The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poetical Works of Robert Bridges (Volume 3), by Robert Bridges This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: Poetical Works of Robert Bridges (Volume 3) Author: Robert Bridges Release Date: August 7, 2017 [EBook #55294] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETICAL WORKS--ROBERT BRIDGES, VOL 3 *** Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Les Galloway and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) POETICAL WORKS of ROBERT BRIDGES Volume III [Colophon] London Smith, Elder & Co 15 Waterloo Place 1898 OXFORD: HORACE HART PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY _POETICAL WORKS OF ROBERT BRIDGES_ _VOLUME THE THIRD CONTAINING_ _THE FIRST PART OF NERO_ _p._ 1 _ACHILLES IN SCYROS_ 179 _NOTES_ 261 LIST OF PREVIOUS EDITIONS _THE FIRST PART OF NERO._ 1. _NERO. An historical Tragedy of the first part of the reign of the emperor Nero. Published by Ewd. Bumpus. London, 1885. 4to._ _ACHILLES IN SCYROS._ 1. _ACHILLES IN SCYROS. A drama in a mixed manner. Published by Ewd. Bumpus. London, 1890. 4to._ 2. _ACHILLES IN SCYROS._ _Uniform with_ Shorter Poems (I). _George Bell & Sons, 1892._ THE FIRST PART OF THE HISTORY OF NERO A HISTORICAL TRAGEDY DRAMATIS PERSONÆ _NERO_. _BRITANNICUS_ _stepson to Agrippina_. _BURRUS_ _praetorian prefect_. _SENECA_ _tutor to Nero_. _LUCAN, the poet, nephew to Seneca_ } _OTHO_ } } _friends of Nero_. _PETRONIUS_} _gentlemen of Rome_ } _PALLAS_ _master of the imperial household_. _TIGELLINUS_ _successor to Pallas_. _THRASEA, a Stoic_ } _honest senators_. _PRISCUS_ } _ANICETUS_ _an admiral_. _PARIS_ _a player, favourite of Nero_. _SELEUCUS_ _an astrologer_. _Messengers, Servants, &c._ _AGRIPPINA AUGUSTA_ _mother to Nero_. _OCTAVIA_ _wife to Nero, sister to Britannicus_. _POPPÆA_ _wife to Otho, loved of Nero_. _DOMITIA_ _sister-in-law to Agrippina_. _FULVIA_ _attendant on Agrippina_. _Maids, &c._ _Scene. The first four acts are laid in ROME; the fifth is at BAIÆ._ NERO ACT · I SCENE · 1 _On the Palatine. THRASEA & PRISCUS._ _THRASEA._ IF you ask my advice then, it is silence. You are yet new to the senate, and must learn to give your opinion with least offence. _PRISCUS._ Can you mean this? _Thr._ Yes—it is my serious advice. _Pr._ Now, unless it were the silence of Brutus ... _Thr._ Hush, hush! Were this repeated, there is no greater peril than that word of yours. _Pr._ But to you I know I may speak freely. _Thr._ What know you of me? 10 _Pr._ I know Thrasea is brave, and resents his country’s wrongs; that he has insight to see that liberty was never more outraged than now. _Thr._ Believe me, sir, this tale of things being at their worst is common to all times. Your judgment has gone astray upon a contempt for Cæsar’s follies, or a hatred of his mother’s crimes. Measure Nero but by what he has already done, and you may even find cause for congratulation. 19 _Pr._ We shall be ruled like the Britons by a Queen. _Thr._ O nay. It is not possible that Nero will suffer Agrippina’s ambition to take such a place. ’Tis already a quarrel between them, and Seneca declares for him. _Pr._ Then, I ask you, may there not be found in this quarrel an opportunity to bring in Britannicus? Now he is of age, he can no longer be held disqualified. _Thr._ There is no question of qualification or of claim. 28 _Pr._ How so? The late emperor Claudius in his will mentioned Britannicus for his successor, as being his own son.... _Thr._ May be. But then, sir, his empress made away with both him and his will; and the Roman people chose for Cæsar the son of the murderess, rather than the heir of the idiot they were glad to be rid of. Since which day Nero is as truly our Cæsar as Britannicus could ever have been. Those who swore to Nero will remain by him; as ’tis well they should, else were no stability. _Pr._ Shall we then do nothing? 39 _Thr._ You take things by the wrong handle. Let us make the best of what we have. Our Cæsar is the pupil of a philosopher and guided in everything by his master’s counsels. _Pr._ You are very tolerant and hopeful. _Thr._ Try and be so too, and I shall wish to see more of you. If you will visit my house, you will indeed be most welcome and may find congenial company. Only no more of Brutus. _Pr._ Thank you for your kindness, if it is an earnest of your confidence—On another occasion... 50 _Thr._ O we will find many. (_Shouts heard._) What is that? (_More shouts._) It must be Cæsar: he is coming this way. Be not seen talking with me: go you that way: I will remain. Farewell. _Pr._ Farewell, Thrasea. [_Exit._ _Thr._ Young blood, hot blood and true: Yet is his energetic patriotism Useless,—nay, like a weapon out of date, Looks not to be a warlike weapon more. I think in me it had been truer wisdom, 60 Knowing the forces of this drowning time, To have said outright—Good, honest Priscus, Be good no longer, let thine honesty Rot, it can stead thee nothing; there’s no man Will be the better for it; there’s no field Where thou canst exercise it, not a place In all the world where in secure possession Thou mayst retire with it: cast it away; For ’tis a burden far beyond thy freight. If thou wilt swim at all, swim with the times, 70 An empty bottom on a shallow tide: Be that thy seamanship—No; I am bold to say Our virtue hath the topmost vaunt of honour; Seeing we are true to it in spite of shame, When its incompetence before the world Gives it the lie; nor can the fawning curs, That bask in Cæsar’s sunshine, when they mock us, Dream that we wish them other than they are. I give them joy. See here is folly’s king, The hare-brained boy to whom injurious fortune 80 Has given the throne and grandeur of the world: Now if I bow my head ’tis in thy game, Ridiculous fate; and my soul laughs at thee. [_Retires aside._ _Enter Nero, Otho, Lucan, Tigellinus, and Paris._ _NERO._ This is the place: enlarge it on this side To take in all the hill. That house of Rufus That blocks the way must down, and all the piles On the south slope. Now say, is’t fine or no? _LUCAN._ Magnificent. _OTHO._ It shows the mind of Cæsar. _TIGELLINUS._ Splendid. _Ner._ At least the best: we still regret A better than the best; and I can see 90 These possibilities. Think if the hill Were raised some hundred feet, till it o’ertopped The Capitol—eh! lords. And so ’twere best; But still ’twill pass for good. _Luc._ ’Twill be a palace For site and size the first in all the world. _Ner._ To kill the Jews’ brag of Jerusalem? _Oth._ I think it. _Ner._ You, my friends, who know my scheme, May mete and judge my general scope in this, A sample of my temper coined and uttered 99 For the world’s model, that all men’s endeavours May rise with mine to have all things at best, Not only for myself but for the world; Riches and joy and heart’s content for all. It may be done, and who should do it but I? See now my years at best, my youth and strength With form and gifts agreeing, and my power,.... Know’st thou my power?—Oh! Otho, I tell thee The Cæsars which have been have never known What ’tis to be full Cæsar. Dost thou think? There’s nothing good on earth but may be won 110 With power and money; and I have them both; Ay, and the will. _Oth._ Much may be done, no doubt. _Ner._ Much! Why there’s nothing, man, may not be done. The curse of life is of our own devising, Born of man’s ignorance and selfishness. He wounds his happiness against a cage Of his own make, and only waits the word For one to set his door open,—and look, Having his liberty is he not glad As heaven’s birds are?—Now when fate’s ordinance Sends him a liberator, ay, and one 121 Not to cajole or preach, but, will or nill, Who’ll force him forth and crush up his old cage, With all who would hang back and skulk therein, How shall he not be happy? _Luc._ This shall be The world’s last crown, by man with utmost power Endowed to drive him to the good he shuns. _Ner._ Ay. Be all human hopes summed up in mine And reach their goal. I say there shall be peace, There shall be plenty, pleasure, and content: 130 The god on earth shall work the good whereof The folly of man hath baulked the gods in heaven: And good that men desire shall be as common As ills they now repine at. When I say There shall be justice, see, even at my word Injustice is no more. _PARIS._ The house of Rufus, Standing on justice there, will mar thy palace. _Ner._ Fool. Why, I say to Rufus—I am Cæsar, And need thy house.—Says he—It cost my sire Ten million sesterces.