Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2016 
 
 https://archive.org/details/neroemperorofromOOIeen 
 
NERO, 
 
 Emperor of Rome. 
 
 A 
 
 TRAGEDY, 
 
 A6led at the 
 
 THEATRE-ROYAL 
 
 B Y 
 
 His Maj E sty’s Servants. 
 
 By Nathanael Lee, Gent. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printed for W. Feales, and the reft of the 
 Proprietors ^ and fold by the Bookfellers 
 of London and Weftminfter, 
 M.DCC.XXXV. 
 

£ P« 
 
 Cvyn 
 
 To the Right Honourable - . 
 
 ^ ^3 If 5 
 
 The Earl of Rochejler. 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 GETS for the moft Part of their 
 Dedications miE of their Defgn, 
 which Ihould be to pleale that 
 Honourable Perfon, whole Pro- 
 tedtion they defire. For what 
 Pleafure can a Noble Spirit, whole Ingenuity 
 equals its Height, receive from an exorbitant 
 Praile, and ill-tim’d Applaufe ? Not that the 
 fevereft Cynick Ihould fnarl at juft Commen- 
 dations and due Encomiums j fuch as the 
 Epiftle of Horace to Atigufius, Pliny's Pane- 
 gyrick to Lrajan ; which Sort of ponder’d 
 Eloquence ought to be as grateful to a brave 
 and elevated Mind, as Adorations to the 
 Deity. My Bulinefs, waving Infinuation, is 
 to pray, not praife ^ afid I hope I lhall ap- 
 pear lefs troublelbme to your Lordlhip under 
 the Form of a Beggar, than that of a Flat- 
 terer. Your Protedlion and Favour is im- 
 A 2 plored, 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 -plored, by this humble Supplicant, in the 
 Behalf of a civil Tyrant, at lead one whom I 
 have fo reprefen ted, and for which I have 
 been fufficiently cenfur’d, perhaps unjuftly 
 enough ; fince ’tis not impofTib’Ie for a Man 
 to love and hate, to be brave and bad. From 
 the Criticks, whofe Fury I dread, thofe Kill- 
 men, and more than Jews^ 1 appeal to your 
 Lordlhip, as the Saint did to Ccefar : To you, 
 whofe J udgmen t vies Remark with your Gran- 
 deur, who are as abfolutely Lord of Wit, as 
 thofe Prevaricators are its Slaves : To you, 
 who by excellent Reading and Convcrfation 
 with the pleafantly Wife, have juftly lin\ited 
 the mighty Sallies of an over-flowing Fancy ; 
 whofe Sayings aftonifh the Cenfbrious, and 
 whofe Writings are fo exadlly ingenious. 
 Princes treafure them in their Memory as 
 Things divine. This is fb far from Flattery 
 and Untruth, that it appears rather an im- 
 pertinent kind of aflerting what every Man 
 knows; as if I fhould gravely tell the World 
 Tis Day at Noon : Which I had rather ano- - 
 ther fhould be fmil’d nt for, than he who is, 
 in highefl Truth and lowed Humility, 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 Totir LordJljifs moji Humble ^ 
 
 and Obedient Servant, 
 
 Nat. Lee. 
 
 f 
 
C 5 J 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Spoken by Mr. H\/I IN E S. 
 
 G ood Plays, and ferfeSl Sen/e, as fcarce are grovsn^ 
 As cinitl Women in this datnn' d fe%vd To'-usn. 
 
 Plain Senfe is defpicable as plain Clothes, 
 
 As Englilh Hats, Bone-lace, or Woollen Hofe. 
 
 ’’Pis your hrijk Fool that is your Man of Note ; 
 
 Yonder he goes, in the enihroidep d Coat : 
 
 Such huenchiiig Eyes, asid Hands fo prone to rufde ; 
 
 Phe genteel Fling, the Prip and modijh Shufie ; 
 
 Salt, Soul and Flame, as gay as any Prince : 
 
 Phus Paggs and Silks make up your Men of Senfe. 
 r m told that fame are prefent here Payday, 
 
 Who, ere they fee, refolve to damsi this Play, 
 
 So much nxsoit d Interefl avith Ill-nature fway. 
 
 But, Ladies, you, nsse hope, <\uill prove more civil. 
 
 And charm thefe Wits that damn beyor.d the Devil j 
 Phen let each Critick here, all Hell inherit,- 
 You have AttraiHons that can lay a Spirit. 
 
 A bloody fatal Play you'll fee Po-night, 
 
 I vena to God, V has put me in a Fright. 
 
 Phe meanef Waiter huffs, looks big, and ftruts. 
 
 Gives Breaf a Blovj, then Hand on Hilt he puts 
 Mis a fine Age, a tearing thund'ring Age, 
 
 Pray Heav'n this Phund' ring does not crack the Stage ; 
 
 Phis Play I like 'not novo 
 
 And yet, for ought I know, it may he good ; 
 
 But fill I hate this Fighting, Wounds and Blood. 
 
 Why, vjhat the Devil have I to da with Honour ! 
 
 Let Heroes court her, 1 cry. Pox upon her ; 
 
 All Pragedies, i' Gad, to me found oddly, 
 
 1 can no more be ferious, than you godly . 
 
 A J 
 
 Draimtis 
 
Dramatis Perfonje 
 
 Nh‘o, Emperor of Rome, 
 
 Britannicus, true Heir of the Empire, 
 Petronius, Nero's Favourite, 
 
 @tho, Hufband to Poppea, 
 
 Pifo, her Brother, 
 
 Seneca, Nero's Tutor, 
 
 Drujillus, 
 
 Plautus, 
 
 S'i'l’vius, 
 
 Mirmilon, 
 
 Flavius, Friend to Britannicus, 
 
 Romans, 
 
 Mr. Hart. 
 
 Mr. Mohmt. 
 
 Air. Burt. 
 
 Mr. Winterjhal. 
 Mr. Lydall, 
 
 Mr. Cartvsright. 
 Mr. Glark. 
 
 Mr. Coyjh. 
 
 Air. Watfon. 
 
 Air. Povuel. 
 
 Mr. Harris. 
 
 Poppea, Otho's Wife, married to Nero, 
 Agrippma, the old Emprefs, Alother to 
 Nero, J 
 
 OBavia, Nero's firft Wife, Sifter of / 
 
 Britannicus, J 
 
 Cyara, Princefs of Parthia, Miftrefs ? 
 
 of Britannicus, ^ 
 
 Syllana, Poppea's Confident, 
 
 P.oman Gladiators, 
 
 Caligula's Ghoft, 
 
 Mrs. Mar(hal. 
 Mrs. Cor^. 
 
 Mrs. Cox. 
 
 Mrs. BoutelL 
 Airs. Uptiel. 
 
 Mr. Griffin, 
 
 SCENE, Rome, 
 
 NERO, 
 
L 7 ] 
 
 NERO, 
 
 Emperor of ROME. 
 
 ACT I. SCENE!. 
 
 Otho, Sylvius, Cyara, difguu'd. 
 
 |HY doft thou droop, and hang thy 
 penfive Head, 
 
 As if there were no End of thy Di- 
 flrefs ? 
 
 His Sighs more frequent than the Mi- 
 _ nutes are ; 
 
 Tears hang upon his Cheeks like Morning Dews 
 On Rofes : Yet I cannot blame thy Grief. 
 
 Oth». Sir, you amaze me with your fad Relation. 
 
 Tliat fatal Night Prince Alamander fell, 
 
 I, and fome more, were in our General’s Tent, 
 
 (Great Corbulas he’s call’d) who with Succefs, 
 
 Has often led our gallant Roman Troops 
 Againft your Parthian Horfe ; as I remember, 
 
 ’Twas Midnight, when our Scouts, all pale with Fear, 
 Came flying with the News of your Approach ; 
 
 Our General undifturb’d, flrait gave Command 
 That every Captain Ihould his Charge perform. 
 
 With as much Silence as was poflible j 
 
 No Drums, no Trumpets founded, all was hulh’d ; 
 
 Order in Whifpers, was by all receiv’d ; 
 
 So your Surprize was anfwer’d with Surprize, 
 
 And gain’d Advantage, without Viftory ; 
 
 A 4 . 
 
 For 
 
8 The Tragedy Nero. 
 
 Por ’tis our Cuftom frequently to fleep 
 Whole Nights in Arms, never to reft fecure. 
 
 L')i?. Our Lofs, indeed, was great j but, oh I thatLofs 
 Of Lofies, our dear Prince, furpaftes all ! 
 
 For him, our Court now mourns j Sorrow, like Night, 
 Eternal Night, fpreads Horror all around ! 
 
 All noble Hearts are cover’d with Defpair ; 
 
 For our bright Sun muft never ftiine again. 
 
 Some Dawn of Hope we had, he might be here, 
 
 A Pris’ner, and unknown ; but Fate decrees 
 We ftiall not be fo happy. 
 
 Chh. Sir, wherein 
 My Service may prove beneficial. 
 
 Or yield you any Comfort, pray command it. 
 
 Captives of every fort, as Time permit. 
 
 I’ll bring before you : if your Eyes can read 
 A I.ine, that is your Prince in any Face, 
 
 F.xamine it to the full. Mean while, be pleas’d 
 To take a ftrifl Survey of all the Court, 
 
 The greateft, and moft flourilhing on Earth. 
 
 Syl. So every Tongue reports it ; a full Orb 
 Of matchlefs Glory, where your Emperor 
 Rules like the Sun, and gives each Noble Warmth.' 
 
 Olh. Nothing appears, alas ! as heretofore ; 
 
 The Darknefs of his horrid Vices have 
 Eclips’d the glimmering Rays of his frail Virtue. 
 
 Fiis Cruelties, like Birds of Prey, have pick’d 
 All Seeds of Noblenefs from his falfe Heart; 
 
 And now it lies a fad dull Lump of Earth, 
 
 Impatient of wife Council and Reproof. 
 
 To-day he dooms his Mother to be flain ; 
 
 Swears, that ftie plots againft his Crown and Life ; 
 Sentence is paft, and the poor Queen’s betray’d. 
 
 See where Ihe comes ! 
 
 [Emperor, Oclavia, Britannicus, Seneca, Drufillus, Pifo, 
 Plautus ; Agrippina, led by two Virgins, all in white, 
 a Dagger, and a Bowl of Poifon carried before her : 
 Courtiers and Guards following. Britannicus kneels. 
 
 Cya. O Syhius, I am loft ! there, there he kneels ; 
 
 My flames increafe, my Soul new Paflions feels. 
 
9 
 
 The Tragedy of Nero. 
 
 Sly Flight from Parthia I’ll no more regard j 
 All was too little for fo great Reward. 
 
 Net. To me ? 
 
 Plan. Dread Sir, the Prince Brifannicus^ 
 
 ' Ner. Say you.? 
 
 Plan. He kneels. 
 
 Ner. Sir, Would you ought with me ? 
 
 Brit. Not for myfelf, but for the Queen, thus loW 
 I fall, and beg you would fome Pity Ihow. 
 
 Call from your Breaft this rank and pois’nous Hate : 
 
 Alas ! how many do repent too late ? 
 
 In Afb of Love, Kings are bell: underlrocd : 
 
 Hell makes fome Great j ’tis God-like to be Good. 
 
 It is your Mother 
 
 Oh that that facred Name Ihould not avert 
 Your Wrath ! nor, with its Softnefs, melt your Heart ! 
 Your Mother ’tis, whom you command to bleed ; 
 
 What will the cens’ring World think of this Deed ? 
 
 Ner. Why, let it think : If Alfes bray, mull I 
 Regard ? I fay again, that Ihe lhall die. 
 
 Why is fhe not to Execution led ? 
 
 She’s plotting now. Dnifdlus, fee her dead. 
 
 Sen. If for the Guilty we to Heav'en may pray,- 
 
 Can you the Innocent — 
 
 Ner. Old Fool, away. 
 
 Brit. Juftice is robb’d, his Sword and Scales you move 3^ 
 Sweet Mercy Harts, and llriking flies above. 
 
 Where, to the Gods, fuch horrid Tales of you 
 She does relate, as they can fcarce think true : 
 
 Fate trembles, as Ihe writes ’em in her Book j 
 Ev’n- Jove, with Horror of this Fact, is fhook, - 
 New points his Thunder, brandifhes i’th’ Air’ 
 
 Dread Lightning, and witli Pome intends a War. 
 
 Ner. Let him_ begin j my Purpofe I’ll maintain, 
 
 Tho’ he fhould fcorching Showers of Sulphur rain. 
 
 Tho’ he flood near. 
 
 And from fome neighbouring Claud did hurl down Fire , ') ■ 
 With frefh Recruits of Men his Arm I’d tire. 
 
 And fhe at lafl Ihould, fpite of him, expire. 
 
 Would he were here, to end the grand Debate i 
 But why with you do I capitulate ?' 
 
 My Word’s an Oracle, and Hands her Fate, 
 
 As 
 
lO 
 
 The Tragedy of Nero. 
 
 Ot^a. Ah Cafar, if you can thus cruel prove 
 T o her, and lay afide all filial Love, 
 
 What mull I then expeft, who am your Wife, 
 
 But tliat you Ihortly too fhould take my Life ? 
 
 By all the Pleafures of our Marriage-Bed 
 
 Ncr. I r.\ car, fpeakone Word more, and thou art dead. 
 Brit. Tyrant, this muft not be, while I draw Breath. 
 Bier. Then thou dy’fl too. 
 
 Brit. Lo, tlius I brave my Death. 
 
 Bier. Ha ! does he fmilc ! 
 
 By all the Gods, I’ll quickly change your Mirth ; 
 
 With my own Hand I’ll cut thee from the Earth. 
 
 Oth Dread Sir — - 
 
 Bier. Was ever fuch an Infolence ? 
 
 Brit. Sir, what I did was in my own Defence. 
 
 When e’er I rife againll your facred Head 
 In Thought, may Loads of Thunder flrike me dead. 
 
 You are my Mafter, and Tezr/e’s Emperor ; 
 
 May you live long, and make right Ufe of Pow’r. 
 
 Cya. Guard him, ye Gods, and fave his Innocence. 
 Her. So, Sir : yet Ihe lhall die. Go, take her hence. 
 Ofla. Oh, how my tender Heart does fympathize ! 
 Grief ftrikes me dumb, and Pity fills my Eyes. 
 
