draw much hope; at thy departure
Its outcries were most turbulent; nor ceased
During thy absence discontented whispers.
Greatly depraved, but still more greatly fearful,
All that he would do, Nero dare not do.
He fears the people. Fierce and proud he is;
Yet hitherto the throne beneath him totters:
And perhaps one day ...

Oct.
What noise is this I hear?

Sen.
Methinks the people ...

Oct.
They approach the palace ...
Oh heavens!

Sen.
The cries of an insurgent people
I seem to hear.

Oct.
What will become of us?

Sen.
What fearest thou? We are the only persons
That in this horrible palace need not tremble ...

Oct.
Louder and louder does the tumult swell.
Ah wretched me! Perhaps Nero is in danger ...
But who do I behold?

Sen.
Nero; he comes.

Oct.
In his ferocious and ensanguined eyes,
Oh! with what rage he burns!—I tremble ...