—A trifle that, 140 Say I, and give him twenty: and down it goes. Is not this more than justice? _Par._ Ay, ’tis power. _Ner._ Thou quibbling meddler, learn this point of wit, To keep thy sphere; answer in that: last night Sang I divinely? Wert thou envious When I put on the lion’s skin, and did The choice of Hercules? _Par._ Most mighty Cæsar, I wished that I had asses ears to hear; Mine are not long enough. _Ner._ Plague on thy jesting. See static virtue stalks with folded arm 150 To set thee down. [_Thrasea comes forward._ _Thr._ Hail, Cæsar! _Ner._ Thy opinion, Thrasea, come, thy opinion. What dost thou think If I extend my palace to take in The hill whereon we stand? _Thr._ The plan no doubt Is worthy of the site, and for the site, Why, ’tis the darling spot of Rome. _Ner._ Well said. Stay. I would ask my fellow senator Wherefore he left the house three days ago Without his voice or vote. _Thr._ I judged the time 159 Unmeet to speak; and, for my vote, the senate Was of one mind: a vote was of no count. _Ner._ Thou show’dst a sense against us in not voting. _Thr._ That must thou look for, Cæsar, in the senate. _Ner._ Well, I would have thee speak. We are not full Without thy voice: nay more, such conduct makes The senate but a name; for times have been When silence was well justified by fear. Now we court criticism, ay, and look ill On those that grudge their approbation. 169 _Thr._ Cæsar commands my service and my praise; I shall not lack. _Ner._ We look for much from thee. _Thr._ Long live your majesty. [_Exit._ _Ner._ There’s something good In that man, Otho; spite of his dry mien And Stoic fashion. _Oth._ Nay, I like him not. He’s hardly flesh and blood. Old Seneca Is stiff and prosy enough; but if you pinch him, You find he yields, shows softness here and there. This man is merely stone, foursquare by rule. _Ner._ Do you despise divine philosophy? _Oth._ Well, as I take it, all philosophy 180 Is questionable guessing, but the sense A man grows up with bears the stamp of nature. _Ner._ How mean you that? _Oth._ At best this fine-spun system Is but a part of man’s experience Drawn out to contradiction of the rest. ’Tis a fool’s wisdom. _Luc._ ’Tis a form of pleasure. _Oth._ True. Though there be no theory of life That’s worth a button, yet the search for one Seems to content some men better than life. _Ner._ Call him not fool, Otho! _Oth._ Unless I wrong him, I speak as well of him as he of me. 191 Or if he say nothing, his guarded manner Covers, be sure, a more unkind contempt. _Par._ (_apeing Thr._). That must thou look for, Cæsar, in the senate. _Tig._ Ha! ha! Excellent! _Ner._ Paris would make a senator. _Oth._ Well, give me life. _Ner._ Ay, that is wisdom. Live. Enjoy the hour; which minds me, for to-night I have time well disposed: we sup with Actè; She will inaugurate the new pavilion, And after, there are masks and clubs provided. 200 Thou’lt join us, eh! _Oth._ With all my heart. _Ner._ (_to Tig. and Luc._). And you. And you. And, Paris, see Petronius comes, And Anicetus. Hence, and bid them now. [_Exit Paris._ Good news for them I think; pleasure in store. We’ll make a merry night. Now tell me, Otho, You’re a good judge, have you ever seen a woman Fit to compare with Actè? _Oth._ I say no. _Ner._ I mean not, man, for what our grandsires praised, Who knew no better; I mean the perfect art 209 Which makes each moment feverous. _Oth._ I know none. _Ner._ ’Tis spoke as if thy judgment or thy envy Grudged me the word. _Oth._ Nay, Cæsar. _Ner._ O, I know Thou’rt a good husband, thy good wife commands thee. _Oth._ Say, my good fortune, Cæsar. _Ner._ Now if thy boast Be true as it is rare, thy lady’s presence Would add much spirit to our gaieties. I have never seen Poppæa, say that to-night Thou bring her. _Oth._ In this thing, for friendship’s sake, Hold me excused. _Ner._ Nay, no constraint; thy wish Is all in all. Wrong me not; I would not have, 220 And least to thee, my pleasures a command; But my commands are pleasures. Let us go. [_Exeunt._ SCENE · 2 _A room in the palace. Enter OCTAVIA and BRITANNICUS._ _BRITANNICUS._ Why art thou weeping, dearest? Has Nero been Again unkind? _OCTAVIA._ Most unkind. _Br._ Weep not so. Octavia, weep not so. Count but my tears as thine, so shall my pity Comfort thy wrongs. Nay, wert thou not my sister, How must I feel to see so base a rival Honoured before thyself in Cæsar’s palace! Why even his mother could not grant him that 230 Unmoved, but wept with rage: while he himself, I saw, was touched with shame. _Oct._ Hush, hush! nay, ’tis not that; I mind not that: at least they tell me now I must not mind; and since he never loved me It matters little. ’Tis not that at all. _Br._ Then something fresh; what more? _Oct._ I scarce dare tell. What hast thou said or done, Britannicus, That so could anger him? _Br._ Ah! is’t with me then He is angry? Dost thou weep for me? _Oct._ For both. _Br._ Now tell me all, sister. _Oct._ O, ’tis the worst. 240 Here as I sat this morning strode he in, More fired with rage than ever I have seen him, More like his wicked mother, when her fury Has made me tremble. All he said I heard not, But this, that I, his wife, had turned against him To plot with thee, and led thee on to boast That being of age thou wert the rightful heir, And more: what is his meaning? _Br._ ’Tis his spite To seek my fault in thee. _Oct._ Nay, that were nothing. Brother, I fear thou wilt be sent from Rome. 250 He dare not face the truth. He cannot brook Thy title: thou must go, ay, thou wilt go And leave me in my prison. _Br._ ’Twas last night I vexed him suddenly in his cups, but thought ’Twould be as soon forgotten. _Oct._ Say, how was it? _Br_. It was the feast of Saturn,—and as it chanced (Or rather, I should say, ’twas so arranged To please him, at his own desire) he drew The lot of king of the feast, and when the company Were drunk he used his silly privilege 260 To have me be their fool. _Oct._ Didst thou rebuke him? _Br._ It happened thus. When all the guests in turn Had answered to their forfeit, as his humour Prescribed to each, he turned on me, and bade me Show them a tragic scene, foreseeing how The incongruence of time and place, the audience Of drunken sots would turn my best to worst, And smother passion in a sea of laughter. But, for the wine I had been constrained to taste Had mounted to my head, I felt at heart 270 A force to wither up their sottish jeers, And ere I knew my purpose I was sitting Upright upon the couch, and with full passion Singing the old Greek song thou saidst so well Suited our fortunes. _Oct._ O, would I had been there! They could not laugh at thee. _Br._ They did not laugh. The sadness and the sweetness of the music, After their low hoarse songs, startled to sense Their sodden, maudlin brains: they listened all To the end, and then with daunted appetite 280 Sat in constraint and silence. _Oct._ Oh! well done! And what said Nero? _Br._ He but smiled until The tale tells how the poor child disinherited Was put to death by his usurping brother; Then his eye sank; and last, when Paris rose At the end and praised my acting, he grew wild, And said the feast was o’er, and bade us go. _Oct._ Alas! ’twas done too well. _Br._ I mind it not: I wear no mask: and manifold occasion Will oft surprise our closest guard, provoking 290 Unbidden motions that betray the heart: ’Twere vain to seek to quell them: they are like our shadows, Which, if the sun shine forth, appear and show Our form and figure. Such haps cannot be helped. _Enter Agrippina and attendants._ _ATTENDANT._ The Augusta, your royal mother. _AGRIPPINA._ Good day, my son. _Br._ Good morrow, mother. _Agr._ Octavia still here! Child, why, know you not ’Tis long past noon, and Dionysius Waits in the library? Begone, begone! What! crying? Here’s a picture to recover 300 A husband’s favour!—Fulvia, attend my daughter Into my tiring-room, and treat her eyes To hide these scalded rings: and then, Octavia, Go to the library, talk thy full hour; Thy Greek is shameful. The rest go. [_Exeunt Octavia and attendants._ My son, I’d speak with thee. _Br._ My mother’s pleasure? _Agr._ Thou art my pleasure, child. Fear me no more. I can be kinder to thee Than ever I have been to my own true son. 309 _Br._ I thank your majesty. _Agr._ Nay, now ’tis spoilt. Best call me mother. Thou hast need of me. I have heard all; what happed last night at supper. Thou hast offended Cæsar. _Br._ He does wrong To use the freedom of the feast to insult me, And then resent my freedom in repelling His right-aimed insult. _Agr._ True; the liberty Should cover it: but in thy veins there runs That which outcries thy speech; which, wert thou dumb, Would speak thee guilty, and being tongued proclaims Thy needful sentence. ’Twas done bitterly. 320 I know thy song. Dost thou believe, Britannicus, That I could give the tale another ending?— —Suppose, I say, I read it in some book Writ differently: how that the proud usurper, Owing all to his mother—dost thou follow me?