 Agr. Thou favage Monfter, Seed of Rocks, more wild. 
 Than the fierce I'ygrefs of her Young beguil’d. 
 
 Barbarian ! who in feme dark Cave weit bred. 
 
 Made drunk with Pcifon, with Corruption fed. 
 
 Offspring of Hell i But, oh, my lab’ring Mind 
 Cannot get vent, nor fit ExpreiHons find. 
 
 Why was I made fo ftreng ? Oh my accurff: * 
 
 Grief fwells me up, and yet I cannot burlt. 
 
 Ner. Vfhy fhould Ihe thus in Torments here remain ? 
 
 I pity her ; go put her out of Pain. 
 
 Agr. Tyrant, v/herein have I deferv’d this bjafe 
 And barbarous Ufage ? Oh my foul Difgrace ! 
 
 Ha ! fliall I tell it to the World, or die. 
 
 And in ray Urn let all in Silence lie ? 
 
 My Soul doth llruggie with its Load of Woes ; 
 
 Woes much more horrid tliau thofe painful Throes 
 My Body felt, when lirli I brought to Light 
 This cur.ed Son, now Bafdifk to Sight. 
 
The' Tragedy of Nero. 1 1 
 
 AVr. Am I to be obey’d ? How dare you ftay ? 
 
 Furies and Hell ! be gone, take her away. 
 
 Jgr. Oh, ftay awhile, ere yet I lofe my Breath, 
 
 Hear my laft Words, more dreadful than my Dfeath. 
 
 Bear me, fome winged God, and fix me high 
 On fome tall Pyramid, that hits the Sky j , 
 
 Place all the World on the vaft Rounds below. 
 
 And make my Voice fo loud, that all may know ; 
 
 This Monfter, under Tyrian Purple hid. 
 
 Did force a Paflage to his Mother’s Bed. 
 
 WTere are thy dreadful Bolts } (to Jove I call) 
 
 Strike him or me, amifs they cannot fall. 
 
 Oh horrid Fa£l to tell ! it wounds my Ear : 
 
 The Day and Night together mingled were. 
 
 Monfter of Men, who alter’d Nature’s Courfe, 
 
 The Stream ran backwards and found out the Source. 
 
 Ner. The Beldame raves ; Drujillus, take her hence ; 
 
 All this is forg’d •, Heaven knows my Innocence. 
 
 A Moment’s Refpite I will not afford. 
 
 But when ftie’s dead, let Otho bring me V^'ord. 
 
 \Exeunt fever ally Nero and Agrip. 
 
 Manent Pifo, Plautus, Mirmilon , 
 
 Pifo. Very v/ell. Hark ye. Gentlemen, may we talk r j 
 Plau. Treafon ? No. | 
 
 Pifo. Then I’ll hold my Peace. |j 
 
 Mir. Faith, I know not, but there was a Stranger here 
 Yefterday hang’d for looking fufpiciouily. I 
 
 Pifo. Very good j ’twas an excellent Memorandum, | 
 therefore I’ll fhut my Eyes, and not look at all, or here- | 
 after always in Company wear a Mafk. 
 
 Plau. Not fo, Sir, if you tender your Safety ; fuch Re- 
 fervation argues Thoughtfulnefs. Now the Emperor can’t 
 endure a Man that’s given to Medit .t'on ; hates a Philo- 
 fopher as much as he loves a Fidler : Seneca, to my Know- 
 ledge, is a Burden to him ; in my Hearing he call’d him 
 crazy Caterpiller, and venerable Book -worm. 
 
 Mir. Right, Plautus ; Therefore, Pifo, be not thought- 
 ful ; ’tis dangerous. A Friend of mine (hark ye) this 
 Morning, by the Emperor’s Order, had his Throat cut 
 for being thoughtful. 
 
 A 6 Pifo. 
 
12 
 
 The Tragedy of NerO. 
 
 Pi/o. The good Emprefs — • 
 
 Plan. How, Sir ? 
 
 Pifo. Well, the Emprefs then. Alas! how fuddeir,-. 
 from the Top of Glory — -- 
 
 Mir. Alas f do you pity her then ? 
 
 Pifo. I, Sir ? Greatnefs and Goodnefs are — i n— 
 
 Plan. Wliat, Sir ? 
 
 Pilo. I know not, nor where, unlefs in the other 
 World. 
 
 Mir. You weep, Pifo, have a Care, a Sort of Liquid 
 Tveafon. 
 
 Pifo. ’Twas your Hair hit my Eye, and caufed this^ 
 Rheum. I’il to the Country again. Farewel, Gentle-- 
 men. Long live the Emperor ! that’s no Treafon. 
 
 Mir. No, Sir, no. Adieu, good Pifo. He wears an 
 honelt Heart. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE, The Court. 
 
 Nero, Otho, Seneca, Drufillus, £ffr. Agrippina dead, 
 
 0th. She is, as you would have her. Sir, no more : 
 
 See where (he lies, all ftain’d with her own Gore. 
 
 She faid, an antient Man bid her beware 
 Of ever feeing you made Emperor : 
 
 For you, at lafl:, would caufe her to be flain : 
 
 Then let me die, fire faid, fo he may reign . 
 
 Ner. How wifely then did I her Death decree ! 
 
 For ’twould have been a great Impiety 
 To let her live, and mar the Prophecy, 
 
 0th. Choice of two Deaths, by your Command we gave, 
 But (he cry’d. Both ; a double Death I’ll have ; 
 
 One pois’nous Drop for Heaven I would not fell j 
 Each Drop will fmk his Soul more deep in Hell; 
 
 ' In her right Hand the Dagger (he did hold ; 
 
 And with her left (he heav’d the fatal Gold, 
 
 And drunk the Venom off : That being done. 
 
 Deep in her Bread the keen Stilletto run : 
 
 With many Wounds (he made her Bofom gay 
 Her Wounds like Flood-gates did themfelves difplay. 
 Thro’ which Life ran in fcarlet Streams away. 
 
 
 1 
 
The Tragedy of Nero. r ^ 
 
 Ner. Remove her hence. My Soul now free does walk. 
 And lhall no more be clogg’d with moral Talk, 
 
 My Statue lhall be made of lafting Steel ; 
 
 Before it Lords of Rome lhall humbly kneel'.. 
 
 Great Julias and Auguflus you adore ; 
 
 And why not me, who have their very Pow’r ? 
 
 To them you daily offer Sacrifice : 
 
 I am a God ; myfelf I canonize. 
 
 Sea. ’Mongft Gods their Glory Ihines now they are gone^; 
 Becaufe with us, like Stars their Virtue Ihone. 
 
 Ner. Virtue’s^a Name j Religion is a Thing 
 Fitter to fcare poor Priefts, than daunt a King. 
 
 Swift, as quick Thought, thro’ every Art I range ; 
 
 Who but a God like me could Sexes change ? 
 
 Sporus, be Witnefs of my mighty Art ; 
 
 Sporus, now Lady, once Lord of my Heart. 
 
 At my Command the fragrant Winds do blow, > 
 
 The willing Floods in Waves of Balfam flow : > 
 
 This Hand does all tire Sweets of Nature fow ; j 
 
 I ranfack Nature ; all its Treafures view j, T 
 
 Beings annihilate, and make anew, > 
 
 All this can I, your God-like do. j 
 
 Sea. What Fiend is this, which in his Breaft, unfpy’d. 
 Bears up his Soul on fuch large Wings of Pride E 
 Let me not die for fpeaking what is true ; 
 
 All this you would, but, alas ! cannot do. 
 
 Ner. Ha ! 
 
 Sea. If you do well, and noble Afts atchieve. 
 
 Whene’er you die all honeft Hearts will grieve ; 
 
 Each Romaa will to After-ages tell, 
 
 How good, how great, how excellent you fell j 
 What pity ’twas that you fliould die fo young ! 
 
 Thus ftiall your Honour found from every Tongue c ] 
 But tho’ your Fame furvive, your Body mull 
 Rot, and be crumbled into common Duft. 
 
 Each Grain of which, becaufe you once did reign, ^ 
 Will not turn Gold, nor any Luftre gain : 
 
 Yours, and the Beggar’s Duft, alike mull pafs, 
 
 Inftead of Sand, to fill Time’s Hour-Glafs, 
 
 Ner. Gown-man, thou ly’ft 
 
 The World’s eternal, and its Monarch I ; 
 
 Then how is’t poflible for me to die. 
 
 Yet give my Creature Immortality ? 
 
 } 
 
 If 
 
14 The Tragedy of Nero. 
 
 If when I leave this World, hden Ihould debate 
 The Manner ; fay, I did myfelf tranllate. 
 
 The Glory of my Godhead I will Ihrowd 
 Not in a Mantle, but in a perfum’d Cloud. 
 
 In Smoak of Incenfe I will mount above, 
 
 And in his Throne, take the right Hand of Jove. 
 
 Sen. O murd’ring Pride, thou doft all Reafon kill ! 
 You will have Altars too ? 
 
 Ner. Yes, Slave, I will ; 
 
 Altars of Gold, in Cryftal Temples built ; 
 
 No Blood of Bulls, nor Goats, lhall there be fpilt ; 
 
 Such coarle rank Smoak may footy Vulcan pleafe, 
 
 Fluto, or horned Fan ; dull Deities ! 
 
 The belt of human Gore lhall walh my Shrine ; 
 
 Heroes lhall bleed, and they are half Divine. 
 
 In Cafes made of Diamond entire. 
 
 Stars lhall inftead of Lamps lend their bright Fire. 
 
 Each common God lhall, in his Turn, be Prieft, 
 
 And for your lower World make his Requeft-: 
 
 Then olFer up a grateful Sacrifice, 
 
 Kings Heads, Queens Hearts, and charming Virgins Eyes. 
 Enter Petronius. 
 
 Sen. O Heaven ! his Blafphemies no Limits have ; 
 
 His brutilh Impudence our Gods does brave : 
 
 Without Controul he docs their Pow’r defy, 
 
 And I, like Midpight hulh’d. Hand trembling by.. 
 
 I’ll fpeak, altho’ he blaft me with his Breah ; 
 P.epentance too may win him for my Death. 
 
 Dread Sir, if you would pleafe ■ 
 
 Ner. Fond Preacher, hence : 
 
 Gods ! can I kill endure his Infolence ? 
 
 Guards, feize him ; go, let him in Prifon houl. 
 
 And folace there his melancholy Soul. 
 
 ^Exeunt Otho, Seneca, and Guards. 
 But, dear Fetronius, how lliall i requite 
 Thee, who foie Author art of my Delight ? 
 
 When my Heart fickcns, thou Hill bring’H; me Eafe, 
 
 And doft my Fancy with new Objefts pleafe. 
 
 Fet. To footh your Soul, ruffled with this late Storm, 
 My Care found out fo fweet, fo rare a Form, 
 
 - So 
 
The Tragedy of Nero. 1 5 
 
 So full of blooming Graces in each Part, 
 
 As well deferves the Conqueft of your Heart. 
 
 Not Purple Violets i’th’ early Spring, 
 
 Such grateful Sweets, fuch tender Beauties bring. 
 
 The orient Blufh which does her Cheeks adorn. 
 
 Makes Coral pale, vies with the rofy Morn. 
 
 Not Venus, fprung from the Sea’s fnowy Foam, 
 
 Neptune's bright Seed, her Whitenefs can o’ercome, 
 
 Cupid has took a Surfeit from her Eyes j 
 Whene’er Ihe fmiles, in lambent Fire he fries j 
 And when Ihe weeps, in Pearls diffoiv’d, he dies. 
 
 Ner. Hold, hold ; I’m overcharg’d with this Excels ; 
 Thy Deeds are great, but make thy Boafting lefs : 
 
 What is her Name, and where does Ihe lie hid ? 
 
 Pet. She is the Partner of Lord Otho's Bed, 
 
 Poppea nam'd. With Gold I brib’d her Maid, 
 
 For which the eafy Slave her Trufl; betray’d. 
 
 Not far from Rome this Beauty does refide ; 
 
 Chafte Ihe is thought, becaufe yet never try ’d. 
 
 Her quick black Eye does wander with Delire, 
 
 And, if I judge aright, bears wanton Fire. 
 
 Oft, as Syllana told me, when to Court 
 Her Lord was gone, eager of unknown Sport, 
 
 She figh’d, and in her Bofom hid her Face, 
 
 And with fierce Adtion would the Wench embrace. 
 
 Drefs’d like Diana, Ihe in Woods is fear’d. 
 
 And gives fwift Chace to all the favage Herd : 
 
 With Vigour mafculine Ihe rides along, 
 
 Her Quiver full of Shafts behind her hung j 
 Her right Hand holds a Dart, her left a Bow j 
 Her long black Locks on her fair Shoulders flow. 
 
 As thickning Clouds o’er the Sun’s Brightnefs grow, 
 
 Ner. Thou dear Procurer of my moft-lov’d Joys, 
 
 Fly, fly, the leak Delay m.y Life defiroys. 
 
 Now try thy Skill ; this is indeed a Ta& r 
 Win her, and thou haft mojethan thou canft alk. 
 
 * l^Exit Petronius. 
 
 Let phlegmatick dull Kings call Crowns their Care j 
 Mine is my Wanton, and does Beauties lhare. 
 
 Above my Mifcrefs’ Eyes. On, Nero, on. 
 
 Spend thy vaft Stock, and riot in thy Throne. 
 
 If 
 
1 6 The Tragedy of NerO'. 
 
 If there be Pleafure yet I have not found. 
 
 Name it, fome God j 'tis mine, tho’ under Ground v 
 No Nook of* Hell lhall hide it from my Sight, 
 
 But I will conjure’t into open Light. 
 
 My Scepter, like a charming Rod, fhall raife 
 Such Sports as would old. Epicures amaze ; 
 
 Pleafures forich, fo various, and fo new 
 
 As never yet the Gods, my great Forefathers, knew. 
 
 [Exif, 
 
 A C T II. S C E N E L 
 
 Drufillus, a?id a Roman. 
 
 Druf. "T) Arbarous and horrid ! O the raging Fiend, 
 jO When will his blacl-: Impieties have End 
 The great, the wife, the worthy Seneca, 
 
 Is by this bloody Monfter made away. 
 
