University of Virginia Library

SCENE THE SIXTH.

Poppæa, Nero, Octavia.
Pop.
Say, Nero, hat thou placed me at thy side,
And on thy throne, that I should be the scorn,
The laughing-stock of thy audacious people?
But what do I behold? while I am thus
The victim of derision, unavenged,
Irresolute, and silent dost thou stand
In presence of the author of thy wrongs?
In truth, fit master of the world is Nero!
Yet notwithstanding does the multitude
Prefer his wife to him.

Oct.
Thou hast alone
The heart of Nero: what dost thou then fear?
I, a vile prisoner, I the hostage am
Of the audacious people's wavering faith.
Do thou rejoice: soon as all things are calm,
The transient wounds of thy ambitious heart
Will find a sovereign balsam in my blood.

Ne.
Soon will thy shameful deeds be brought to light;
The paltry idol Rome will soon behold
Which for herself she raised. Thy outrages,
Poppæa, will to honour be ascribed;
Her honours only to her infamy.

Oct.
And if there are who could convict Octavia,
By fair and open proofs, of infamy,
I have already in my secret heart
Chosen Poppæa as my only judge;
To thee do I appeal. Thou knowest well
What criminality it is to change
The affections of the heart, what punishment
Those who are guilty of the crime deserve.
But I am innocent, alas! too much so,
E'en in your eyes. Yes, quit my presence, thou
Who standest here so haughty in thy virtue;
Thou darest not e'en now sustain my looks.

Ne.
How dar'st thou thus? Respect thy emperor's wife;
And tremble ...

Pop.
Heed her not. She chuses well
In me her judge: what judge can she e'er find
More merciful? What other punishment
To her who has betray'd my Nero's love,
What other punishment can I inflict
Than that of losing him eternally?
What punishment to thee can be more light?
That vulgar love, which thou in vain concealest,
Thou hast obtain'd my free consent to publish.
Yes, worthy mistress of Eucerus, I
Would worthily to him affiance thee.

Oct.
Alas! Eucerus only is a veil
To guilt compared with which e'en he is noble.
But I with thee contend not: to that honour
I was not born; I am not so audacious ...

Ne.
To whom art thou now equal? Thy base flame
Makes thee more vile than e'en the vilest handmaid:
Yes, from thy rank, and from thy noble birth,
Thou art entirely fallen.

Oct.
Less wouldst thou hate me,
If I had fallen thus to the lowest pitch;
Or if thou couldst believe it. But I yield,
If thus thou willest, every thing to thee
Except my innocence. Oh, cruel Nero,
Nor can I cease, whate'er thou be'st, to love thee,
Nor for that love to blush: immense disgrace,
'Tis true, I feel it to proclaim myself
The rival of Poppæa: but I am not;
Never did she love thee: thy rank, thy throne,
And all the splendour that encircles thee,
These, and not Nero, have secured her heart.

Ne.
Perfidious woman, now, e'en now ...

Oct.
And thou,
When I began to love thee, such thou wert not:
Perhaps thou wert born for virtue: never, never
Didst thou discover in thy early years
Such dire propensities. Who has thus changed
Thy nature, changed thy heart? she that bewitch'd
Thy faculties; she first instructed thee
To thirst for blood; she is the curse of Rome.
My own wrongs I suppress, which are the least;
But by thy means the very Tyber runs
Distain'd with blood; brother, and mother ...

Ne.
Cease,
Be silent, leave me, or I ...

Pop.
Does she merit
The indignation of my lord? Abuse
Is the accustomed idle subterfuge
Of the convicted. If she could offend me,
Or thou couldst yield belief to what she says,
One of her words alone had wounded me.
What said she? that I love thee not? thou knowest . .

Oct.
Better than he thou know'st it; he would know it
If he should lose the throne; then would he fully
Behold thee as thou art. Ah why, oh throne,
The only cause that Nero hates me thus,
Wert thou my cradle? Ah! why sprung I not
From obscure blood? to thee had I then been
Less hateful, less suspected, less displeasing.

Ne.
To me less hateful? Thou wert always so,
And now thou art much more so: but that hate
Will now be transient.

Pop.
And if I boast not
Imperial ancestors, dost thou infer
My blood is thence obscure? Yet if it were,
'Twere a sufficient solace not to be
Daughter of Messalina.

Oct.
My forefathers
Sat on the throne; from thence to all the world
Their failings are divulged; but who e'er heard
Of thy obscure and unknown ancestors?
Yet if betwixt us any one should dare
To make comparisons, could he allege
Against Octavia an exchange of husbands?
Am I perchance the refuse of a Rufus,
Or of an Otho?

Ne.
For a little while,
Of death art thou the refuse. Now, the mode
Of thy destruction is alone uncertain;
Thou canst but change it for the worse.—Depart;
Meanwhile keep thou to thy apartments; go;
And let me no more hear thee.