— How, when he came to power, instead of sharing With her who had toiled for him, and in her love Had parted from all praise, looking to reap In him the fuller recompense of glory, How he, when time came he should make return, Denied her even the common duty owed 331 By son to mother, set her will aside, Laughed at her, added to her shames, reproached her, Mocked her with presents taken openly Out of her treasures,—as to say outright, All now is mine, thou hast no claim at all; See what I choose to give, thank me for these— Held her as nothing, hated her, brought in His strumpet to her chamber,—that was the sum— And she then, when she saw her love derided, 340 I say, repented, came to the boy she had wronged.... _Br._ I know, I know. _Agr._ Then, if thou knowest, say; What said he, when she told him she would turn Her love on him, would set him in the place Whence she had thrust him out? What said he? _Br._ Nothing. _Agr._ Nothing! _Br._ Nay, I remember he said thus: Wronged have I been by all, and none can right me; All hath been false to me save sorrow only; Justice and truth forsworn: There is no word 349 That I dare speak; yet if thou stoop to insult me My tongue will show my wrongs are not forgotten. _Agr._ My dearest boy, believe me. _Br._ The last time Thou call’dst me thus ’twas when my father died. I thought then ’twas in kindness, afterwards I found the meaning. _Agr._ Yea, I confess I wronged thee; That is my meaning now: had I not wronged thee, My speech would have no sense at all: ’tis this I come to urge: in this thou must believe me. Canst thou not see, had I no pity in me, No true remorseful pangs, yet still my wrongs 360 Would move me thus? Though thou trust not my love, Read in these tears of anger and despair The depth of my set purpose, my revenge. _Br._ I partly do believe thee. _Agr._ Believe me wholly, And my revenge is thine. _Br._ Nay, think not so. There’s blood in thy revenge; I’ll none of it. What are my private wrongs to Rome? If Cæsar Stablish the empire, where’s the citizen Will take exception that he hath wronged his brother? Since were I Cæsar I would vail my rights 370 To theirs, I still will act as I were Cæsar. _Agr._ O could’st thou see this offer as thy last And only safety thou would’st not refuse me. _Br._ I rather hope to be forgiven the thing I never thought, than win by doing it. _Agr._ Thou wilt not join with me? _Br._ There’s nought to join, Save to thy will to right me I might join A hope of justice, to vain will vain hope. _Agr._ Think for thy sister, boy. She cannot long Be Cæsar’s wife. Then, were her brother Cæsar, She might be matched with any excellence. 381 Octavia’s happiness lies on thy word. _Br._ Octavia, dear Octavia—Now if thou’rt true There is a way. This matter’s full presentment Hath not been strange to me, though I have barred the thought And held no purpose in it; there’s one way: Those that have wronged can right. If thou would’st speak With Burrus, he is plain and honourable, And if he think there’s gain in the exchange, And his heart goes with it, he has the guards,—my name, 390 The sense of right, the promise of a largess, Will win them to a man. The senate follows: In a day, an hour, without a drop of blood My wrongs are righted. Wilt thou speak with Burrus? _Agr._ I dare not. _Br._ Then do nothing. Or if thou canst, Assure thy son that from my helpless state And suffering spirit he has nought to fear. _Agr._ Nay, thou wert right: and though ’tis difficult, I’ll speak with Burrus. ’Tis a most bold stroke, But I can dare it. Good Burrus owes me much. [_Exit._ _Br._ Strange, strange indeed. I have heard it said that murder 401 Falls on itself: that in the guilty breast The implacable crime ploughs up with rooting tusk The bleeding strings of nature: and in this woman Of no remorse hath fated vengeance stirred Her heart to hate her son. O, I did wrong Yielding a little. Yet, since Burrus loves me, That he should rule my fate is my best safety. For her, if she’s my foe, he may work on her.— These days have brought much change and food for fear. 410 ACT · II SCENE · I _A room in Seneca’s house, SENECA and BURRUS._ _SENECA._ The Armenian papers came through me last evening; I sent them on at once. _BURRUS (refusing a seat)._ Nay, thank ye, Seneca: I have been two hours in the saddle. _Sen._ ’Tis a matter Of heavy import. _Bur._ I demanded audience. _Sen._ Well? _Bur._ All is settled. _Sen._ And who has the commission To undertake the Parthian? _Bur._ Corbulo. _Sen._ ’Tis good. I like the choice. And what said Nero? _Bur._ He told me well and wisely what to do, When I had shown him all that must be done. _Sen._ I wish his judgment were as tractable 420 With me. Took he your word? _Bur._ The affair went pat. What luck for Corbulo! _Sen._ Pray sit, good Burrus, And let us talk: my thought is most at ease When I am sitting. _Bur._ I pray you then be seated. _Sen._ (_sitting_). Burrus, my difficulties day by day Increase. The cares of empire are as nothing To managing an emperor. _Bur._ Why, what’s the matter? _Sen._ Give but attention to me. _Bur._ I attend. _Sen._ Do so most carefully: ’tis not a business That may be brushed aside. _Bur._ I am all attention. 430 _Sen._ Nero has broken with Britannicus: Heard you of that? _Bur._ Heard of it? I was there. _Sen._ Well, that has brought to head the jealous difference ’Twixt Cæsar and his mother. Since he first, At our advice, as was most fit, denied her A place in power, she has striven to force a title Out of her power for mischief: this you have seen: But now to hear how she hath edged her practice; She overskins her old accustomed hate Of young Britannicus, speaks kindly of him, 440 Hints of his right; nay, even hath dared upbraid Cæsar with usurpation. This was matched With words from him, which she no sooner heard Than in her rage disordered flew she hither To win me to her part; when seeing that I Stood firm, she fled in furious passion, saying That I should learn what temper she was of. _Bur._ I would that all the gods and goddesses Might burn them up to cinders. _Sen._ Peace, I say. Cannot you sit? I need your best advice. 450 _Bur._ Except the lad.—Advice concerning what? _Sen_. Why this new phase of court affairs. See you, [_Takes a paper._ ’Twas my just counterpoise of warring forces Ensured stability. Here Agrippina, Saved from her own ambition in the splendour Of her son’s estate, serves in his interest To guard Britannicus, whom else he had feared. The boy, in favour of his sister’s title, Sinks his own right. Then Nero’s youthful passions, Growing to hatred of Octavia’s bed, 460 Are stayed at equilibrium, as my judgment And knowledge of the world enables me; And all goes well, when an important factor, The empress, rounds, and plays me false to her motive, As here assumed, and vitiates with that flaw The nice adjustment of each several item.— I go to expound you this; you scarce attend, Or answer with an oath. _Bur._ A pious prayer To extricate you from a world of trouble. _Sen._ O, I can do it, Burrus, trust to me. 470 I place them all as chessmen, and I find Delight in difficulty: but ’tis hard, When one has chosen, strengthened a position, To change the value of a piece. I think Much of your judgment, and I ask you now What you would do. I must decide to-day. _Bur._ Why must? _Sen._ As if you knew not. _Bur._ If your art Be to adapt yourself to every change.... _Sen._ You know ’tis not. I say, should Nero now Banish his mother? _Bur._ Hark ye, Seneca, 480 If you remember, I foresaw this trouble. I know no remedy, nor is’t my office To arrange the affairs of the palace, gods be praised. But this is clear to me, that our three friends Will never live together: what I urge Is, separate them: if you cannot that, We must not stick in balance when they break. Whene’er that happens, our pre-eminent duty Lies in our oath to Cæsar, and our second 489 May be his mother’s pleasure, to whose schemes We owe our place. [_Knocking heard._ _Sen._ Who’s there? come in. _Enter Servant._ _SERVANT._ The Augusta Has come in private, and desires an audience. _Sen._ Again, you see, the Augusta. _Bur._ Eh! I’ll be off. _Sen._ One moment, pray. (_To Servt._) Beg her be pleased to enter. [_Exit Servt._ Burrus, I adjure you not to go, your presence May moderate her passion: or, if not, ’Twere best you saw it. _Bur._ Well, all’s one to me. _Enter Agrippina._ _AGRIPPINA._ Be not surprised that I so soon return: I have repented. Ha! the general here! Thou seest me, Burrus, on a woman’s errand. 500 Nay, no apology; thou hast o’erheard My merit, not my fault. _Bur._ I thank your majesty. I will withdraw. _Agr._ Nay, I desire thee stay. I came not here to find thee; but thy presence Mends my intention. Let us hold a council. ’Tis not the first time our triumvirate, Secretly gathered in the nick of time, Hath preordained the changes which should fall Upon the earth like fate. To-day’s decree, If we combine, will be as big with action 510 As any we have uttered. _Bur._ I fear I stand In ignorance of the question. _Sen._ I will explain. _Agr._ Listen to me. We three who here are met Stand in such place, that, if we but unite, There’s none can say us nay. I do not ask Who raised thee, Burrus, or thee, Seneca, To where ye are: nay, if I asked you that I’d look for no more answer than if asking What two and two make; ’tis self-evident, Unquestioned; it was I; and if you owe 520 Allegiance to another, ’tis to one Whom I made more than I made you; ay, one Who has nothing but what was mine, and is mine: His body mine, his life and being mine, His power, his place, his honour mine, my son, My Nero, who, when my husband late deceased, The honest Claudius, passed to join the gods, Was raised and set by me under your guidance, To share with me the empire of the world. Now what it may be that hath warped his heart 530 Is from the matter: enough that so it is. I might blame one of you, sure not myself, Who have ever held in love and kindness towards him The same intention; nay, and from my kindness I swerve not now, though for a wholesome