 Poor City ! whither are thy Founders fled. 
 
 To what low diftant Regions of the Dead, 
 
 That at their Country’s Call they will not rife, 
 
 And this ungovern’d Tyrant’s. Rage chaftife ? 
 
 Ro. I law the belt and wifell: of Mankind, 
 
 The Pilot of the Will, the Guide o’tK’'Mind,. 
 
 Dying and pale ; from every gen’rous Vein 
 Bafe Executioners his Life did drain : 
 
 By Nero kill’d, by Nero whom he lov’d. 
 
 Whole Youth by painful Studies he improv’d. 
 
 And warm’d fo long the. Viper in his Breafl, 
 
 That the kind Hofl was poifon’d by the Gueft. 
 
 Druf. In vain we mourn ; Some noble Roman {hon’d 
 Care to be glorious, dangeroufly good. 
 
 And kill this Tyrant ; kill him gorg’d with Wine, 
 Forcing a Day, and making, black Night fhine : 
 Debauch’d, and fordidly ambitious grown, . 
 
 ’Midlt all his Revels, would the Deed were done 1 
 Ro. Guilt, the Mind’s Wild-lire, lick his Spirits up j 
 Prefs him, good Gods, prefs him until he drop. 
 
 Sink, and damn’d ; beneath the loweft Hell J 
 After his Death we may in Safety dwell. 
 
The Tragedy of Nero. 17 
 
 Druf. But, while he lives, no honeft Roman may 
 Pafs Night in Reft, or view one peaceful Day. \Rxeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The Countr'j, 
 
 Otho, Poppea, Petronlus, Pifo. 
 
 Pet. Why ftiould fuch God-like Forms irJaabit here. 
 And blefs th’ ignoble Sort ? 
 
 0th. Prithee, no more •, 
 
 She ftia’ not go to Court, there’s Difcord in’t. 
 
 Pet. Now by your Lady’s lovely Eyes, I fwear. 
 
 That Country founds not half fo well to me. 
 
 Is it more Harmony to hear a Clown 
 
 Whiffle his dull Tunes, which you conftrue folemn, 
 
 Than fee a Lady foftly touch her Lute, 
 
 And breathe an Air to the melodious Strings ? 
 
 Her Beauty and her Voice fo raviftung. 
 
 That each Spedlator’s Soul is left in doubt 
 Where firft to mount, into the Eye or Ear. 
 
 The Court’s, 
 
 Now, by my Honour, dearer than my Life j 
 And, as I Adlion love, I think the Court 
 May well be term’d the Noble Rendezvous 
 Of gallant Spirits : ’Tis a Circle, Sir 
 
 Oth. More I’ll allow, it is a Golden Circle I 
 But, like the Carthaginian Hero’s Ring, 
 
 It carries Poifon : ’Tis a fatal Circle, 
 
 Upon whofe Magick Skirts a thoufand Devils, 
 
 In Cryftal Forms, fit tempting Innocence, 
 
 And beckon early Virtue from its Center. 
 
 Pifo. Now, by my Life, I think you counfel ill, 
 
 I view thee, and o’th fudden, fomething calls 
 Thee Traitor. 
 
 Brother, I never lov’d this Man ; that’s all. {Exit, 
 Pet. Why ftiould you lofe me on a bare Sufpicion J 
 The Gods rain Curfes on me thick as Hail, 
 
 If e’er I harbour’d in this Breaft a Thought 
 But what was Noble, of your fpotlefs Loves. 
 
 I muft be bold to fay you’ve done me Wrong ; 
 
 And, but tliat I have by Oath inviolable 
 Sworn you a Friendlhip firm as Deftiny, 
 
 Pro* 
 
1 8 The Tragedy oy^Nero. 
 
 Protedling you and yours, I fliould not thus 
 Tamely put up your angry Brother’s Terms. 
 
 0th. Your Pardon, generous Friend, he was to blame ; 
 Let my Repentance let all right again : 
 
 Indeed I am afliam’d for what is paft. 
 
 Pet . See, our Contention has difturb’d your Lady, 
 
 And call’d the precious Dew into her Eyes. 
 
 0th. No more, my Dear : nay, if thou lov’ll: me, ceafe. 
 Pet. I wonder that the Emperor’s lb long ! 
 
 I wrote to have him call Otho to Court, 
 
 Employ him there, and come in Perfon hither. \Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE III. The Court. 
 
 Oiflavia, Britannicus. 
 
 Oh. Ah ! dearell Brother ! be not too fecure ; 
 
 Syrens moft dreadful are, when they allure ; 
 
 I dread him moft, fmce your lall precious Strife, 
 
 And fear he’s plotting ’gainfl: your precious Life, 
 
 Of which you ought to have a tender Care, 
 
 Becaufe your Siller claims fo deep a Share ; 
 
 For, hear me Gods, the Doom which you decree 
 This gallant Prince, ftiall prove my Deftiny. 
 
 Brit. Fear not my Life ; he cannot be fo bafe : 
 
 I have fome Friends that all his Mifchiefs trace j 
 If ought againft me move^ their Care will find 
 Some means to let me know what is defign’d. 
 
 Oh. Heav’n ever Ihield you from his Violence ; "y 
 His Kindnefs to you is but mere Pretence, V 
 
 And if he fmiles, ’tis at your Innocence. ^ 
 
 The Cryllal of his Eye is clouded o’er. 
 
 That his dark Thoughts my Genius can’t explore. 
 
 Ere while I met him. 
 
 The Fates fit working on his gather’d Brows ; ^ 
 
 Slow Steps he takes, and murmurs as he goes, > 
 
 Starts, and fixt Looks upon the Terras throws. J 
 
 Brit. Mild as calm Martyrs, I could Death receive ; 
 Two Reafons only make we wilh to live : 
 
 Two Debts remain to pay, moll nobly due ; 
 
 Love claims the firll, t’other I owe to you. 
 
 OH. 
 
The Tragedy of Nero. 19 
 
 Off. Within your Breaft does Love chief Regent Hand ? 
 I thought that Reafon there had foie Command. 
 
 Brit. Never was Heart fo pirifiilly kind. 
 
 So capable of Love’s Imprefficn made •, 
 
 With me all Beauties gentle Ufage find j 
 The Humble charm, the Mighty too invade. 
 
 Laft Year, unknown to Parthia I did go. 
 
 And view’d the Court j beheld .the gallant Foe 
 Of Rome, Prince Alamander, whofe great Name 
 Sounds loud, and almoft cracks the Cheeks of Fame. 
 Bellona then, as Goddefs of our Arms, 
 
 I did adore ; but foon felt fofter Charms : 
 
 The curious Prince within my Looks did find 
 Something that wrought upon his noble Mind, 
 
 Difcours’d me, call’d me Friend, and did confefs 
 He never lov’d a Man to fuch Excefs. 
 
 One Day, (Oh Day moft fatal to my Reft I) 
 
 After a thoufand Kindneffes expreft. 
 
 He took me by the Hand, and gently faid. 
 
 Dear Friend, there is a young and noble Maid 
 That fain would fee you. Bowing, I replied. 
 
 Sir, I am your’s, and to your Service tied. 
 
 Off a. Your Story yet has no great Caufe to fright. 
 Brit. At length we came, but fuch a glorious Sight, 
 Such a bright Flux of Rays on tender Senfe, 
 
 Such charming Softnefs, fuch fweet Excellence, 
 
 Words may defcribe, but never can define j 
 The Sun ne’er faw an Objeft fo divine i 
 Fancy can’t teach it j above Fiftion fair j 
 All the fweet Lines of Beauty center’d there. 
 
 Unlike to Ceefar's was my am’rous Doom, 
 
 I came, I faw, but was myfelf o’ercome. 
 
 It was his Sifter, 
 
 Cyara nam’d, that royal charming Maid j 
 My Soul was rapt with Joy, tho’ fhook with Dread. 
 
 So Angels when they ftoop to mortal Sight, 
 
 Strike us with Awe, yet ravifli with Delight. 
 
 Off a. Why did you not your noble Love declare ? 
 
 Brit, f did J but firft committed to her Ear 
 The Secret of my Birth, which flie receiv’d 
 With raodeft Joy, and generoufly believ’d ; 
 
 Our 
 
20 The Tragedy of Nei’O, 
 
 Our I.oves too happy were to flourifh long ;■ 
 
 Froll-nipt i’th’ Bud, they wither’d as they hung. 
 
 Some Roman Slave, I know not whom nor whence. 
 
 Gave the old King private Intelligence ; 
 
 But the young Prince moll watchful fent me Word, 
 Haften’d my Flight, and would not Time, afford 
 To hear my Thanks : Ungrateful fo I came 
 liO.Rome, but nourifh’d ftill my former Flame.. 
 
 Enter Cyara and Sylvius at one Door, the Emperor and 
 Plautus at another. 
 
 Cya. Yonder he ftands, the Gods great Mafter-piece ! 
 Oh, I could ever on that Objeft gaze. 
 
 And lofe my Senfes in that goodly Maze 1 
 With gay and vig’rous Youth his Eyes are crown’d. 
 Prefence and manly Graces all around 
 His noble Form, do make their bright abode. 
 
 Like Beams of Luftre circling in a God. 
 
 IPer. He dies, that bold Comptroller of my Will j 
 He has oblig’d me fo, that I muft kill. 
 
 Why with dull Thoughts do I my fancy pall ? 
 
 When I look fad, whole Hecatombs fliould fall. 
 
 Ha ! who are they ? My fretting Blood does rife : 
 
 Hands reft, I’ll try to blaft him with my Eyes : 
 
 Make me a Bafilisk but one Ihort Hour, 
 
 Somv’ God that would be Nero'% Emperor. 
 
 Plant. Oh you juft Pow’rs ! where is Afirea fled » 
 
 Foul Vice triumphs, trampling on Virtue’s Head. 
 
 Here fam’d Democritus his Teeth might fhow,. 
 
 And Heraclitus might his Tears beftow. 
 
 Hero. I hare him deadly. 
 
 As Poverty, .Difeafes, or old Age j 
 
 For his wifh’d Death, my Empire I’ll engage. 
 
 Not Hell nor Heaven my fierce Refolves lhall daunt : 
 Firft I will aft j and then Fil think upon’t. 
 
 Oltavia, follow me. [Exeunt arnhoi 
 
 Brit. What does he mean ? 
 
 He frowns on me, and fmiles upon the Queen, 
 
 Thefe ruddy Drops fome fay ill Omens are ; 
 
 Cods be my Guard j but ’tis not worth my Care. 
 
21 
 
 lloe Tragedy of Nero. 
 
 I bleed within ; there, there’s the mortal Wound, 
 
 For which no Cure, no Balfam can be found. 
 
 In Dreams, Cyara, I behold thy Charms, 
 
 With fix’d Imagination of high Pleafure ; 
 
 Thy beauteous Form ihall flow into my Arms, 
 
 And I embrace it as a real Treafure. [Exif. 
 
 Cyar. Hew dull this Place appears now he is gone ! 
 Night’s Emblem, it bemoans the abfent Sun. 
 
 Sy/. Madam, ’tis fit you Ihould difcover now ; 
 
 Put oft' the Cloud, and fair Cyam Ihow. 
 
 Cya. Ere I ret^eal myfelf, his Love I’ll try. 
 
 Sy/. You doubt him ? 
 
 Cya. No, ’tis Curiofity. [Exeunt. 
 
 Nero, 0(flavia. 
 
 Ner. Your Sentence dooms me to be curft or bleft s 
 Can you deny me ? ’tis my firft Requeft : 
 
 All Things are eafy to a willing Mind ; 
 
 ’Tis quickly done, if you will prove but kind. 
 
 Oi?. My Soul doth with convulfive Horror lhake ; 
 Name it again, for fare I did miftake. 
 
 Ner. That you the Prince your Brother’s Blood would 
 No matter how, fo you but fwear t® kill. (fpill ; 
 
 Here with my Dagger let the Deed be done : 
 
 You often find him fleeping and alone. 
 
 O/I. Sleeping! Oh Gods! Can you your Vengeance keep ? 
 Where is your Thunder ? No, ’tis you that fleep : 
 
 Sure elfe your Juftice would his Vice confound. 
 
 And drive this Monfter quick into the Ground. 
 
 Hell to his Soul fuch Impudence has giv’n. 
 
 That he in Time will ftorm yourEort of Heaven : 
 
 In Blafphemies his Spirits do exhale ; 
 
 Your high bright Walls his Giant Crimes will fcale. 
 
 Oh, my Heart’s full ! 
 
 Ner. Here’s that will give it vent ; [Stabs her. 
 
 So now go tell the Gods my black Intent. 
 
 Britannicus his Death I will defer ; 
 
 ’Tis pretty well I’ve made an End of her. 
 
 Now I will hafte to meet Poppea's Arms ; 
 
 Oh, Love, aflift me with thy mighty Charms, 
 
 And I will raife thy wanton Altars higher ; 
 
 Old Men and Eunuchs Ihall in Heaps expire, 
 
 Becaufe uncapable of thy foft Fire. 
 
 This 
 
22 
 
 The Tragedy of Nero. 
 
 This Day my fatal Brow no Clouds lhall wear ; 
 
 Till I return, Rome, lay afide thy Fear ; 
 
 I and the Gods of Wit, fmile once a Year. 
 
 Oil. Oh, my Britannicus, my Brother ! 
 
 Might I but fee thee once, yet ere I go. 
 
 And wander in the wide dark Dens of Death : 
 
 But, oh 1 my Soul is almoft out of Breath. 
 
 Enter Britannicus. 
 
 Brit. He fent me here j for what I can’t devife. 
 
 Oil. Ah me ! look here, with Pity glut thy Eyes. 
 Now I am well : For tliy fake I would live; 
 
 My dear, my gentle Brother, do not grieve. 
 
 Brit. Gods ! Gods ! But they are deaf, or will not hear. 
 No Hopes of Life ? Oh my prophetick Fear ! 
 
 Sigh Heart, weep Eyes, I draw each eryftal Spring ; 
 But ’tis my Blood muft be thy Offering. 
 
 OH. Hold, hold ; Cyara, ’tis Cyara's Call : 
 
 My Share I give to her, fhe claims you all. 
 
 Give me your Sword ; fo now I’ve loft my Fears ; 
 
 You weep too much, and yet I love thofe Tears ; 
 
 It was a gen’rous Proffer, ’twas indeed ; 
 
 Upon thy Bofom let me reft my Head ; 
 
 ’Tis a foft Pillow, fweetly now I reft. 
 
 And figh my Soul into thy gentle Breaft. [^Dies. 
 
 Brit. O ftay, my dear, my moft lov’d Sifter, flay ; 
 But one Word more. Her Soul is on its way : 
 
 She’s gone, fhe’s gone ; thou flow’ry Sweet, farcwel. 
 
 Oh where, to whom lhall I my Sorrows tell ! 
 
 In every Grove and melancholy Bower 
 Thy fad untimely Lofs I will deplore ; 
 
 Thy Name’s dear Charafter each Tree lhall bear. 
 
 On every Letter I will drop a Tear. 
 
 How quickly Fate our faireft Hopes beguiles f 
 Oh, thou ftiort Solace of my many Ills ! 
 
 Adieu ! Adieu ! my Star, my deareft Light 1 
 Now thou art gone, I am all dark, all Night ! 
 
 One Lump I grow, and know not how I move. 
 
 All fad and gloomy, as the Eyes of Love. 
 
 Truft me, thy Sweetnefs I lhall ne’er forget ; 
 
 Stiff with my Sorrows, on thy Tomb I’ll lit. 
 
 Till I at laft into cold Marble turn, 
 
 And with my pious Figure grace thy Urn. 
 
 {^Exit. 
 
 ACT 
 
The Tragedy of Nero. 
 ACT III. SCENE I. 
 
 Britannicus nvith a By. 
 
 W HAT is the Earth to me? Why do I ftay. 
 
 Since thou, my Joy, my dear Oilavia, 
 
 Art raviih’d hence ? To Parthia I will fly. 
 
 And in thy Prefence, fair Cyara, die : 
 
 My only Comforts on thy Truth depend ; 
 
 If thou art chang’d, my Grief fliall have an End. 
 
 Go fing the Song without. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 W EEP, nueep, ye Mufes, drain the Springs, 
 
 Such Notes go nvarble to the Strings, 
 
 Such Dirges as the Ravens found. 
 
 When Ghojls run trembling thrci the Ground: 
 
 Tlhe fairefl of her Sex is dead. 
 
 Her tender Limbs are virapp'd in Lead ; 
 
 Her Eyes, Stars Envy, the Earth's Pride, 
 
 The broad black Hand of Death does hide : 
 
 In Death's dark Chamber novo fhe lies. 
 
 Pale as the Snovi, and cold as Ice. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 The Grave, the lovely Grave voill bring us Eafe, 
 
 There Jhall voe feep in dovony Peace ; 
 
 There no DifraSlions nor Jealoufes be. 
 
 But all from inord' nate PaJJions are free ; 
 
 The cold Tomb is free frosn hot Love and Defire ; 
 
 It has JJhes good fiore, but admits of no Eire ; 
 
 There Men do neve r groan, nor Women cry, 
 
 ^ut all Things hujlo'd in folemn Silence lie. 
 
 Enough, Enough. Oh, myflck Heart, not yet? 
 Break, break, for lhame, let Nature have her Debt. 
 
 Cyara, 
 
24 
 
 The Tragedy of Nero. 
 
 Cyara, Sylvius. 
 
 Cya. Withdraw, good Sylvius. How fad he looks ! 
 Was ever Man fo goodly ? Oh my Heart 
 Bear up ! And yet I dare not fpeak to him. 
 
 If there be any Charms in Womens Tongues, 
 
 If there be any Words that can infufe 
 Soft Love into a Bofom, and create - 
 A gentle Paflion, good Heaven grant it me. 
 
 Sir, may I interrupt without Offence 
 
 Your ferious Thoughts ? I’ve fomething to relate. 
 
 Which is your near Concern. 
 
 Brit. Mine, pretty Sir ? 
 
 Say on, I hear you. What would his Bufmefs be ? 
 
 Cya. ’Tis from a Lady who made me her Agent, 
 
 A forry one I fear, and much unable 
 To tell what fhe commanded me ; a Story 
 So lamentable, that I cannot think on’t. 
 
 But llrait my Eyes o’erflow with Tears. Pardon me,N 
 Only a little Refpite, I’ll go on. 
 
 Brit. Thou raifeft fomething in me, which as yet 
 I cannot give a Name to. What can this mean ? 
 
 Cya. Cyara, Sir, the Parthian Princefs 
 
 Brit. Ha ! 
 
 Com’ft thou from her ? A thoufand BlefTmgs on thee. 
 
 Cya. A thoufand Curfes rather, for my News. 
 
 My Name’s Coralbo, her unhappy Kinfman ; 
 
 To my poor Faith Ihedid the mighty Honour 
 Of telling the fad Stories of your Loves. 
 
 It was her Chance, a difmal Chance indeed ! 
 
 That Day you fled, as fhe was fitting at 
 The Palace Window, fbriking of her Lute, 
 
 Thoughtful, and Virgin-like, alone, to caft 
 Her Eye upon your Perfon ; ftrait fhe blufh’d, 
 Wondring to fee you in that Equipage : 
 
 But foon her Brother did unriddle all ; 
 
 Amazement feiz’d her firfl: ; but when the Prince 
 Was gone, fhe loos’d the Reins Grief had full flopp’d: 
 She trembled, fetch’d heart-breaking-Sighs, 
 
 As if her Eyes were Springs ; fhe made Complaints 
 So languifhing, and with fo fad an Accent, 
 
 I wonder that it kill’d her not till now. 
 
 Brit. I hope you come not to abufe me. 
 
 By Heaven, if you do - Cya 
 
The Tragedy of Nero. 
 
 Cya. Indeed I do not ; 
 
 Let that convince you, if you know her Hand. 
 
 I find he’s noble, his Looks are chang’d o’th’ fudden : 
 
 I fear I’ve gone too far. How do you. Sir 2 
 
 Brit. Well, Boy. OGods! Devils! Hell, Heav’n, 
 and Earth ! 
 
 Reads. If in the other World I can heheld ought therOy 
 it will be you ) pray love my Memory : '^will he a Satisfac- 
 tion above the thoughts of Paradife to your dying Cyara. 
 I feel a mortal Trembling Ihoot along 
 My Arteries : I’m cold. OBavia ! Cyara ! Oh ! [Falls. 
 
 Cya. Help, help : My Lord, Cyara lives ; return. 
 What have I done ? Upon thy dying Lips 
 I’ll print nw Soul, but I’ll bring back thy Life. 
 
 Fool that I was, for a Fancy, thus 
 To play away that Pearl, for which I would 
 Have fold my Breath, ray vital Spirits, my All. 
 
 O, he returns. Cyara is not dead : 
 
 Look up, my Lord ; do you not know this Face ? ^ 
 Brit. Cyara ! Heavens, *tis flic ! Thou charming Fair, 
 How am 1 ravifli’d with thy glorious Prefence ? 
 
 O, who would live on Earth, fultry and hot, 
 
 Under a Load of Care, did he once tafte 
 The Pleafiiresef thefe cool immortal Shades ? 
 
 O, the refreflilng Sweets which the Winds blow 
 From ever-budding Flowers eternal Spring ! 
 
 Cya. Where, Sir? 
 
 Brit. Why, here in blefl: Eiyjittm. 
 
 Cya. O he is loft, diftradted ! 
 
 Brit. I.ook, look, my dear, prithee let’s walk along. 
 The Grafs does fliine with pure Emerald Green, 
 
 Each purling Brook like liquid Plate appears. 
 
 And every Pebble feems a Diamond ; 
 
 Tall burnifli’d Trees with Fruit of mafl'y Gold, 
 
 Upon whofe Boughs all fair and heav’nly Forms 
 Sic fweetly warbling to their Loves below. 
 
 See, yonder’s OBavia^ my Sifter, look. 
 
 Pale and forlorn, in a clofe gloomy Shade, 
 
 Her airy Subftance thus I will condenfe. 
 
 And Iqueexe to Water, ’caufe I cannot weep. 
 
 Cya. Ah Prince ! Cyara live.s, and I am flie. 
 
 Brit. Thou art a lying Boy ; O Gods, my Head ! 
 
 B 
 
26 The Tragedy of Nero. 
 
 Cyn. Do you not know me. Sir ? Look wiftly on me, | 
 Brit. Cyara’a Picture; juft ilich charming Eyes : | 
 
 Such fnowy Hands, fuch Lips,fuch winning Smiles ; 
 
 Such Tenderuefs ; fuch was her every Grace : 
 
 But Oh ! You told a falfc, a fatal Tale, 1 
 
 The Accent of thy Voice is diS'erent, J 
 
 She could not lie, for flie was all Perfeftion : 
 
 All Beauty ficken’d when Ihe left the World. 
 
 Cyara, Oh thou Fair-one ! Glorious Saint, 
 
 Thou could’ft not die for me, defertleft me. 1 
 
 Cya. She is not dead, but lives and loves you, Sir. 
 
 Brit Thou doft aflbeiate with Lawyers fure, 
 
 And Travellers. 
 
 Cya. Who, I Sir? Why? 
 
 Brit. Becaufe 
 
 Thou ly’ft extremely, Boy : No, Hie is dead ; 
 
 The Canopy of Heav’n is hung with Sable ; ' 
 
 The Sun, like a great Mourner, drives her Hearfe, 
 Wrapp’d round with Clouds ; each Star withdraws 
 His golden Head, and burns within his Socket ; 1 
 
 The whole Cope is dark, black, difinal. 
 
 And mourns the fudden Lofsof fair Cyara. 
 
 Ha ! fltough ; yonder flies a Night-Raven, - I 
 
 In each black Eye there rolls a Pound of Jet- 
 See how he fans with his huge wicker Wings 
 The dusky Air. Come, Boy, be gone, | 
 
 I’ll lave thee, tho’ I die myfclf ; go in, ' 
 
 Run, run, I fay. I’ll fetch my Bow, and fhoot him. 
 
 SCENE, The Country, 
 
 Petronius, Poppea. Pifo over-hearing. 
 
 Pop. I muft not bear you. Sir. 
 
 Pet. Can you defpife 
 
 A Flame whofe matchlefs Splendour drowns the Stars, 
 And Luftre vies with the great Eye of Day ? 
 
 O fcrupulous Virtue, art thou grown fo cold. 
 
 That the reflefted Beams of doubled Honours* 
 Beating upon thee with inceflant Glories, 
 
 Cannot approach thee thro’ thy Walls of Ice ? 
 
 With all tlidr fiery Points, cannot once pierce ihec ? 
 
The Tragedy of Nero. 27 
 
 High Minds fliould not be tempted with Ap- 
 pearance, 
 
 ]>Jor drawn to dangerous Courfes from homely Cells, 
 Where honeft Pleafures with fafe Plenty dwells. 
 
 Ptt. But what Converfe, what Noblenefs is here 
 To deck your Thoughts, that claim a vafter Sphere? 
 Thro’ all the Heav’n they Ihould, like Eagles, roam. 
 Not ftay in fuch a Iblitary Home. (Breaft ? 
 
 Pep. What unknown Guefts are thefe that tear my 
 Like Slaves in golden Mines, that dig their way : 
 
 A Crown they Ihew, which my frail Heart adores ; 
 Before my Thoughts a royal Scepter flies, ^ 
 
 At which my Fancy grafps i but when it comes. 
 
 And its bright Glories ofters to my Hand 
 I fain would i-each, and yet refufe to hold. 
 
 Pet. Madam, conltder ’tis a mighty Proffer ; 
 
 ’Tis not this Province, or that Colony ; 
 
 He gives you all : All is a gift fo great, 
 
 As none but Jove to C£far can bettow. 
 
 What is it deters you from your Happincls ? 
 
 Pep. Oh, I am loft in Honour’s Labyrinth. 
 
 No Clew to guide me, but my own defire. 
 
 And that would lead me out, b>it knows not how. 
 
 Pifo. Oh Heaven, what will this Earth come to ! Wat 
 it for this my noble Brother was fent for in lb much 
 hafte ? And is it for this he harbours that Viper in our 
 Houfe, to tear his Darling hence, and eat his Heart out ? 
 O Laws of Holpitality, why are you facred ? why is 
 my Hand fo backward to punifti that Ravilher of our 
 Honour 1 
 
 Methinks I fee that Genius of our Houfe 
 Start from his Monument, and ftalk along 
 Shaking with panick Fears, and with an Eye 
 That darts its poilbn’d Beams of Indignation 
 At me ; Methinks I fee him chide my flow 
 Revenge. 
 
 Pep. My Brother hath loft his Senfes- 
 
 Pi/e. I would I had, and wdth them loft ray Life, 
 
 So thou couldft find thy Honour ; Oh thy Honour ! 
 More worth than all that golden Pageantry, 
 
 High Tops of Fortune, glorious Pinnacles, 
 
 And Heav’n knows what, that fwim in thy fond Fanev ; 
 
 B 2 Tho'fc 
 
28 7 he Tradgedy of Nero. 
 
 Tliofe wanton Sepulchres have Ivvallovv ’d it 
 Thy Eyes, thofe Graves of Noblcnels and Glory. 
 
 I’ve known the Time, when, had I look’d but thus, 
 Thus curioufly upon thee, ftreight a Blufli 
 Would mount into thy Cheek ; there’s nothing now 
 But pale Diflionour. Prithee do not fpeak, 
 
 Thy Words are peftilent, the blafting Iflue 
 01 a corrupted Heart difeas’d, and deadly. 
 
 Pop. How fliould he know this ? Sure he overheard 
 Pftromus talking with me ; it mull be fo. 
 
 But pray, why is’t a Sin to go to Court ? 
 
 I am not guilty of one Wicked thought, 
 
 And yet you make me a moft wretched Creature. 
 
 Pifo. Indeed thou art a finful wretched Creature : 
 Thou art the wretched’ll Thing lever faw : 
 
 Thy Blood isallo’lire, the Emperor, 
 
 That Dog-ftar, has inflam’d it; 1 pity thee. 
 
 O tliat my Tears could make thy Heart relent 
 Or quench thole Fires that will devour thee ; 
 
 Then I would drain thofe cryllal Sources dry ; 
 
 Rivers I’d weep, and long luxuriant -Streams, 
 
 My Eyes Ihould play the Wantons, not thy way. 
 