end I mask that kindness in severity. There’s but this choice, I must withdraw my favour, Or suffer my disgrace: ay, and for you, Burrus and Seneca, be sure, the same. If I fall, ye will fall. Therefore being one 540 In interest with me, I look to find you ready To stand by me in any scheme of action Which may preserve our station, while we may. _Sen._ Your majesty says well. We have hitherto All held one purpose, and if now we are foiled Or thwarted, none is thwarted more than I. And since it is my pride, in the high place Whereto your judgment called me, to exceed The measure which might justify your choice, I shall not fail. In these new difficulties 550 I would make no display of fresh resource; Full means there will be, yet what means it is I am not ripe to say. _Agr._ What say’st thou, Burrus? The matter Seneca avoids is this: Shall I be driven to exile, or will ye Join with me to forbid it? _Bur._ Hath your majesty, In urging opposition, any scheme That might give life to policy? _Agr._ Ay, something. I would protect Britannicus: his claim And popularity being pressed, must drive 560 Nero upon my side. _Bur._ Such act were merely The boy’s destruction, were’t not done in earnest And backed by force. _Agr._ Then, since the case demands All earnestness, and since we lack not force..... _Bur._ Between your son’s rule and your stepson’s claim There lies no middle way. _Agr._ I never held That a stout purpose chose a middle way. _Sen._ What, what! Consider, madam, what you urge Is to dethrone your son. _Agr._ I am desperate. _Sen._ Indeed, indeed! 570 _Agr._ What say’st thou, Burrus? Hast thou not a hope The rightful heir might prove the better Cæsar? _Bur._ Were this in earnest, yet my oath to Cæsar Forbids me even to think the thing you say. _Agr._ Thy oath to him! Rather to me ’twas sworn; Who raised thee up to swear, and made the Cæsar For thee to swear to? I can dispense your oaths: Or rather, since they were unjustly sworn, Justice dispenses them. ’Twould be a deed Truer than oaths to break the oaths ye swore. 580 _Bur._ Justice is still against you. ’Twas unjust To burn the will of Claudius; ’twas unjust To hide Britannicus, and to bring forth Your own son in his place: these things were wrongs, And these old wrongs would you redub with new. For when upon your wrongs Rome set her seal, Her choice made right of wrong, and we that swore, Swore not to Nero or Britannicus, But unto Rome and to her chosen Cæsar. 589 _Agr._ Nay, Seneca, I think, will scarce say thus. _Sen._ Burrus is right; and were he wrong, your scheme But complicates the mischief. _Agr._ Then ye desert me? _Sen._ Nay, nay, in other ways I may do much. I may win Nero back. _Agr._ The thought is folly; We fight against him. _Sen._ Oh! ’tis open treason. _Agr._ Eh! Why, I think my son’s ingratitude Is nought to this; he had the right to expect My favours: but for you, whom I chose out And set above the rest because I chose, Made you my friends because I chose, for you 600 There is no excuse. Had ye no motive, yet To see a woman in distress like mine, Wronged by her son, and injured as no woman Has ever been, should rouse a manly spirit, Ay, make a coward burn to do me right. But ye stand there aloof, and not a word. O good Seneca, Rememberest thou thy days in Corsica? The stoic letters of thine exile, writ With Naso’s pang, and that exuberant page 610 To me, at the first tidings of recall. I have it still, the letter, superscribed _Your most devoted slave._ Was not that felt? Had’st thou not cause? Now is the opportunity Of my distress, now I stand to lose all, All that those hard times strove for, all they won. The faith thou owest me, still may make all mine; Wilt thou deny it me? _Sen._ Alas, good lady! _Agr._ Alas! Is this the vein? Think you I come to hear Your lamentations? Ah! ye dare, I see, 620 Pity me while ye wrong me: but the truth Ye dare not say. Ye dare not say, Lo, we, Raised by your clemency, sworn to your service, Seeing your fair wind is changed, and there’s no hope Left to your following, do as all knaves do, Leave you to perish. Ah, all’s lost, all’s lost! [_Weeps._ _Bur._ (_to Sen._). Business attending me at home, I go. [_Going._ _Agr._ Thou goest! Then go, thou wooden counterfeit. Nay, I’ll be with thee yet. (_Exit Bur._) Pooh! let him go, An ugly, one-armed, upstart, sneaking knave: 630 A title seeker, a subservient villain. And thou, Philosopher! come, teach me thy philosophy. Tell me how I may be a dauntless Stoic And a most pitiful ass. Show me thy method Of magnanimity and self-denial, Which makes of slaves the richest men in Rome. Philosopher! Ay, thou that teachest youth Dishonesty, and coinest honied speeches To gloss iniquity, sand without lime. 640 Out, out upon thee! Thou miserable, painful, hackney-themed Botcher of tragedies, that deem’st thyself A new Euripides, a second Cato: A pedant rather, pander and murderer. I’ll let Rome know how pumpkin Claudius died; I’ll not be ashamed to say, ’twas I that spiced His fatal mushroom. Honest Seneca Stood by and smiled. True, true! I’ll be true yet; I’ll right Britannicus. I’ll tell the soldiers 650 What they should look for. Hear’st thou not their shouts? Seneca to the Tiber! the philosopher, The murderer to the Tiber! Fulvia, Fulvia!— Fulvia, I go. Come, I will leave; lead on. [_Exit._ _Sen._ And I to train the cub of such a dam! [_Exit._ SCENE · 2 _Room in Domitia’s house. Enter DOMITIA and SELEUCUS._ _DOMITIA._ ’Tis a most shrewd surmise, but nothing more; I cannot listen to it. Though I hate My sister, and would take some risk to crush her, Yet must I set my foot on surer ground. My better engine is Poppæa’s dream, 660 Of which thou’st told me: I can build on that. Thou should’st be there, I think, to-night. _SELEUCUS._ Ay, madam. I go at once. _Dom._ Speak nothing waveringly. _Sel._ Nay, madam. _Dom._ ’Tis her fate to marry Cæsar. _Sel._ My art needs no instruction. _Dom._ It must be so. _Sel._ It is so, madam. _Dom._ See, thy prophecy Is that which should determine it. Go now. [_To door._ Her purse will satisfy thee well. _Sel._ Yet once Ere I be gone, madam, I’ll make a stand To win thy credit. 670 _Dom._ Thou must show me cause. Thou say’st the Augusta plots against her son, Supports Britannicus, tampers with Burrus. How know’st thou this? _Sel._ Why should I lie? _Dom._ I think There may be some who make it worth thy while. _Sel._ I would not meddle in this thing for money. _Dom._ Why tell me then at all? _Sel._ To win thy help. _Dom._ To what? _Sel._ To save the prince. _Dom._ If thou’rt in earnest, Where is thy confidence? Assure me first, At least, of what thou say’st. Whence know’st thou this? 680 _Sel._ Fulvia, thy sister’s maid, rewards my love With many trifles: what she overhears I piece together. _Dom._ What of this was heard, And how much pieced? _Sel._ The Augusta sent all out, And spake long time in private with the prince. What passed I guess from this; that ere she left, Being risen to go, as Fulvia at the door Stood just without, she heard her voice most plainly Angrily entreating, saying, that though he doubted, Yet she would still with him regain her power: 690 If he held off yet he so far was right, As that ’twas best to speak with Burrus first. _Dom._ And has she since seen Burrus? _Sel._ I think she hath. He lately came from Seneca’s, and there The Augusta must have met with him. _Dom._ What passed? _Sel._ I know not yet. Fulvia will know and tell me. _Dom._ But can’st thou trust her? _Sel._ Ay, she hath no purpose. Whate’er she hears is mine. _Dom._ Then make this thine. Her tampering with Britannicus is nought: But if she speak with Burrus, there is matter 700 That I can work on. Ay, if that should be— Make sure of that, and bring me word at once. To-night thou hast thy business; go and do it. Poppæa marries Cæsar. _Sel._ Madam, I go. [_Exit._ _Dom._ Now, my good sister, if this tale is true, Thy fortune turns: I trample on thee now. Ay, if she have spoke with Burrus, then one word To Nero, and she is doomed. Patience and time Bring us all opportunities: we need But watch and wait. The way I least expected 710 She runs within the reach of my revenge. [_Exit._ SCENE · 3 _Room in Otho’s house. Enter POPPÆA._ _POPPÆA._ My dream was strange: but why of all strange dreams Stands forth this dream, to say it hath a meaning? There lies the mystery: the dream were nothing. ’Tis such a dream as I have prayed to dream. ’Tis such a dream as an astrologer Must love to interpret. Nay, there’s but one way Seleucus can explain it. _Enter Seleucus._ I looked for thee An hour ago: thou’rt late. _SELEUCUS._ The seasons, lady, 720 Of divination are determinate By stars and special omens: ’tis our skill To observe their presage. The hour is favourable. Thy dream ... _Pop._ Is’t good? _Sel._ Beyond thy hope. _Pop._ Then tell it. _Sel._ Two thousand sesterces.... _Pop._ I have it here. See! I was ready for thee. [_Gives him a purse._ _Sel._ I thank thee, lady. _Pop._ Now for thy message. _Sel._ I have sought out thy dream By every means our art.... _Pop._ Mind not the means. _Sel._ There is one interpretation clear throughout.... _Pop._ And that? 730 _Sel._ Thou shalt be wife unto two