 If thou has any Senlc of Shame, look back ; 
 
 Thy Feet upon the Brink of Ruin Hand, 
 
 But one Hep more, and thou art loll for ever. 
 
 Glorious Dcllrudlion, glitt’ring Miferies [Jf'eeps 
 
 Will keep thee waking till Death clofe thy Eyes. 
 
 Pet. Fy, fy, my Lord ; were your Surmifes true. 
 This is too much, it fliews unmanly. 
 
 Pifo. Ha ! 
 
 It will not be ; rather than fuficr thi.s, 
 
 Let me be ever branded, bafe, and barbarous. 
 
 Jily Rage is kindled, and I’ll bear no more ; 
 
 Be gone, thou Monller, fly, thou Harpy, fly. 
 
 Put on thy Wings of Horrour, and be gone. 
 
 Or, by my Honour, where this Houfe a Temple, 
 
 Thy bafe black Blood lliould llain the facred Floor. 
 
 \_Exemt Petro. and Poppea fmHwg on him. 
 Pifo. I am troubled ; yet their is one way left : 
 Revenge, Revenge ! O thou art fweet and lovely ! 
 
 I’ll go to Rome^ and with wrong’d Otho join. 
 
 [ trumpets found . 
 
 ^ What 
 
T^e Tragedy of Nero. 2^ 
 
 What means this Noife ? 
 
 Servants running over the Stage 
 
 {M'ithin- The Emperor, the Emperor ! 
 Plau- The Emperor, my Lord, is come in Perlba hidier, 
 Pifo. Ha ! Is it fo? Then all fond Hopes taiewel; 
 Difeafes be his Welcome. O, I am mad. 
 
 This Might he whores my Sifter. Hell, hear my Pray’r ! 
 Ddpair, Revenge, and Murder, come along ; 
 
 Bring all your curfed Crew and come along ; 
 
 In fatal Bufineft I’il enjploy you all, 
 
 W'ith this foie Ann Heav’ns Vengence I’ll foreftali ; 
 An A€t fo great, pale Brutus ftiall defire 
 To fee Cato and Cajjius {hall admire. 
 
 Start not my Soul, but do’t ; Poppea die.s, 
 
 My Anger’s Vidtim, Honour’s Sacrifice. 
 
 Her Beauties, fo ador’d, lb much admir’d. 
 
 With Pride and fenfual Pleafure fo infpir’d. 
 
 Shall in a Moment ficken,fade, and fall ; 
 
 Like the North -wind. I’ll rufli and blaft you all. 
 
 Nero prepare ; for whenfoe’er I come, 
 
 Immortal as thou art, I bring t'ny Doom. 
 
 I’ll make that Cedar tremble like a Reed ; 
 
 Kero Ihall die ; that vaunting God IhaU. bleed. {Exit. 
 
 {the Scene changes. j4fter a Songy the Emperor eomes 
 in royally attended-, bowing to Poppta, Qpc. Petionius. 
 
 Ner. Model of Heav’n, thou Ornament of Earth, 
 Propitious Star that fmiles on human Birth ! 
 
 Or art thou Goddefs of the filver Floods ? 
 
 Or the fair heav’nly Huntrefs of thefe Woods ? 
 
 Or art thou Venus ? Venus wants fuch Fire, 
 
 When by the Graces, dreft in bright Attire. 
 
 She haftes to meet her noble Warrior’.>; Arms ; 
 
 Venus, in height of dalliance, wants fiach Charms. 
 Such Bcanty never was by Paris feen. 
 
 Such conqu’ring Air, and fuch majeftick Mein. 
 
 O moft divine ! with Pity blefs my Flame. 
 
 Pop. Be not deluded, Sir; I mortal am. 
 
 Ner. If thou of mortal Seed art born, be mine. 
 And I will make thee 
 
 More happy, than thofe Powr’s we call divine. 
 
 B ; 
 
 To 
 
} 
 
 } 
 
 } 
 
 30 The Tragedy of Nero. 
 
 To pleafe thy Senle, and ravifh thy fbfc PowVs, 
 
 I’ll make fuch Grotto’s Springs, and royal Bow’rs, 
 
 As Ihiall tranfcend the bleft Etyfian Shade, 
 
 'Temfes fair Grove, and Idea's Howery Head, 
 
 Where the Gods meet and dance in Mafquerade. 
 
 For Baths, we will Current Lave, 
 
 Lie clofe incircled in a Golden Wave ; 
 
 Thou Qiieen triumphant; I thy humble Slave. 
 
 Lo, at thy. Feet , Hero himfelf does lie ; 
 
 He that commands the Earth, the Sea, the Sky, 
 
 For Love of thee does languifh, figh, and die. 
 
 Pep. Is all this true? Can you do all thefe Things ? 
 Good Heaven, what happy Creatures are you Kings ! 
 
 Ncr. If thy Heart bears fuch Sofrnefs as thy Breaft, 
 Then I am happy, then Fm truely bleft. 
 
 Ail my dear Joys are treafur’d in thofe Eyes, 
 
 Tiiofe kinder Stars thofe Suns of Paradile, 
 
 Without thy Smiles, alas, I nothing am. 
 
 But the poor Shadow of a mighty Name. [Fear ! 
 
 Pep, How my Soul’s rack’d with Joy and Anxious 
 Fain 1 would go, and yet would tarry here. 
 
 Whence do thefe new Defires and Wilhes come I 
 Fain I would fee I know not tvhat, nor whom. 
 
 How rarely this King talks ! how far above 
 My Lord’s grave Rules of Duty and of Love ! 
 
 Ner. About thy Knees, O let me ever grow. 
 
 Fop. Why do you weep ? 
 
 Her. My Eyes lhall ever flow , 
 
 Or, if thefe tender Sources Ihould decay, 
 
 My thawing Soul fhall melt it felf away. 
 
 O Hay ; I’ll follow thus, if you remove, 
 
 And hold thee fall with all tiie force of Love. 
 
 Pop. Why is my Heart in its Refolves lb flow I 
 Like a fond Child, when two gay things you fliow, 
 W'^ith wandering Eyes it looks, does leap, and quake 
 For both ; yet, doubtful neither can partake. 
 
 Heav’ns ! how he pants I how his Lips warm my Hand ! 
 Her. They draw their heat from this warm Firebrand- 
 Pet. Sheyeilds, fheyeilds! her Looks her Thoughts 
 Greatnefs is enter’d and her Soul gives way. [betray. 
 Follow her ftill, and let her take no Reft : 
 
 She thinks it Pleafure to be fo oppreft. 
 
 Pop. 
 
The Tragedy of Nero. 31 
 
 What muft the Price of all thefe Pleafures be 
 Narute’s choife Oli’ring, Art’s Variety C • 
 
 Of noify Shows, and mighty Gallantry ! ^ 
 
 A(?r. The Price of all is but thy gentle Love. 
 Secure in Heav’n as Juno keeps her Jove^ 
 
 Thou fhalt keep me, fetter’d in Golden Chains ; 
 
 The foft fad Story of my pleafing Pains, 
 
 In fighs upon thy Bofom I’ll relate ; 
 
 Thy Beauty’s Creature, thou my Glory’s Fate. 
 
 Drawn in a Chair of Gold, embofs’d all o’er 
 With their great Images whom we adore. 
 
 On Velvet Floors triumphant tltou ihalt ride, 
 
 Princes fliall run like Pages by thy fide : 
 
 Tile Sun firall, from his flaming Seat, look down, 
 
 And of the Thnnd’rer ask a brighter Throne, 
 
 While all the Gods do blufli 
 
 To fee their Art by mortal Wit out-done. 
 
 Pop. And will you do all this for Love of me? 
 
 Are there fuch Charms in my Society ? 
 
 Aer. But one fhort Night let me your Love enjoy, 
 And I next Morning will my Life deftroy. 
 
 Pop. Indeed you mall not ; that were too fevere. 
 Nay, if you love me pray live all the Year. 
 
 For Fancy, I fubftantial Pleafures reap, 
 
 Is that all ’Tis very cheap. 
 
 Tell me not what my Duty does require ; 
 
 Love mans me now, and Ihows his facred Fire : 
 
 To Crowns, thofe mighty Objedts, I afpire. 
 
 It you dare do as you have faid, lead on : 
 pale Piety, adieu ; live here alone. 
 
 While I go tafte the Pleafures of a Throne. 
 
 Aero. Our Chariots hafte : yet flay, I will not go. 
 Thou Abftradt of all Sweets, thou Melter, Oh 
 Gods ! too much Joy has my poor Soul diftreft, 
 Weary’d with Raptures, take it to thy Breafl, 
 
 On thofe foft Globes of Beauty let it reft. 
 
 Kind God of Love, O bring thy Mother’s Doves. 
 
 And watt as thro’ the calm Celeftial Groves, 
 Surfeiting on each others Breaft we’ll ftray ; 
 
 When we want Words, and know not what to fay. 
 With Eyes thus languifliing we’ll look, all Day ; 
 
 B 4 Now 
 
 } 
 
 } 
 
 ay, \ 
 
 • y 
 
 
32 . The Tragedy af'Stro. 
 
 >!ow figh , now unile, or thus infolded lie, 
 
 And all along the Milky Way we’ll die. 
 
 ^Exeunt. 
 
 ACT. IV. SCENE I. 
 
 Kero, Poppea, fitting in State- 
 
 L E T not my Crown and felf thy willr confine ; 
 
 Ask what thou wilt ; by all the Gods, ’lis thine. 
 Be ftudied. in’c, and I’ll applaud thee for’t : 
 
 Mean while, behold the Pleafurcs of our Court. 
 
 \Danee-, 6cc. 
 
 Enter Britannicus, wad ; and Cyara. 
 
 Top. O my dread Lord, for thefe let me implore. 
 Live, Wretches, and his Excellence adore. 
 
 Brit. Stay me not; by the Gods, I’ll break your 
 Hold. 
 
 So fad a Story Orpheus never told. 
 
 When his harmonious Sighs pierc’d Piute’s Gate ; 
 
 But I ban Heav’n, curfe the great Gods and Fate, 
 
 And y^t I will not fpeak, the Theme’s too ftern ; 
 
 Here Hell itfelf might witty Horror learn. 
 
 Some whirlwind fnatch me headlong thro’ the Air, 
 W'rapt round in Clouds invelop’d in Difpair, 
 
 That I from Earth may hide this difmal deed : 
 
 Honour i.sftabb’d, and all the Virtues bleed. 
 
 Cjaras fall'll, OHauia too is gone ; 
 
 In Death’s damp Vaults fhe wanders all alone : 
 
 I faw her Soul dive ftrangely thro’ the Ground, 
 
 In Iier own Blood that Spark of Heav’n was drown’ 
 Trealbn againft the Gods he did confpire ; 
 
 O Traitor, worfe than he that Hole their Fire 1 
 Kcr. W ho was that Traitor, Prince 'i 
 Brit- I know not. Sir, 
 
 Unlels that Dog that was her Murderer. 
 
 Her. Who was that Dog t 
 
 B*it. 
 
33 
 
 The Tragedy of Nerd 
 
 Bni- Why, Cerberus I guefs ; 
 
 No Savage elfe could hurt luch Gentlcnefs ; 
 
 Such Mceknefs would -^ild Panthers Fury charm, 
 
 And hungry Lions of their Rage disarm ; 
 
 Ev’n o’er their Prey it would the Conqueft get, 
 
 Quell their fwoln Hearts and cool their bloody Heat. 
 Ner. Madman, be gone. 
 
 Brit. This Madman is a Prince. 
 
 Ner. I fay again, forbear this Infolence, 
 
 Or thou ihalt wifli thou wert a Beggar born ; 
 
 At once thou mov’ft: my Pity and ray Scorn. 
 
 Brit. ’Twas thou that kill’d my Sifter. 
 
 Ner. Ha ! thou ly’ft : 
 
 Stand not my Rage ; for, if thoU doft, thou dy’ft. 
 
 Brit. Then I will fit, and hear your Thunder roar ; 
 Such humble Shrubs it hurts not, but flies o’er. 
 
 Ner. But you flrall find for once, ’twill condefcend 
 I pity thee and will thy Sorrows end. 
 
 Cya. Hold ; by the Gods, I do conjure you, ftay ; 
 Firft thro’ my Bofbm force your bloody way. 
 
 In Policy you ought his Life to fpare ; 
 
 For, if you let him live, Heav’n will forbear. 
 
 To puniftiyou, nor will due Vengeance take ; 
 
 The juft good Gods will fpare you for his fake. 
 
 Brit. How the Boy prattles ! ’tisa pretty Boy ! 
 Cyaras Image ! how that damps my Joy ! 
 
 What mean thefe two, by foch an antick Form ? 
 Here’s a foft Calm, and there a bluftering ftorra. 
 
 My Painter lb lhall draw, me Day and Night : 
 
 Here horrid Darknefs ftands ; there gaudy Light ; 
 There, Cruelty, like the Red-Sea appears; 
 
 Here melting Mercy flows in pitying Tears. 
 
 Exquifite Emblems ! perfcft Good and Evil : 
 
 A Heaven, a Hell, an Angel, and a Devil. 
 
 Ner- If I ga7.e long, I Inall my Nature lole : 
 
 Midft of my full Career I flop and mufe. 
 
 Now whence does this unworthy Paufe proceed? 
 
 Can I repent my Rage ? No, he fhall bleed. 
 
 Cya. Hold, Sir, you cannot ftrike. 
 
 Ner. How ? cannot. Boy ? 
 
 Cya. Alas, I ly’d ; I know you can deftroy 4 
 Yon can do all things, Sir, both drown and burn ; 
 
 B 5 Nay, 
 
34 Tragedy of Nero, 
 
 jSiay, the whole World to its firft Chaos tutn. 
 
 You are a -God to damn, a King to kill ; 
 
 You can do all ihings, if you had the Will. 
 
 But you are kind, and (bit, I know you are? 
 
 Your Eyes are noble, and delight to fpare. 
 
 0 Heav’n ! how Alen will lye 1 nay, now I find 
 You have a gentle, great, and god-likc Mind. 
 
 The Prince is mad, and you are pleas’d to fee’t, 
 
 Kay, pardon all O let me kifs-your Feet. 
 