Cæsars. _Pop._ Two! Now be Isis praised. Two! O, Seleucus, Thou’rt an astrologer. Two! this is life, Seleucus; this is life as well as fortune. What are the names? _Sel._ There ends my message, lady. _Pop._ ’Tis good so far, but stays unkindly. Search, I must know more. Above all things, the affair Is secret. (_Knocking heard._) I will send my servant to thee. Thou must be gone: our business will not suffer My husband stumbling on thee here. This way. [_Exit Seleucus, being put out._ My dream was true: my hopes and schemes inspired Of heaven; yet this is far beyond them all. 741 Wife to two Cæsars; maybe, mother of Cæsars. [_Noise at door._ To sit upon their rare, successive thrones, A manifold Augusta! Here’s my husband. What would he say? Two Cæsars, ay, two Cæsars! [_Laughing heard without._ _Enter Otho._ _OTHO._ Good evening, love. _Pop._ Who laughed with thee without? _Oth._ Lucan. He walked with me from Cæsar’s supper. _Pop._ Was Cæsar riotous? _Oth._ Beyond all bounds. _Pop._ See what you husbands are. You go abroad For pleasure, and when met among yourselves 750 Push all to excess, and never think how patiently Your wives must mope at home, and wait your coming. And when you do return, up to the door You bring your merriment; but at the door ’Tis left, and in you come, in solemn glumness, To vent the sour reaction of your revels Upon your housekeeper. _Oth._ Enough, Poppæa; I would be cheered. _Pop._ Then I will cheer thee, love. But what’s the matter? _Oth._ Listen. Thou hast reproached me With going forth alone. What else could be? 760 Would’st thou consent to sit there at my side, Where I, a man, am oft ashamed to sit? Would’st thou, could’st thou be one among the women Of Cæsar’s fancy? _Pop._ I spake not seriously. _Oth._ See, but I do. I tell thee, love, this night Thou wert invited. _Pop._ I! _Oth._ He would have pressed it. _Pop._ Who would have pressed it? _Oth._ Cæsar. _Pop._ What dost thou say? (_Aside._) He treads on prophecy. _Oth._ Knowing thy mind, And mine, I begged him for our friendship’s sake Urge me no further. _Pop._ Thou did’st well, and he? 770 _Oth._ Again to-night he asked for thee. ’Twas this Which made me sad and thoughtful. _Pop._ Why be sad? _Oth._ The meaning, love, the meaning: thou must guess it. _Pop._ The very reason, Otho, which thou urgest Against my going, is in truth the reason Why such as I should go. As Cæsar’s friend, Thou would’st do well to save him from the slough He daily sinks in. _Oth._ Nay, but such a stake For such a flimsy hope. _Pop._ I see a hope In the invitation. Otho, let us see 780 What may be done among his friends. _Oth._ Poppæa, ’Tis generously thought, but ’tis a thing Must not be thought. Trust to my judgment, love. ’Tis Cæsar’s love of power that threats us here; He would have nought held from him. Thee I hold, And most because I know thou would’st be mine. _Pop._ Then thou must trust me, Otho. _Oth._ And so I do. _Pop._ Why, I were well his match. Let us go in. [_Exeunt._ SCENE · 4 _Room in the Palace. Enter AGRIPPINA and PALLAS._ _AGRIPPINA._ Pallas, thy date is out: thou art dismissed; Thou goest from the court: yet what thou takest 790 May soften thy regrets. Thy shiny days Were not misspent, and thou may’st live like Cæsar. Farewell, we still are friends: the debt I owe I shall remember: ’twas thy power that first Gave root to mine: for thee, I think my favours Were once thy pleasure. If those days are gone, We can look time in the face; we have not wasted The days that flew: ’tis now with what remain Still to be careful. Friends and firm allies. _Pal._ Ay, firm as ever. _Agr._ Nay, though thou goest first, That is not much: even that I cannot save thee 801 Is sign that I am fallen ere thou could’st fall: A deeper, deadlier fall, unless indeed My wit can save me still. _Pal._ Alas, dear queen, Fear makes this parting sad. But if there’s hope, ’Tis this, to gain thy son. _Agr._ Ay, till our schemes be ripe; And even though Seneca betray me,—and that Is sure,—I fear not him. I know my son Better than he, and I shall win him yet. My plan is now to seem resigned to all: 810 I will pretend my purpose is to leave him, And fly from Rome to voluntary exile. ’Twill work upon his fear and duty both, To cut himself quite off from me, and all That goes with me. He will entreat me stay; And if I stay— _Pal._ Ay, if this storm go by, The turns of time may offer us reprisals. At present use all means to gain thy son. _Agr._ I shall. Farewell. _Pal._ Be bold. The gods protect you. Farewell. 820 _Agr._ Farewell. [_Exeunt severally._ _Enter Tigellinus and Paris._ _TIGELLINUS._ Look from the window: thou wilt see ’tis true; He takes all with him. _PARIS._ Nay, if this is all. _Tig._ This much were all: and yet this caravan Is but the least of six; His monstrous Grace Brings up the rear. _Par._ ’Tis nobly done of Cæsar. _Tig._ ’Tis noble, say you, that the thief go quit With all his plunder from the house he plundered? _Par._ Hark how the weasel can upbraid the fox! Good Tigellinus, there’s no need to grudge Pallas his scrapings; the sea is full of fish: 830 Rather thou should’st rejoice because thou seest Thy probable hap. Pray that as many mules, Litters and bags and bales, women and slaves May comfort thee. _Enter Nero with Domitia._ _NERO._ Paris, what do you here? _Par._ I comfort Tigellinus on the fate Of his predecessor. Ner._ (_at window_). Gods! see what a train _Drags out the very bowels of the palace. No wonder my good mother’s man resigns With resignation. _Tig._ Ha! ha! _Ner._ I seek the Augusta. She late was here; go find her; say I wait her. 840 [_Exeunt Tigellinus and Paris._ _DOMITIA._ Through my discovery, Nero, thy good fortune Lifts thee a corner of the veil whereunder Thy mother plots. Be not thou now deceived To further trust. She is bent upon thy ruin. _Ner._ Though it be true she urged Britannicus Even in those words, we lack the surety yet She spoke them in good faith. _Dom._ O, there’s no doubt. _Ner._ My mother is very deep, and often looks Far from her meaning. She will use this way To worm a confidence. 850 _Dom._ She did not then. Ner. Yet must the boy have thought so, for you said That what she urged he took not all in kindness. _Dom._ He bade her speak with Burrus. _Ner._ The villainous brat! _Dom._ Drive not the fault on him. Did Burrus waver, Nothing could save thee. And it seems thy mother Had hope to win him. She comes; now be thou firm. I will be gone. _[Exit._ _Ner._ (_solus_). Now she cannot deceive me. _Enter Agrippina._ _Agr._ My son, thy mother comes at thy command. _Ner._ O excellent mother! _Agr._ What would’st thou with me, son? I come to hear, and yet I scarce am fit 860 For banter or abuse. I am ill to-day. _Ner._ No wonder; ’tis you do too much. ’Twere better You spared yourself. Go rest; my business Will not cure headaches. _Agr._ Speak whate’er it be. _Ner._ Nay, if you’re ill— _Agr._ My sickness will not pass. To-morrow I shall leave thee; that last grief Will soon engulph the rest: speak while thou may’st. _Ner._ What’s this! leave me to-morrow? _Agr._ I would spare thee That worst disgrace of sending me away. I go of myself. 870 _Ner._ What now? _Agr._ ’Tis well resolved. I have been foolish; ’twas a mother’s fault, A tender fault: forget it, and hereafter Know my love better. If my presence bred Dislike, thy kinder mind may yet return When I am gone. _Ner._ Why, what has happed, I pray? _Agr._ Nothing. I have only come to see my error. I thought, ’twas I that gave him all.... _Ner._ Tut! tut! ’Tis the old story told a thousand times. _Agr._ Ay, and forgot as oft. Thy constant wrongs, I think, have dug my grave. Dost thou remember What answer once I made the sorcerer 881 Who prophesied thy fortune? Thy son, he said, Shall reign, and kill his mother. Let him kill me, So that he reign, I cried. He spake the truth, But ’tis by grief thou slay’st me. _Ner._ That old rubbish Were best forgotten. _Agr._ Indeed, I had forgot it: But yesternight I dreamed it all again; A frightful dream: plain as I see thee now Stood’st thou before me thus, with angry words [_She acts._ Mocking, until I wept for shame; but thou 890 Did’st only laugh the more. Then ran I to thee, And bared my breast, and cried, Kill me, O son! And thou fastened’st thy snaky eyes upon me, So that I could not see what thy hand did. But, oh! I knew. I heard thy weapon grate Leaving the scabbard, and a fiery pang Pierced through my heart. Ah! _Ner._ (_aside_). Heavens, is she mad?— Mother, good mother, mother! 899 _Agr._ ’Twas nothing. Nay, where am I? I was come To hear thy speech. What is’t thou hast to say? _Ner._ (_aside_). If this were trickery? Let the fact try.— ’Twas this: what speech you held the other morning With young Britannicus. _Agr._ (_aside_). Ah! knows he that?— Thy spies are most alert. This time, at least, I praise their zeal: though thou art slow to thank me For my kind service done to thee and him. _Ner._ Whether is it kinder, say you, to him to urge him To embrace the desperate plot, of which already He stood suspected, or more kind to me 910 To water this rebellion with the tears Of your insidious passion? _Agr._ Your man’s a fool: I heard Your quarrel, and took pains to sound the boy. _Ner._ Next you saw Burrus. _Agr._ Well, and what said he? _Ner._ Nay, that’s for you to tell. _Agr._ ’Twas this: Britannicus Most truly said that nought could help his claim, Except the guards and Burrus: at which word I flew to Burrus, offered him the bait; And when he showed the scruple of his oath, Three words from me confirmed him. 920 _Ner._ If this were true! _Agr._ How much you need me, Nero, will be plain When I am gone. Who has deceived you now? Who works this madness in you, to conceive That your disaster could be gain to me? Have you believed what angry words I spoke Were born of purpose, that my threats against you Were aught but passion? You count not the tears, The bitter, secret tears, for every pang Your wrongs have wrought in me; and bitterer far, The sharp remorse for each retaliation 930 Of speech provoked in anger. Let it end; ’Tis best I go. _Ner._ See! if you had gone before We had never quarrelled; now there’s nought to lose By going, ’tis a quarrel that you go. _Agr._ No quarrel, nay. ’Tis only this: I thought That in your love I held perpetual office. ’Tis not so. Now my time is out: I go As Pallas goes. _Ner._ The sleek, extortionate Pallas, Dost thou defend the despicable Pallas? _Agr._ I would be kind to friends; none will stand by you, 940 If you cast off those to whom most you owe. ’Twas first through him I came to seize the power That made you Cæsar. Look! you have lost a friend. Be wiser when I am gone. _Ner._ I have good friends, Burrus and Seneca: I trust them both. _Agr._ Cannot you read the cause why still they urge you To cast me off? _Ner._ ’Tis the disgrace they feel To see the empire managed by a woman. _Agr._ ’Tis the constraint they feel in all their actions Being overruled by me. Do you not see 950 They are my ministers, and you are ruled By them in all they counsel? Rid of me, They rule the world. Think you, when they have cast What was above them underneath their feet, They will have care to exalt what was below? _Ner._ They both are honest men; you chose them well. _Agr._ You are too trustful, Nero. As you love Your life, I say, be jealous of these men; These men that now would rule thee but to take The empire from thy hands. They may speak ill 960 Of me,—believe that if thou list,—but oh! If once they seem to encroach, delay not then; Hear no excuse nor explanation; strike, Kill them, I say, before they murder thee. _Ner._ But, mother, Seneca loves me. _Agr._ As a master Will love a pupil while he takes instruction. He’ll love you while you let him reign. Alas! I scarce dare leave you to him. You are too kind; Will shrink to use the sword as it is needful For one who rules to wield. _Ner._ You cannot think 970 These men would serve me so. _Agr._ What is my purpose? My life’s one object, my supreme ambition? Was’t not to raise thee where thou art, and now Is’t not to keep thee there? _Ner._ So once I thought. _Agr._ O think it yet. Look! there is none can love you, Nero, as I must love you; there’s not one Can guard you as I can. Have I not proved My power? While I am by you, it is yours. _Ner._ Stay then. _Agr._ O that it might be! _Ner._ Thou shalt not go. Resign thy outward power; be in all else 980 As heretofore. Forget what I suspected. Be still my mother. _Agr._ Alas! _Ner._ Yea, I will have it. _Agr._ It cannot be. _Ner._ Why not? _Agr._ Seneca, my son, Will not permit it. _Ner._ Who is Seneca To say me nay? _Agr._ Unless you join with me He will o’errule you. _Ner._ He shall not o’errule me. _Agr._ For that I’d stay. I would give up all else To stand by you: ay, and be happy so. _Ner._ And so it shall be. Have thy private fortune, Remain in Rome. _Agr._ But can you trust me, Nero? 990 _Ner._ Nay, I will never more suspect thee. Kiss me. _Agr._ O, now you are good and kind. Tell me, who was it Did me this wrong? _Ner._ It was Domitia told me. She spied on thee. _Agr._ My sister! ha! you know not The grudge between us? _Ner._ Yes, I know of that. _Agr._ And not suspect her slander? Did she also Commit Britannicus? _Ner._ She cast all blame On thee. _Agr._ I feared she might have wronged the boy. _Ner._ Is he, then, innocent? _Agr._ I went so far In sounding him as even to risk my credit. 1000 Let not unjust suspicion add a weight To the just blame we bear. You must protect him. Promise me that. _Ner._ I will ask Seneca. _Agr._ Forgive, at least, his foolish indiscretion. He begged me make his peace. Now have I made it? _Ner._ I’ll think no more of that. _Agr._ My dearest son, The joy of a good action will be yours As well as mine. O, I am happy now— Indeed, most happy now. _Ner._ Come then, dear mother. [_Exeunt._ ACT · III SCENE · 1 _The same. SENECA._ _SENECA._ Burrus was right. The more I think of it, The time has come that one or both must go; So the more dangerous first, then are we quit At once of all our mischief and disgrace. 1013 ’Tis past belief that she who plunged in crime To enthrone her son should now plot to dethrone him. There is no bridle for a wicked woman. Men may despise the venerable path Of virtue, and refuse the wholesome laws Of plain philosophy, but still they lean Towards reason, even in their wickedness. 1020 There’s an accountable consistency Found in their actions; but if once a woman Throw off, as men soon do, the first restraints Of credulous childhood; if her nature lack Tenderness, modesty, and that respect To self which sees in self a thing to guard From passion and caprice, and in the pleasure Of fitness finds a law,—if she lack that Or overpass it,—there’s no further bound: All things are mixed together; virtue, crime, 1030 Wisdom and folly. For they have a spirit Of infinite wrong genius. Rule, I say, Such women if you can; rule them with iron. _Enter Nero._ _NERO._ Good-morrow, Seneca. Thou comest in time; I need thy counsel. _Sen._ I am here to give it. _Ner._ Then tell me: Where I have been lately threatened, Am I in danger? I will use thy judgment. Is’t needful for my safety to remove Britannicus? _Sen._ I have well considered all. You must dismiss your mother. 1040 _Ner._ Not so, Seneca. She now resigns all power and sign of empire, And is content to live in quiet, retired With few attendants and contracted state. _Sen._ She offered terms? _Ner._ See, since she now concedes All reasonable claims, my duty towards her Patches our quarrel. _Sen._ Whence this newborn trust? _Ner._ She must remain. What of Britannicus? _Sen._ He need not trouble you. _Ner._ So said my mother. I had thought differently, and even had made Full preparation for his going hence. 1050 Would’st thou too bid me think there is no danger? _Sen._ None, if your mother goes. _Ner._ But nay, she stays. _Sen._ That makes him dangerous. _Ner._ Thy reason, Seneca? _Sen._ I well can guess, Nero, your mother’s vein With you in private: but ’twould much divert Your inclination from it, could you know Her latest way with me. _Ner._ What hath she said? _Sen._ Will you now think she hath urged Burrus and me To set our honoured oaths and firm allegiance To you aside, as being unjustly sworn; 1060 To undo all she has done, and bring Britannicus Back to the people as Rome’s rightful heir? _Ner._ I knew this, Seneca; and if ’twere meant, Where lies the danger? _Sen._ True; but then she vows Plainly that, rather than resign her power, She will make known her crimes, nor spare herself, If in the implication of her ruin She may involve us too. Know you of that? _Ner._ She could not mean it. _Sen._ Certainly ’twas in passion Spoken, and fury: but ’tis such a thing 1070 As might be done in passion. _Ner._ And what says Burrus? _Sen._ He too would urge, as I, the Augusta’s exile. _Ner._ Yet must she stay. _Sen._ Nay, Nero, she must go. _Ner._ I bade thee, Seneca, to counsel me: Call’st thou this counsel? ’Tis in the exigence Of such affairs that their necessity Precludes the true decision: this thou’st taught me: And that the man of counsel is but he Who handles best the circumstance, most gently Resolves the knot, not cuts it. In this difficulty Is there no course? 1081 _Sen._ I go not back from this; If both remain there’s none. _Ner._ Is my life threatened? _Sen._ Ay. _Ner._ Then Britannicus must go, and shall go, As first I purposed. _Sen._ Whither will you send him? _Ner._ Far out of hearing of his claim. ’Tis not A trifling matter. _Sen._ See now to the other extreme How you o’erleap the mean from wrong to wrong! _Ner._ Such wrongs the title of my power condones. Shall I at the outset of a world-wide policy Stick at a household scruple, and for fear 1090 To do a private wrong forfeit the power Which makes me Cæsar? See my glory trip At a little ill because I will not level My safety with the welfare of the world? _Sen._ But what you must not, that you cannot do. _Ner._ Rather what Cæsar must do, that he may. Rome understands not empire yet: we learned Something of Herod. _Sen._ O the injustice, Nero! The wrong! How! Will you sooner spill a life So innocent, your creditor in kindness, 1100 Than do disgrace to another, one so guilty As to deserve, sinking all exigency, The fearful penalty you now misplace? Think twice. _Ner._ Why, if I think of it again, Is not thy error fourfold more than mine? This need is granted to all tyrannies, To slay pretenders, ay, and most of all Those of the family: but for a mother, The very Persian or the unrivalled Jew Would shrink from her dishonour. 