 You’ll win all Hearts by fuch kind Afts as thefe ; 
 
 With my warm Tears I’ll bath your facred Knees. 
 
 A’er Shall I be branded with the Kame o*' Good ? 
 
 Be gone, thou loft invader of my Blood ; 
 
 Alercy and I no Correfpondence have; Y 
 
 Pity a whining tender-hearted Slave : > 
 
 Fury I love, bccaule fh^’s bold and brave. J 
 
 ■As I fcan things, Virtue’s the greateff Crime : 
 
 Stand olf; or I will pafs thro’ thee, to him. [kills her. 
 
 Pep. Hold, Cxfar, now I take you at your Word ; 
 
 If you will keep your Promife, (heath your Sword. 
 
 Ner. ’Twere lei's togive the World, than let him live ; 
 Yet your Commands with Joy Ido receive. [Deed? 
 
 Brit. What barbarous Hand has done this horrid 
 Oh, my dear Boy. look up ; thou doll: not bleed. 
 
 Stop, flop, thou bloody Spring ; my Hair perforce 
 Shall bind thee, and dam up the Scarlet Source : 
 
 1 will my felf thy kind Phyfician be ; 
 
 When I was fide tliou ftill wert (bto me : 
 
 At my Bcd-fide, flridt Watch all Kight he'll keep, 
 And, with his Songs, rock my cull Cares allecp. 
 
 HE Cheeks are pale ! Rofes, lock forth again, 
 
 And fmiie for Joy your pretty Rival’s (lain. 
 
 Fate wove thy Thread of Life too fine to laft ; 
 
 All’.s loft at once ! O (ad ! O defp’rate caft ! 
 
 Thus, in my Arms, I’ll bear thy Beauties hence ; 
 
 Ko guilty Hand lhall touch thy Innocence : 
 
 Thus, Arm in Arm, we in one Grave will lie ? 
 Wretched we liv’d, but happy we will die. 
 
 [Exit ‘With Cyara- 
 
 Bop. What means my trembling Heart by this Sur- 
 
 [prize ? 
 
 Why col figh ? why do t'.iefe Blufhes rife ? 
 
 Be - 
 
35 
 
 The Tjragedy of Kera 
 
 Before my Soul, a mournful Troop appears ; 
 
 Hopes fliflcdin their Birth, Starts, Hidden Fears 
 Languilliing Joys, and Iblitary Tears 
 I love him, ’tis too plain juft Heav’n has fent 
 On my Inconftancy this Punilliment. 
 
 I’ve gone too far to think of a return ; 
 
 I mult enjoy him : O my Heart does burn ! 
 
 My Blood boils high, and beats with ftran^edefires : 
 ’Tis juft that Madnefs mingled with fuch hires. \Ey:it. 
 Ner. Thou haft a Wit ; Ibme fudden means contrive. 
 Fct. Believe me, Sir, this Night he fhan’t furvive. 
 
 [_Exit Nero, 
 
 ^elus. Contrivance gives a Mifchief glofs- — ’tis fine; 
 
 I ha’r my Kinfman Burthts fills his Wine ; 
 
 By nature bloody. then the pow’rful Charm . 
 
 Of Gold, a prefentGain, no future Harm, 
 
 Safe in the Emp’ror’s Favour he fliall live : 
 
 All this well weigh’d, ray black Defign muft thrive. 
 Nature has not been overkind to me : 
 
 Her limber Sons and I cannot agree : 
 
 She is my Stepdame ; but my Comfort is, 
 
 To pay her home, this Night her Darling dies. [ExH. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Enter Otho, Pifo. 
 
 Pifo', Yet be advis’d, and let us end this Strife. • 
 Otho. Deny thy Words, and I will fparc thy Life. 
 Pi/o Deny my Words ? what didft thou ever fee 
 In all my Life, to raife this Thought in thee ? 
 
 My Nature’s hot, provoke me. Sir, no more : 
 
 1 do pronounce again ilie is a Whore, [firings tear : * 
 Otho. Blafphemcr, Peace ; Rage does my Heart- 
 Wert thou my Father, I could not forbear. 
 
 Pi/o. Sir, I dare fight. 
 
 Otho. Guard well thy Life. 
 
 Pi/o. I do. 
 
 This Sport was ne’er unwelcome until now. 
 
 You bleed. 
 
 Otho. No matter, Sir, the Wound’s but flight. 
 
 Pi/o. O Brother, hear me, for I will not fight. 
 
 Otho. 
 
3^ The Tragedy of 'Scxo. 
 
 Otho. You mull. 
 
 Pifo. I cannot. Heav’ns ! what have I done ? 
 
 Otho. Thou art a Coward : prithee, Boy, be gone. 
 Pifo. Curie on my Hand that drew your precious 
 
 [Blood I 
 
 Peppea is an Angel chaftc and good : 
 
 I Hatter you ; I care not what I fay. 
 
 Rather than Hill purfue this fatal Fray. 
 
 Otho. Now I believe what thou haft faid is true ; 
 
 Pity has done what Anger could not do : 
 
 O iTic is falfe, fbrfworn, and I am loft, 
 
 JMy Soul is fttipwreck’d on its moft lov’d Coaft ; 
 
 the Viftorious INlercy I’m undone. 
 
 Go, yobie Brother, leave this Wretch alone ; 
 
 O, my Pieari’s fick ! j our Pardon, pray no more ; 
 
 Here I will lie, and my hard Hap deplore. 
 
 Pfo. Then I will fit for ever by your fide, 
 
 Take it not ill if I tlii.s Tamenefs chide, 
 
 Rotrfe up your Wrath, let Anger chafe away 
 Thefe fullen Clouds; Rcvjtnge will bring the Day 
 Again, and make your Honour Ihine more bright, 
 Wiiile it damns her to fiiade.s of Death and Night. 
 
 Otho. Ha ! thou haft wak’d my Soul from it’s dull 
 
 [Reft; 
 
 Revenge, thou gen’rous Fire, enrich my Breaft. 
 
 Poppea paffes over the Stage 
 O glorious Whore ! I’il fink her with a Blow, 
 
 She’s rotten ripe for Ruin ; let me go. 
 
 Pifo- You lee her Guards will your Revenge oppolfe. 
 And thus, for nothing, we our Lives fliall lole. 
 
 Othi. Down, down, my fwelling Heart ; O I am fad: 
 Hold, mv weak Eyes ; this Sight has made me mad. 
 
 Pifo. Blinded with Rage, our Realbn’s apt to ftray 
 Be rul’d by me; I’lllhew the fafeft way. 
 
 SCENE ITI. 
 
 Britannicus reading, Poppea enters 
 
 Pep. Mufing, and all alone ? Syhana go. 
 
 The bottom of my Fate I’ll <i'.iickly know ; 
 
The Tragedy of Nero. 37 
 
 Jily Virtues arc dethron’d, and Pafltons rule ; 
 
 O Heav’ns ! ray Crimes you have reveng’d at full. 
 
 Brit. Is it a Truth ? or does Fame teiius lyes. 
 When it reports that the Soul never dies, 
 
 But mantled fits, and adts in gloomy Shroruds, 
 
 Like Cynthia, when (he’s hem’d with circling Clouds ? ‘ 
 
 When the loft Partner of our Griefs and Joys, 
 
 With trembling Hands lhall cio:'e our dying Eyes, 
 When in fad fort our Friends lhall Hand and mourn. 
 
 To fee the fatal Torch thelb Relitts burn. 
 
 Is there an end of Thought ? no further Care? 
 
 No Throne of Hlifs, nor Caverns of Defpair ? 
 
 No Dens of Darknefs, nor no Seats of Glory ? 
 
 Then all our grave Difcourle is but a Story. 
 
 Some full-gorg’d Prieft nodding beneath a Ihade, 
 
 Tales of Elyjium, and the dull Pool, made. 
 
 Whither, U whither go we when we die ? 
 
 Why, there where Babes, not yet conceiv’d do lie, 
 Death’s nothing : nothing after Death will fall ; 
 
 Time, and dark Chaos, will devour us all. 
 
 Pop. I come to kill thee, Prince. 
 
 Brit- My Boy is dead ; 
 
 To Heav’ns bright Throne his brighter Soul is fled % 
 Yonder he mounts on Silver burnilh’d Wings j 
 Each God immortal Sweets around him flings. 
 
 Now, like a Ship, he cuts the liquid Sky ; 
 
 His Rigging’s glorioas, and his Maft.is high, ~ 
 
 Fann’d with cool Winds his golden Colours fly. 
 
 Ha ! wilt thou follow him ? begin : ftrike home. 
 
 Pop. I fay, to kill thee (Prince) I hither come. 
 
 Thy Eyes lharp Beams have run quite thrO’ my Heart. . 
 And I on thine will thus revenge the Smart. 
 
 Brit. Strike, aiKl by Heav’n I’ll kifsthee for the Blow: 
 Be quick, my Blood is black and full of Woe : 
 
 Do me this welcome dangerous Cruelty, 
 
 Fair Murdrefs, if thou art my Enemy. 
 
 Poj».Nay, fure you flatter’d when you term’d me Fair. 
 Brit If Lillies, Snow, and Light, be fuch, you are. 
 Pop. If I am fb, this Deed would make me foul. 
 
 And caft eternal Spots upon my Soul ; 
 
 Therefore, thou horrid Inftrument be gone ; 
 
 WirH- 
 
 } 
 
3'8 TAe Tragedy of Nero. 
 
 Without thy help, alas, I am undone. 
 
 I faint. 
 
 Brit Within my Arms I’ll hold thee ’till 
 Thy Soul return, and greedy Death beguile : 
 
 In roly Gales Life thro’ her Lips does ftream. 
 
 Pop. Why did you wake me from this golden Dream? 
 Oh, 1 am fick ! 
 
 Brit. I am contagious fure ; 
 
 And-all that touch me die. 
 
 Pop. You are my Cure. ^ 
 
 *Tis only in your Power to make me live. 
 
 From thofe lov’d Eyes let me this Balm receive. 
 Within this Circle let roc ever grow. [me do ! 
 
 Brit' Thou Charmer, fpeak; what wonldft thou have 
 Pop. Something —why, thus to prefs your Hand 
 
 [that’s all. 
 
 Heav’n how he lhakes ! why do you tremble, Prince ? 
 Cyara’j Ghojl. 
 
 Brit Ha ! what art thou ? ihou airy Phantafm, hence 
 O Gods ! it is my Boy ; what would’ft thou have ? 
 
 How cold he looks, juft ris’n from the Grave ! 
 
 Cya. Go not to bed, but fly that Sorcerefs ’s Arms ; 
 She tempts like C’/Vee, and has deadly Charms. 
 
 Think on Cyara, for fhe lov’d thee well : 
 
 Take heed, beware ; thou’rt in the Road to Hell. 
 
 lExit. 
 
 Brit. Stay, I conjure thee ftay, leave me not thus, 
 If thou didft ever love Britavnicus. 
 
 I’ll follow thee along the airy Track, 
 
 And mount above the Clouds to fetch thee back- \Exit. 
 
 Enter Sylvana with a ^aper. 
 
 [fuccefs ? 
 
 Syl. O Heav’ns ! How do you do, Madam; what 
 Pop. I’ll tell thee, killing Woe, and deep Diftrefs, 
 Thy Arm my Girl ; I’ll Ihow thee e’er we part 
 Sad things : a troubled Mind, and wounded Heart. 
 
 Ah ! for my former Peace what would I give ? 
 
 My Comfort is, this Shame I fhan’t furvive. 
 
 O difmal Change ! nothing is conftant found ; 
 
 The Gods, with Whirl-winds drive our Fortunes round. ' 
 
 ^Exeunt. 
 
 ■ SCENE 
 
The Tragedy of J*iIcro. 
 
 3j> 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Ncfo Jleepng on a, Conchy Caligula’j Ghojl appears. 
 
 Ghojl. Fvom the infernal Cave the wide, the low 
 Abyfs, the direful Pit of endlefs Woe, 
 
 On which each God that looks fcarce keeps his State 
 But, gidddy grown, turns and takes hold of Fate, 
 Caligula, in v apours wrapt, does come, 
 
 New, thy Friend, and the fw'orn Foe of Rome. 
 
 Not HellV more dreadful than thefe hated Walls j 
 Thefe Stygian Waves, and Tyrrhene Water falls. 
 Alike with Fear confound my troubled Soul, 
 
 And fprinkle equal Horrors as they roll. 
 
 By Traitors hands I fell : O that I could, 
 
 For c/ery drop they flied, fpill Seas of Blood ; 
 
 Oh Heav’n, I’d do what cannot be expreft ? 
 
 With raging Plagues I’d fill each Roman Breafl ; 
 
 Burn Palaces ; like Thunder I would rove. 
 
 Tear the tall Woods, and rend each facred Grove> 
 
 But Oh ! by pow’rful Fate I am confin’d, 
 
 And mull not reak the Madnefs of my Mind. 
 
 Nero, -att thou, what can’t be done by me. 
 
 Thy Genius, I, will aid thy Cruelty : 
 
 With my pale Hand I ftroak the troubled Senfci 
 All Poifbn Hell contains I do difpenfe ; 
 
 The Scum of Lethe, with jileBo's Gall, 
 
 Magarai Sweat, lhall on thy Vitals fall ; 
 
 Erynnis fhall about thy Heart-ftrings twine> 
 
 Yet all’s too little for our great Defign. 
 
 Lo, I am warm’d ; fee where fierce Envy ftands, 
 
 And fummons me, by Pluto's dread Commands. 
 
 Go on, be mad ; no more, I mull: be gone, . ^ 
 And vanilh, like the Light when Day is done. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Nero Solus. 
 
 Where have I been ! thou Daemon of the Night* 
 Retwn ; I’m rack’d with this appalling Sight. 
 
 The 
 
40 Ithe Tragedy of Nero. 
 
 The forked Tongues of Furies can’t exprefs 
 The Rage that burns within me, : Sulphur’s lefs ; 
 
 Not Hell it I'elf fo full of Dread appears ; 
 
 Not Night, nor darkci Death, fiich Horror wears ; 
 Not the deftrudtive Force of Wind, and Fire, 
 
 When fome great Guy’s Ruin they confpire ; 
 
 Not the devouring Sea, when Neptune makes 
 The Sea Gods drunk, and Draughts of Ruin takes. 
 Wrong’d Womens Hate, Sword, Famine, Plagues 
 Your.Madnefs trebled cannot equal mine : [combine; 
 
 All your faint Emblems of my Fury are : 
 
 No tender Sex, nor Age, my Wrath fliall fpare. 
 
 Enter Drufillus bloody. 
 
 What Newsl thy Looks declare it to be good ; 
 
 A hafty Joy appears, tho’ dreft in Blood. 
 
 Lr; f. The Rabble, Sir, with Wine and Rage infpir’d, 
 With trait’rous Hands your Palace would have fir’d ; 
 Your Guards they did alfault ; but we withftood 
 Their Heat, and foon allay’d it with their Blood. 
 
 Few Strokes weregiv’n e’er the bafe Cowards fled, 
 Some Pris’ners are, fome fcap’d, and (bme are dead. 
 
 Ner- Ha ! do they bid me Battle ? they lhall die ; 
 
 At their own Weapon I the Slaves defy. 
 
 Nothmg but Flames can quench my kindled Ire. 
 Blood’s not enough ; Fire I’ll revenge with Fire, 
 Fierce as young Phteton I will return : 
 
 Great Rome, the World’s Metropolis, lhall burn. 
 
 On Tyhers Flood new Beams I will difplay. 
 
 And turn black Night into a golden Day. 
 
 The molten Gods lhan’t fave their Capitol, 
 
 Temples lhall t,umble down, gilt Roofs lhall fall, * 
 Bright Ruin with a Noife lhaU fwallow all. 
 
 lExemi' 
 
 
 ACT 
 
The Tragedy of 41 
 
 ACTV. SCENE I. 
 
 Britanaicus, Flavius, Aitendants. 
 
 Brit. IRE, Fire, I’m all on Flame, _ fly*, my 
 
 Or I lhall blaft you ; O my Breath isBrimftone, 
 
 My Lungs are Sulphur, my hot Brains boil o’er ; 
 
 Or you that needs will ftay, 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’ll kifs his out-blown Checks, 
 Upon my flaming Bread I’ll lay his Head, 
 
 And bug him in my Heart, for he is cold ; 
 
 With my hot Arms I’ll clafphis frofty Limbs, 
 
 And twine about him like a wanton Girl. 
 
 Oh ! oh ! 
 
 Fla. Can there be Gods, and not Revenge ? 
 
 Can they behold this noble Copy of 
 Their own bright Excellence polluted thus, 
 
 Thus rent and tom by facrilegious Hands, 
 
 "Tet idle fit, andfleep upon their Thrones? 
 
 The Voice of Murder’s loud as their own Thunder. 
 Awake, awake, youdroufy Deities! 
 
 Here is a Sight fo pitifully ftrange, 
 
 ’Twould melt the S’cy#W<t«’s Soul, who Hands unmov’d 
 And fallen at his Mother’s Funeral. 
 
 When Fame reports this Deed, the rugged Moer 
 Will ftand abafli’d, and groan to hear it told. 
 
 Break, break, my Heart. Oh you great Gods of Row?, 
 Where are you all ? Is this my Welcome home ? 
 
 . B-rit. Ha ! he does weep ; nay, prithee do not hide it; 
 By Heaven, thou art my Friend, lend me thy Store, 
 My Eyes lhall pay the Ufe, truft me they lhall; 
 
 Here in my Bofora lay thy pearly Stock ; 
 
 Friends, fly. 
 
 Heav’ns 
 
42 7he Tragedy of Nero. 
 
 Heav’ns, how he weqjs ! thou art a Virgin fure. 
 
 Fall, you dear Drops : Oh let me hug thee clofe : 
 jMy Spirits are quite parched up, my Palate’s dry ; 
 
 Th’ Elyftan Shades are cool ; oh, let me die. 
 
 Flav.' Sir, I am Flavius, have you quite forgot me ? 
 Brit. I do remember thee ; I loved thee well ; 
 
 Thou art a noble Youth the Child of Honour. 
 
 Flav. From France I come, and bring important News, 
 Brit. Hi ! hold ! I’il tell thee News j OBavia’s dead. 
 She’s cold, alas, but I am hot as Fire. 
 
 You amiable Floods, where do you ftray? 
 
 Oh, come and quench me, quench my raging Flames- 
 Flav. O hear me Heavens ; hear me, you juft great 
 If ftill your Ears are open to our Prayers, [Gods, 
 If yet you hold Commerce with mortal Sighs, 
 
 If yet the Vows of humble Souls are heard, 
 
 Oh now look down, and hear my Ihort Addrefs t 
 No fort of Suftenance will I receive, 
 
 Nor fhall the fparkling Bowl falute my Lips, 
 
 Nor downy Sleep vilit my weary Eyes, 
 
 E’er I the Author of this Murder know. 
 
 Brit. ’Tis like thee, thou wer’t always a trucFriend, 
 In a bright flaming Chariot I’ll afeend. 
 
 Cyara, Oh OB avia, my dear Loves, 
 
 You Queens of Innocence, you fpotlels Doves, 
 
 Meet me, I come. Flavius, nay, prithee nigher ; 
 Thus, in thy Arms, let me, kind Youth, expire. 
 
 Fav Farewell, bright Soul, thou royal Excellence; 
 Rare Union ; Grandeur joined with Innocence; 
 
 The Fates of wicked Men are grofs and flow ; 
 
 Thine mov’d apace but- 1 forgot my Vow. 
 
 Enter Petronius, Burrhus, luith Guards. 
 
 Bur ’Tis done, my Lord, ne’er doubt it. 
 
 Pet What is he? 
 
 Bur. ’Tis Favius new return’d from France, he came 
 Juft as the Prince had drunk the poifon’d Wine. 
 
 Pet. That was not quite fo well, for he is honeft; 
 But take no notice. Where’s the Prince — give way. 
 How came he dead ? Charge you fpeak, anfwer me. 
 Lay hold of all, in the Name of the Emperor. 
 
 Fav. Hands off, I will declare the Author of 
 This horrid Murder. Speak, who fill’d bis Wine ? 
 
 Bur 
 
'' 7 he Tragedy of Nero. 43 
 
 Bur- That, Sir, did I. 
 
 Flav. Then thou art his Murderer. 
 
 Start not, bafe Villain, black as thou art, the Prince 
 With his laft noble Breath did pardon thee. 
 
 Bur. Sir, I was order’d 
 
 Flav. Ha ! is it then a Truth 1 
 
 Bur I know not ; but 
 
 Flav- Thou ly’ft ; it is too true. 
 
 Guilt and Diftraftion fit upon thy Brow : 
 
 And ’tis as true that thou Ihalt die for’t, Villain. \Dran3it. 
 Bet. Hold, Sir ; by what Authority dare you do this 1 
 Flav. Why, by the Gods, by Friendlhip, Juftice, all : 
 I’ll anfwcr thee no farther. 
 
 Bet. Ha ! forbear. 
 
 Take him or loll him. Guards, I do command you. 
 
 [Flavius heats down Petronius, and kills Burrhus ; 
 the Guards difarm Flavius. 
 
 Flav. Pardon, ye Gods, my former Blafphemy ; 
 
 O you are juft, and I adore your Powers. 
 
 Now lead me where you pleafe, to Life or Death, 
 
 Let me but pay my laft Obfervance here. 
 
 My Vow I have perform’d ; and thou, dear Prince, 
 Art in Ibme part reveng’d. What my poor Power 
 Could poffibly eftedt, is done; the reft 
 Belongs unto the Gods. 
 
 Bet. Remove the Bodies, and bring him away. 
 
 \Exeui^. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Plautus, Mirmilon. 
 
 Blaut. Hear you the News ? 
 
 Adir. Not I ; you feem amaz,’d. 
 
 Blaut. A Courier from beyond the j4lps arriv’d. 
 Reports the French are all in Arms, refolv’d 
 To bring the War ev’n to the Gates of Rome ; 
 
 Fierce Vindex heads the Rebels, and all France 
 Contributes largely. This the Emperor hears. 
 
 And laughs ; flights them, and fwears he’ll hang ’em all- 
 The People mutiny in every Street, 
 
 Their Tongues are lawlefs, nay, they murmur loud ; 
 
 Some 
 
44 Tragedy of Nero. 
 
 Some modeftly retire to Corners, where 
 They curfe and damn him, call him Parricide, 
 
 A Burner of their Houfes, Friends and Gods. 
 
 Lo where he comes ; the Lion’s rous’d, his Eyes 
 Look red with Anger, Lightning flaihes in them ; 
 What Thunder follows, let’s Hand by and hear. 
 
 Nero, Flavius, Guards. 
 
 Flav. Was’t not well done ? I did his Murd’rer kill. 
 Ner. Know, hardy Fool, he fuffer’d by my will ; 
 
 I hated him, and did his Death contrive : 
 
 Now, Villain, think how long thou haft to live. 
 
 Flav. To live ? Oh, who would live thy Humour’s 
 A Torr«ent worfc than blackeft Devils have. (Slave ? 
 Let Parafites, the Moths of Grandeur, fawn, 
 
 Thefe gilded Canker-Worms, Ambition’s Spawn; 
 
 I do delpife thee. Tyrant as thou art. 
 
 There’s nothing great nor manly in thy Heart. 
 
 Ner. Are you fo hot. I’ll alter your fierce Tone : 
 Plautus, go burn the Villain ; fee it done. 
 
 Flav- Midft of devouring Flames I will defpifc 
 All that the Matter Devil thou. 
 
 Or the black Crew of leffer Fiends devife. 
 
 Thou ftialt not hear a Groan till I expire ; _ 
 
 But then I’ll fhout Defiance from the Fire, I 
 
 Smile at the Shock of Death, and to the Gods retire. 3 
 
 lExeuvt. 
 
 Enter Petronius. 
 
 Pet. Dread Sir, twoMeflengers who come from Sfain, 
 Beport that Galha does new Wars maintain, 
 
 Heads the revolted Troops, and joins with France ; 
 
 The Germans too come in, and all advance 
 Againft your Majefty. 
 
 Fer. I’ll hear no more : Is Galha falfe ? 
 
 Pet They call him Emperor. [Power? 
 
 Fer. They do ! but what’s the Name without the 
 Let him come on, this Arm lhall ftrike him dead. 
 
 And fnatch his borrow’d Laurels from his Head. 
 
 Pet YourTreafures are confum’d with late Expcnce. 
 Fer. His gather’d Sums fhall help that Indigence. 
 
 Pet. Time flies; ’tis fit your Wifdom had defign’d— - 
 Ftr. Do you confult while I my Pleafures mind. 
 
 - Oh 
 
Ihe Tragedy ef 'Sew, 4j 
 
 Oh my Poppea, where art thou retir’d ? 
 
 Never was Bleffing 
 
 So oft enjoy'd, yet ftill fo much defir’d. \Exem 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Poppea, Pifo, and. Otho UJiening. 
 
 Pop. Arc they both dead ? Pifo and Otho too ? 
 
 Pifo. I faw them firft oppole the Tyrant’s Rage, 
 With numbers, fcorning Death, they did engage ; 
 
 The God of Battles blulli’d as he look’d on, 
 
 Envying the juft Applaufe thefe Heroes won. 
 
 Pop. Virtue is ftill by Violence oppreft. 
 
 How his Eyes fparkle ; Pray relate the reft. 
 
 Pifo. I have my lelf the doubtful Hazard ftood 
 Of fifteen Battles, plum’d in Waves of Blood, 
 
 The dreadful Gaft on Fortune’s Bank I threw, 
 
 Life was my Lot ; yet ftill in all my view 
 Of Wounds, of War, and Death, I never faw 
 Such pleafing Horror, fuch delightful Awe, 
 
 Such mighty Force and Art together laid, 
 
 Never was Game of Death fo bravely play’d : 
 
 At laft. Oh that I live fuch News to tell ! 
 
 With conqu’ring tir’d, thefe Sons of Valour fell. 
 
 Pop. Oh Pow'er of Love ! his Words my Soul invade i 
 Sure 'tis ft»ne God delighting in a Shade ; 
 
 The Glories of his Eyes, like Stars in Night, 
 
 Or mourning Beauties, charm my wounded Sight. 
 Since Honours are by Cafar round me hurl’d. 
 
 Since I am made the Emprefs of the World. 
 
 Since all’s my Choice, why do I doubtful ftand. 
 
 And wilh. a Plcafurc which I may command 1 
 If when I die I muft to Torments go, 
 
 'Tis fit no Time be loft ; let Pleaf tires flow. 
 
 Fancy its eager Appetite fliall cloy ; 
 
 Let Reiolution holy Qualms deftroy : 
 
 Henceforth, whate’er I like, I will enjoy. 
 
 [Exitf beckoning to Pifij. 
 
 Otho folus. 
 
 O Hell ! her Crimes thy Horror cannot match : 
 
 Be fwift, my Sword) herLuft atvi Eifc dilpatcb, 
 
 This 
 
 } 
 
4^ The Tragedy of Nero. 
 
 This Key unlocks all Doocs throughout the Court. 
 
 ,Are you fo wanton ? Yes, youlhall have Spore. 
 
 ^How am I robb’d of all I ever lov’d ? ■ 
 
 My Soul is heavy, and would be remov’d. 
 
 Once Ihc was fair, the fofteft, fweeteft Wife 
 My Heart’s lov’d Joy, the Jewel of my Life : 
 
 Had Ihe ftood lo, how happy had I been 1 
 But flie is fall’n, and glories in her Sin. 
 
 Ah ! the whole Sex is naught, falle and unkind ; 
 
 Faller than flatt’ring Seas, or fleeting Wind : 
 
 With panting Hopes and Fears they rack our Breaft, 
 Snatch our loft Sleeps, and ravilh downy Reft ; 
 
 Oh, they are skill’d, practic’d in Paint and Art, 
 
 Smile' in our Face, and ftab us to the Heart. 
 
 Yet wejee all, think nothing is unfp/d, ^ 
 
 While they, like Serpents, on their Bellies glide, C 
 And leave no Print behind our Search to guide. J 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Poppea, Pilb. 
 