1110 _Sen._ (_aside_). What to say? Being out of kinship ’twere the lesser blot— Yet there’s his innocence. Necessity Cannot suborn morality so far As such confusion,—nor the alternative May yet be shunned,—and when the best is wrong... _Ner._ What thinkest thou? _Sen._ Wait: it shall be my office To find some better means. _Ner._ ’Twill be thine office To show in such a speech as I may make After his death, that, howsoe’er he died,— Which you shall know no more than shall my hearers,— ’Twas for the general good. 1121 _Sen._ Be counselled, Nero. This is not my advice. _Ner._ Thou offerest none Which can be taken. _Sen._ See, I have brought your speech Touching the Parthian war. _Ner._ ’Tis long. _Sen._ The matter Being very weighty, ’twill be looked for from you To say thus much: but if it seem too long, ’Tis so composed that with these brackets here, Skipped as you list, the speech is any length. _Ner._ I thank thee. I shall need that other speech. _Sen._ I pray you may not need it. My advice 1130 Is wait. _Ner._ Is it? Stay—Seneca, dost thou think My mother was in earnest when she urged Treason on thee and Burrus? And dost thou think She fooled me in saying that she made proposal To Burrus but to sound his honesty? _Sen._ Eh! with that tale she took you? _Ner._ Is’t not true? _Sen._ That true! _Ner._ She was in earnest though in passion? Answer me. _Sen._ Ay, she was. _Ner._ I pray thee leave me. I shall not wait. [_Exit Seneca._ I stand alone. Such officers as share 1140 The functions of tyrannic government Cannot be looked to for a policy Of personal security; they lack The motive that abates the fear of crime. Britannicus must go, and ’tis my hand Must aim his death. I have a medicine Which he must drink for me, to save my life. To-night shall do it. But for my other enemy, My mother, who with such dissimulation Won me, spite of foreknowledge of her deeds, 1150 And judgment of her purpose—Ha! indeed; Seneca’s laughing-stock! Now, what I do Will much surprise her. If it kill her hope And prove my temper towards her, ’twill be well. [_Exit._ SCENE · 2 _Room in Domitia’s house. Enter DOMITIA and PARIS._ _DOMITIA._ Come hither, Paris! Thou art my freedman. _PARIS._ Ay, madam. _Dom._ Hitherto Thou hast served me well. _Par._ Ay, madam. _Dom._ Would’st thou now Retrieve thy purchase money? _Par._ Dost thou say Thou wilt restore me that for any service I can perform? _Dom._ I do. _Par._ But name the deed. 1160 _Dom._ Dost thou remember Crispus Passienus? _Par._ Could I forget thy honoured husband, madam, That was my master? _Dom._ Paris, thou hast a wife, And thy wife hath a sister.. _Par._ Ay. _Dom._ How think’st thou Thy wife would love her sister, if that sister Supplanted her with thee, sowed seeds of hate, Contrived divorce, and when thou wert divorced Should marry thee herself? _Par._ Madam, I know Thy wrong, and share thy hate. _Dom._ That was not all. _Par._ Not all? _Dom._ Nay, listen, Paris: if I forget 1170 My kinship in my hatred, I have cause. I loved him, and have now no thought in life But to avenge his murder. _Par._ Why! can’st thou think?... _Dom._ Think! do I think? I cannot speak of it. If ’tis suspicion, be it so—and yet... Well, thou hast seen my heart—even were my sister Kind I should not forgive: but seeing she works Against me still to drive me from the court, I put my strength with Cæsar, to disbarrass The palace of this plague. Say wilt thou aid me? 1180 _Par._ The favour Cæsar shows me binds me, lady, To have no thought but his; and if his mother Misses his love, ’tis not made up by mine. _Dom._ I’d have thee on my side whate’er I do. I have now contrived a scheme which hangs on thee To bring it home. _Par._ I will do anything That will not touch my life. _Dom._ She is hard to catch. Late, when she plotted with Britannicus, Though ’twas as clear as day, when brought to question She quite out-faced us all. _Enter Servant._ _SERVANT._ Madam, Seleucus 1190 The astrologer would speak with you. _Dom._ Admit him. [_Exit Servt._ Paris, I’ll tell thee later of my plans. Meanwhile keep close with Nero: let me hear Aught he lets fall that might advance our matter: Seleucus’ visit is a part of it; I’ll speak with him alone. _Par._ Madam, I go. [_Exit._ _Enter Seleucus._ _Dom._ How now, Seleucus? Foiled! _SELEUCUS._ I warned you, lady, How impotent and vain an arm hath truth Unhelped by art. _Dom._ Thou did’st but well, and now I shall lean more on thee. Hast thou persuaded 1200 Poppæa of her fortune? _Sel._ Ay, my lady, I promised her two Cæsars. _Dom._ Two! how two? _Sel._ A secret that of art; our divination Hath many such. The gods are favourable. _Dom._ Talk not to me of gods. One was enough; Yet the other matters not. Two Cæsars indeed! Most favourable gods!—See, here I give you Two hundred sesterces: but for that sum Require another service. _Sel._ I thank you, madam. _Dom._ Locusta hath been seen with Nero. _Sel._ Ah, 1210 How knew you that? _Dom._ Attend to what I say. I fear ’tis for Britannicus: the Empress, Ridding herself, cannot have quitted him. If ’tis his death is aimed at—and ’tis for thee To probe and reach the truth—then if ’tis possible Thou must prevent it. Go, give him a message, He must not sup with Cæsar if he is bid. Find you the probabilities, and lay The warning where is need. _Sel._ ’Twere a good office, lady. _Dom._ Go quickly then. If thou do well in this, I will reward thee well. 1221 _Sel._ I will deserve it. [_Exeunt._ SCENE · 3 _The room in Otho’s house. Enter POPPÆA and MAID._ _MAID._ Madam, the litter waits. _POPPÆA._ Give me my mirror, miss. Why, see how slovenly thou’st done my hair; ’Tis out already. _Maid._ With your pardon, madam, ’Tis very well. Nay, ’tis as firm as a rock. You look your best to-night. _Pop._ Where is the flower I gave thee? _Maid._ Here, my lady. _Pop._ Put it in. There, there. Ay, that will do. Now where’s my cloak? [_Exit Maid._ _Enter Otho._ _OTHO._ So then you are going? _Pop._ Yes, I go alone, 1230 Since you will not come with me. _Oth._ You are always free To have your way; but when your wish is mine, It is twice yours. This time you know ’tis not: And were I used to set constraint upon you, Could it be said Otho e’er crossed his wife With a command, it should be now: I’d say This I forbid. _Pop._ And why? _Oth._ I entreat you, dearest. _Pop._ I am pledged to go. _Oth._ Go not. _Pop._ There’s now no choice. _Oth._ A light excuse would serve: a sudden sickness, A cold, a headache. Do not go. _Pop._ Why, look! 1240 If you are not jealous, Otho! jealous, jealous. You see not straight. _Oth._ I see you smile on Cæsar. _Pop._ And think you, then, I must have turned my love Where I have smiled? that I would play you false For the pleasure of it? _Oth._ Why then sup with Cæsar? _Pop._ A trifle hangs upon him I would wear,— The world. _Oth._ So dazzled by the imperial splendour! Think: to be Cæsar’s mistress for a year Is not to rule the world. _Pop._ I will be Cæsar’s wife. _Oth._ Ah! look you then so high? 1250 _Pop._ Who shall be called my rival? _Oth._ Cæsar’s wife. _Pop._ She hinders not. _Oth._ Oh, thou would’st never dare it, Did’st thou not love him. _Pop._ What should I not dare? _Oth._ Hast thou considered well the ambiguous style Thou goest to take, and yet determined? _Pop._ Ay. _Oth._ ’Tis death, ’tis death. I speak now but for thee: Not for myself. The cup Octavia drinks To quit thy place thou too wilt come to taste. _Pop._ That is my risk. The sport were tame without it: The game can boast a sting. 1260 _Oth._ Weigh well the danger: Think of it thus; to live on a caprice Whose jealousy is death; where for the reason One seems to love thee will be ten to hate thee; Where not to be beforehand with a treachery Is to be victim. _Pop._ I can steer my way. _Oth._ And for this desperate venture wilt cast off My love, our love? _Pop._ What is love? _Oth._ Art thou Poppæa? Wer’t any else but thou that questioned thus, My answer then were ready: I should say Ask of Poppæa, ’tis the thing she knows; 1270 Ask Otho’s wife what love is, she can tell. And thou to ask! as if ’twere some strange matter Wide of experience, and to ask of me Who won thee for my teacher! _Pop._ ’Tis true the impeachment I make of love is that he hath exhausted His treasure rather than denied us aught. _Oth._ Exhausted love! how mean you? _Pop._ See! I am made Of other stuff and passions besides love. You cannot wish that all my life should move Pent in this narrow circle, day by day 1280 Keeping the pretty game up which I learned When I was green: that I should ne’er do else Than this one thing, and that so constantly That even the habit and the practice of it Are scarce employment; that I should grow grey, And see the wide and seasonable field Of life’s exertion and excitement fallow With this one weed of love? _Oth._ A weed, you say! _Pop._ I have other motions in me. I’ve an itch Men call ambition, and I see a prize 1290 Looks worth the having. _Oth._ ’Tis not worth the having. _Pop._ Why, what were I to thee, could’st thou be Cæsar? _Oth._ Even all thou art; I have no itch to rule Merely to see that game played out, and cry At the end—what is ambition? _Pop._ It hath no end. _Oth._ ’Tis plain love hath an end. _Pop._ Nay, as I love thee, I still shall love thee. Only, Otho.... _Oth._ What? _Pop._ I thought your eye was open to perceive The grandeur of my scheme. _Oth._ Thou wert mistaken. _Pop._ Upon what falls to-night, let us decide. 