 Pifo. War is my Miftrefs , here I am unfit : 
 
 Love’s Chaplet misbecomes a Warriour’s Head; 
 
 I cannot cringe, my Nerves too firm are knit ; 
 
 - Thele Limbs ne’er lay upon a filken Bed. 
 
 Can you, that arc the World’s great Emprefs, take 
 Delight in the Embraces of a Slave? 
 
 Pop. The Sun, for thy lov’d Cheek, did Heav’n for- 
 
 riake 
 
 Why Ihould not I the like Advantage have 1 
 From a bright Orb of Glory I’ll defeend. 
 
 And in thy gloomy Cell make my abode ; 
 
 No more a Slave ; henceforth thou art my Friend ; 
 
 A Cottage has, e’er now, receiv’d a God. 
 
 Pi/i. Who ever knew Night mingle with the Day? 
 Pep. Nothing agrees with Love fo well as Night ; 
 Hufh’d, and in Darknefs hid, the Balhful play, 
 
 And, happy as the Bold, ravifh Delight ; 
 
 The moft obdurate are by Kindnefs won. 
 
 Your Touches charm ; nay, why do you withdraw ? 
 Grow thus, like a foft Cloud upon the Sun ; 
 
 My powcefol Flame thy icy Fears will thaw. 
 
The Tragedy <^Nero. 47 
 
 Pifa. Your Grandeur awes me ; y et, why Ihould I fear ? 
 Something there is which my Blood ftrangely moves ; 
 
 I am your Slave : But are we private here ’ 
 
 Pop As Hermits in their Cells, or Gods in Groves. 
 Pifo. Why did y Qu name the Gods? that facred Sound 
 The Force.of Thunder bears, and turns my Blood j 
 My Spirits fly low, yet with your Touch rebound, 
 
 Like wanton Swallows when they kifs the Flood. 
 
 Pop. Such Fears unworthy are my Blood or Throne ; 
 Give me a Fancy fix’d to its Delight : 
 
 Trembling and Starts the Fearful well may own ; 
 
 The Valiant ftill rcfufe a diftant Fight. 
 
 Enter Otho. 
 
 0th. Here’s one that fain w'ould try your mighty Art ; 
 What mean you e’er the Fight's begun, you ftart. 
 
 Pep. Night, Horror, Death ! Ah, whither lhall I fly, 
 0th Can you be valiant, and yet fear to die ? 
 
 Pop. Thus at your feet let me one Moment grow ; 
 
 A little Rcfpite for my Soul allow. 
 
 Repentance leiz.es on each vital Parr, 
 
 And ferious Grief now clings about my Heart ; 
 
 Yet, e’re I die, let me my Thoughts declare. 
 
 Oh you are wrong, my ftill lov'd Lord, you are ; 
 
 Your Bed’s defil’d, and I am all one Stain; 
 
 But yet my Blood may walh me white again. 
 
 By killing me, you only can forgive ; 
 
 I am fo wicked, that I would not live. 
 
 In pity fay this of me, when I’m dead, 
 
 She was not eafily to Ruin led ; 
 
 'T was not a common Crown her Virtue bought, “J 
 But mighty Glory with great Courtlhip wrought ; C 
 Then Ihe was young : C 
 
 This, Sir, perhaps, may mitigate my Fault. j 
 
 0th Her cunning Tongue retains its wonted Charms. 
 Peace, Syren, and hold oft thy guilty Arms. 
 
 I feel a gentle Load drop on my Feet ; 
 
 •Look, PifOf I fufpedt, but dare not fee't. 
 
 Pifo. Oh do not. Sir : My Eyes by chance did ftray. 
 And half my Refolution’s ta’en away. 
 
 She weeps, Ihe weeps : Gods ! who would not admire 
 To fee fuch Floods rife from a Spring of Fire ? 
 
 Oih. 
 
48 7he Tragedy of Nero. 
 
 Oth- Yes, I will fee her. O thou Fall'e one, fpeak, 
 For thou flialt die, 
 
 Tho’ with the fatal Stroke my own Heart break. 
 
 Look up, feek not to hide thy own Dlfgrace ; 
 
 But fhew thy fair, thy falfe, thy once-lov’d Face : 
 
 Oh anfwer me, what have I ever done, 
 
 That thou fhouldfl: ufe me thus ? ceafe thy vain Moan, 
 And fpeak, or praftife o’er thy mournful Art, 
 
 And fob an Anfwer. Oh my troubled Heart ? 
 
 Pep. Yes, I will fpeak, my noble Lord, I will; 
 
 *Tis but a fliort Requeft, Be kind and kill. 
 
 Your Words like Daggers thro’ my Bread: make way; 
 A thoufand Deaths you give me by delay. 
 
 This one laft Look — «Oh put me out of pain : 
 
 I’ll (peak no more ; 
 
 Nor fliall my Eyes ever look forth again. 
 
 Oth. A mortal Agony invades my Blood ; ' 
 
 Something now whifpers me, Ihe may be good : ^ 
 
 And lhall we blaft young Virtue in the Bud ? 
 
 An Earthquake’s here, in all ConfuGon toft ; 
 
 In the Diforder too. Revenge is loft. 
 
 Fife Here you lhall ftnd it, let me give the Blow. 
 Oth. Thou art fo hafty ftill. 
 
 Pif. And you as flow. 
 
 Oth. She ne’er offended thee ; I charge you hold. 
 
 Pif. His old Love burns again. 
 
 Oth Alas ! I’m cold. 
 
 Compaftion this laft Ardency did move ; 
 
 ’Twas the Effed of Pity, not of Love. 
 
 Enter Nero. 
 
 Uer. The Emprefs dying ! hold they bloody Hand. 
 Pif. If thou would fave her Life, I charge thee ftand : 
 The Bound of thy Progrellion there fliall be, 
 
 When’er thou ftir’ft, 
 
 She takes a Step to Immortality. 
 
 Ner. Shall I be brav’d by a black Dog, a Slave ? 
 Hold, hold : 
 
 My Pardon on my Knees humbly thus I crave. 
 
 Stiff as an Elephant, I cannot bend : 
 
 My little Fault let this Submiflion mend. 
 
 ' Pjfo. 
 
*The Tragedy of Nero. 49' 
 
 f'lfo. You ftirYd an Inch : ’tis vain to weep or pray, 
 Nero. Thou Son of Night, pernicious Creature, i 
 2 ’ th’ Name of all the Gods, Oh let her live j 
 Let me this Bounty, on my Knees receive, 
 iind thou, in all my Glories, lhalt have Share 3 
 Thy footy Hand fhall the World’s Scepter bear. 
 
 And Diamond Wreaths lhall round thy Teanples mouffi^ 
 And pearly Threads thy jetty N eck adorn , 
 
 Ffjo. Jull as you move, my Jultice lhall proceed :■ 
 
 She lhall not die this time, the’ Ihe mull bleed. 
 
 her in the jirn;, , 
 
 Ner. What hak thou done > 
 
 Pifo. Not much : Your Pollure keep,- 
 And Itir not, left I make a Wound more deep. 
 
 Ner. Behold I’m fix’d 5 thou art not humane fuJ^, 
 
 Oh mighty Love! 
 
 ’Tis for dry fake I this Difgrace endure, 
 
 Hadll thou a gen’fous Soul,, thou couldlt not fee 
 The Lord o’ th’ World thus long upon his Knee. 
 
 Pifo. Like a tall Tree to dull Earth thou lhalt grow 
 You were a mighty God awhile ago. 
 
 And ’tis my Pride to make your Godhead bow. 
 
 Ner. J cannot fulFer this. Awake, my Soul, 
 
 Let haughty Rage all Thoughts of Love controul, 
 
 Pifo. Nay, tiien ’tis time : Brother, llriko home. 
 
 Gtho. I have : 
 
 May all her Faults be buried in her Grave, (bear j 
 
 Ner. Hence from my Sight; the Slaves io-Tormen} 
 Mark me, let them be dying all the Year, 
 
 Tortures in this fmall Book you may explore,- 
 The Rack, the Wheel, Phalarif Bull nay mo.Te, 
 
 With Care turn all the bloody Pages o’er ; 
 
 On fiery bi-azen Pavements let ’em run. 
 
 Their Eye-lids kretch, and let them face the Sun. 
 
 ’Sdeath, dare you Hay ? begone, I will not heap 
 
 A Word what need I thus my Spirits tear ?■ 
 
 My Looks hereafter lliall my Ivlind declare. 
 
 Where is the Emprefs ? bring her to my Bed. 
 
 Plaut. The Emprefs, faid you Sir Alas i file’s dead; 
 Ner. Villain, thou ly’ft, go pull his Tongue out, hafie ; 
 m fee the Roots on’t ; fly, h’ has fpoke his laft, 
 
 Who anfwers now r Statues, by Heaven- ! All dull ? 
 
 G Mu-. 
 
5 ® '’The Tragedy of Ncro- 
 
 ]f Ihe were dead 
 
 Key. What then fententious Fool ? 
 
 If' (lie were dead, I would reftore her Breath, 
 
 And (he fhould live 
 
 Spite of herfelf, fpite of the Gods, and Death. 
 
 Aly Power’s unlimited as is their own : 
 
 My Smile brings Life, and Death attends my Frown. 
 
 My Empire’s Bounds Nature alone does make ; 
 
 The Sun his Lodging in my Sea does take. 
 
 The grateful God too owns the mighty Debt, 
 
 Thaws me down Clouds, and pays me gen’rous Heat, 
 if fhe were dead ! 
 
 Curfe of yoiir cringing and bafe Flattery ; 
 
 Ye’re Lyars all ; hence from my Prefence fly. 
 
 Enter Drufillus. 
 
 Druf. Loft and undone ! Fly, facred Sir, you’re loft 5 
 Oalba is juft arriv’d upon our Coaft, 
 
 With fourfcore thonfand ftrong he beats the way. 
 
 The treach’rous Senate too, their Truft betray ; 
 
 Thro’ all the Streets proclaim him Emperor ; 
 
 But call you Tyrant, curTe your Name and Pow’r. 
 
 Mir. Fly, fly, dread Sir ! fly from this fatal Ground, 
 The bafe Plebeians have befet you round. 
 
 Petronius, wlro a while fuftain’d their Heat, 
 
 [ faw all bloody from the Walls retreat. 
 
 Otho and Pifo from your Guards are freed. 
 
 All Rome applauds them for this laft great Deed. \Exit. 
 
 Enter Petronius flaygering. 
 
 Ner. Speak, my true Friend ; I’ll be advis’d by you. 
 What more remains in thefe Extremes to do. 
 
 Pet. With faithful Truth, Sir, I have farv’d you long; 
 Yours was the Right, 1 did mylelf the V7rong : 
 
 But now it matters not, ’twas Loyalty, 
 
 And, as I liv’d, J in your Service die. 
 
 My C’ounfel is, you by your own Hand bleed. 
 
 ’’.['he Senate has by feme bafe Death decreed. 
 
 Death’s but a Name, by my Example fall ; 
 
 1 fear no Lakes, nor Stygian Frogs ; that’s all. [^Dies. 
 
 Ner. O Gods ! but wherefore nam’d I thefe feign’d 
 The Elements, the Seafons, Days and Hour.s, (Pow’rs ? 
 
 Y'cre 
 
'The Tragedy of N cro. 5 / 
 
 Were always as they are, and will be fo, 
 
 And Nature her eternal Round will go. 
 
 The Gods when we’re awake, their Demons keep 
 At home, and only fright us when we deep. 
 
 I would the utmofl: know of Deftiny, 
 
 And therefore, dying, do their Powers defy. 
 
 If they have any Thunder, let it come ; 
 
 I’ll ftand the heavy Shock, and brave my Doom. 
 
 Down all at once — Ha ! whence proceeds this Noife ? 
 
 \yhundey. 
 
 If there be Gods, fure this muft be tlieir Voice : 
 
 Speak on, talk louder yet ; what Shapes are thefe ; 
 
 0 difmal Scene of Death ! My Arteries 
 Tremble, and Nature finks beneath her Weight. 
 
 1 know you all : Smile on, thou art my Fate ; 
 
 What God was’t hung thee there ? He is my Friend ; 
 
 By dree he points me out a noble End. [D/w. 
 
 Otho, Pifo, Attendants. 
 
 0th. ’Tis he, and as it feems by himfelf llain ; 
 
 Rome's facred Genius, now look forth again : 
 
 Come from thy Shroud, fhow thy majeftick Head, 
 
 Direfl; our Joys, the dreadful Tyrant’s dead. 
 
 Pifo. Let’s to the Forum hade, and there proclaim 
 A mighty Donative in Galbas Name. 
 
 With all the Pomp o’th’ Court his Camp we’ll meet. 
 
 And his Approach with joyful Shoutings greet ; 
 
 Proclaim him Emperor with Trumpets Sound 7 
 
 (While he, now made a God, (hall fcorn the Ground) S 
 And on our Shoulders ride, with Laurels crown’d.) j 
 
 FINIS. 
 
C 52 ] 
 
 G U E, 
 
 Spoken to Mr, HARRIS. 
 
 H ow dull, hov: gra-ve, and ha~M'p'ecife ye fit, 
 As if ye had acted Love, net tafitd Wit. 
 When the fl ick's done, like W ine unflopt ye pall 
 After 'Enjoyment y thus it's nxith you all. 
 
 Your modifh Plays, like jaunty Mif'es, fooiid 
 Be braojely drcf, high Jlcnvn, snore fine than good 
 Tor Clothes attraB ye more than Flejh and Blood. 
 Like coaoerd Viands, Beauties hid from -Sight, 
 Raife droop’ng Fancy up to nc’iu Delight : 
 
 For you Gallants, ye gay brifi <vcitty Men, 
 
 He knooxs your killing Trade, your damning Strain i 
 7'e can as vcell Wenches and Drink refrain. 
 
 Yet, faith r for nry fweet Sake be kind To-night, 
 
 Or may this heavy Curfe upon you light : 
 
 May each Gallant that has an Afjignation, 
 
 Be jilted after four Hours ExpeSiation ; 
 
 Qr if the mafized Gentlevcoman come. 
 
 Spite of long Scarf, may Jhe he dogg'd from Home, 
 May ye 
 
 -In Height of Titillation hear a rapping. 
 
 And then the jealous Cuckold take ye napping,