1300 I have no secrets from you: if I prosper, Desert me if you will, but blame me not: For dared I combat Cæsar’s inclination There were as much to lose. The thing I do Will be your safety. _Oth._ Rather would I die, Ay, rather far that thou should’st die than do This baseness willingly. _Pop._ Nay, speak not so. I shall do nothing base. _Oth._ Thou must succeed. Only before thou goest I’ll kiss thee once. [_Kisses Pop._ Otho’s last kiss. Farewell. 1310 _Pop._ Good night. I go. Lesbia, my cloak! I shall have news ere morn. [_Exit._ _Oth._ Gone! With a grace As firm, as pleasant, gay and self-possessed As that with which she hath come a thousand times To meet me, kiss me, and call me hers, she goes To change her husband .. gone! and not a sign To show that leaving me was losing aught! Fool that I was! To the soul I knew her vain, Self-seeking, light, petulant at the breath Of contradiction, and yet I trusted. What, 1320 Asks she, is love. Ay, what? I love my dog; He is devoted beyond reason, pitiful In his dependence; he will scarce reproach me With some short wondering sorrow, if I strike him— I love my horse; he bears me willingly, Answering spiritedly; with all his strength Generous and gentle. But woman, if man love her,— Seeing she is less devoted than the hound, Less noble than the horse,—’tis that we deem, That being human she can gauge the worth 1330 Of our intensity, and in kind somewhat Repay it: ’tis a delusion; spite of shew, She hath not in her heart that which her eyes Fondly declare. There is no passion possible Which beauty can interpret or soft speech Express, which was not mine; ay, by that title O’er and o’er; yet I think no dog in Rome Would leave the meanest slave that fed him once, As hath this woman left the man that loved her. [_Knocking._ _Enter Lucan and Petronius._ _LUCAN._ Ha! here he is. We have come to fetch you, Otho. _Oth._ I do not go to-night. 1341 _PETRONIUS._ Not go! What is’t, man?—ill? _Oth._ My wife has gone, therefore I do not go:— You see the matter, maybe have foreseen it; I was too blind. Spare me your condolence; I do not wish even sympathy. You know I loved her, but ’tis over. Let me give you Such knowledge as I wish my friends to have, Else might they mistake somewhat. See! she is gone To-night against my wish: ’tis nothing more: 1350 But this will lead to much. I let my house; Sell you my wine, Petronius, if you wish it, And take—I shall not want for interest— The Lusitanian proconsulate. _Luc._ You go from Rome? _Oth._ I do. _Petr._ Break not with Cæsar. _Oth._ I’ll take employment. _Petr._ Jove! I think you’re wise, Otho; you’re wise. I’ve half a mind myself To give my friends the slip. But as it is, Well .. come, I’ll take the wine; what is your price? _Oth._ The price I gave. 1360 _Petr._ A bargain. I shall send for it. _Luc._ (_to Otho_). Otho, I will not go. Although thy wrong Cannot be stayed, yet would I rather die Than sit and smile on it. _Oth._ I thank thee, Lucan. I’d ask thee rather look upon the matter As on a thing of course: I think it is. Go, take no note of it. _Luc._ If ’tis thy wish. _Oth._ It is. Good night. _Luc. and Petr._ Good night. [_Exeunt._ SCENE · 4 _A room in the Palace. Enter AGRIPPINA._ _AGRIPPINA._ Thus must it be then. I must be cast out, Turned from the palace, lodged in a private house, Retired, reduced, forgotten, like any relic 1370 Of barbarous royalty, caged out of reach Of good or ill; my state just so much show As has no meaning. Now may some god of mischief Dare set me in the roll of puny spirits. Ah!—Hath this my seal, seemeth it? O may my foes Be fooled so far to think that guile will stay First in catastrophe. Nay, if I crouch, ’Tis but to plant a foot whence I may bound With braver spring.—I am clear; the right’s my hope. Right against blood hath still been honourable. 1380 Men love the name of Brutus. The first Brutus Slew his own son; the last his Cæsar. Ha! ’Tis madness; nay, that’s not my thought, not that. ’Twould fright the world that there should be a woman Who could slay Cæsar and son in one. Nay, nay, That lies beyond all fate. Yet, short of that,— O blood, thou sacrament and bond of nature, Look to the strain: summon thy best allies, Thy yearnings and thy shudderings, thy terrors And dreams of dread; marshal the myriad fingers Of scorn and hate: else, O thy rottenness 1391 Will out. Indeed I think thou’rt a weak thing, Bred of opinion; when I would have trusted thee, Hath not that other rivet of thy chain Snapped at the mutual end? Thy boasted anchor Drags on the bottom, and my ship drifts on To the rocks, to the rocks: missing that hold, the sense Is dizzy with madness; ay, and whither I go Is hidden; nor aught I know, save that the future, Whate’er it be, I shall do much to make. 1400 _Enter Britannicus._ Ah! ah! ’tis thee. Speak softly, for these walls have ears. _BRITANNICUS._ Thou thinkest That Cæsar watches me. _Agr._ To-day thy spies Are mine, but must not hear. _Br._ Hast thou seen Burrus? _Agr._ He is thine enemy: no hope from him. _Br._ I would not have this spoken of as my hope. _Agr._ True, boy. I mentioned not thy name, and Nero, Being now persuaded thou art innocent, Forgives thee. Let the risk I ran for thee Be earnest of more good. 1410 _Br._ I thank thee for it. _Agr._ ’Tis nothing, this. Thou yet shalt reign. _Br._ I pray thee Draw me not into thy deep-plotted schemes That rush on guilt. If I have hope or wish, ’Tis but to live till the divorce be writ ’Twixt Cæsar and my sister: that is not long To wait; and then her exile, which must follow, If I may share, I think some days of peace May be in store for both. That is my hope, Not Rome, nor empire, but some tranquil spot Where innocence may dwell, and be allowed 1420 To be its own protection. _Agr._ Are you that fool? _Br._ I would none doubted it. _Agr._ Can it be possible That thou, who in thy veins hast the best blood Of Rome, should’st own so beggarly a spirit, And being the heir of all the world should’st wish Only to hide thy claim, so thou may’st live The life which broken-hearted slaves, and men Diseased and aged scarce prize? _Br._ I hear, I hear, And am not shamed. _Agr._ Nay, then I have more to say. _Br._ I too might say somewhat. Is it not strange, Thou being a lady, should’st possess a heart 1431 So fond of wrong, and blood, and wrathful deeds? _Agr._ Ah, ah! Thou thinkest that thou know’st me rightly, And yet would’st dare to taunt me, and to thwart My stablished purpose? Child, I say, remember The deeds thou castest in my teeth, and think Whether it were not much better now at last To side with me, and take the help I proffer. I have sworn to set thee on the throne; think twice Ere thou oppose my will. _Br._ Did’st thou not say 1440 Thou had’st persuaded Nero of my innocence? _Agr._ Say I was wrong. _Br._ Nay, thou wert right in that, Wrong now returning on disclaimed ambition. _Agr._ Art thou content to see thyself deposed, Thy sister thus dishonoured.... _Br._ Say no more. _Agr._ Consider! _Br._ Nay, I’ll not consider. _Agr._ Now This once again I bid thee, child, consider. Doubt not my power. _Br._ No more. I will not join thee. _Agr._ Then hear me, child. Whether thou join or not, Whether thou wilt be Cæsar, or refusest, 1450 Thou shalt be Cæsar. If thou wilt not plot, It shall be plotted for thee: in my hands I hold thy life, and guard it but for this, To make thee Cæsar. Ay, and if thou shrinkest When the day comes, I’ll have a doll made like thee; My men shall carry it about, and style it Britannicus, and shout to it as to Cæsar. I say thou shalt be Cæsar, think it o’er. Dare not refuse me: ’tis not yet too late; To-morrow I will speak with thee again. 1460 Now to thy better thought. [_Exit._ _Br._ O murderess! And for this last turn must I thank my folly, That partly trusted her. Now would to heaven, If live I must, that I might change my lot With any man soe’er, though he be chosen And picked for misery. Surely there’s none In all the empire can show cause to stand And weigh his woe with mine. Find me the man, If such there be, that hath an only sister ’Spoused to a murderer and adulterer, 1470 Who hates her virtue, since it shames pretext To cast her off: or, if such man be found, Hath he for mother one that slew his father, And threats him with like death? or if all this Be matched in one, hath he no remedy? Is his speech treason? Is his silence treason? Is he quite friendless, helpless? Forbidden to budge a foot from the dread focus Of crime and anguish? ’Mongst his lesser wrongs Hath he this brag, that he hath been robbed, as I, Of the empire of the world? O happy hinds, 1481 Who toil under clear skies, and for complaint Discuss long hours, low wages, meagre food, Hard beds and scanty covering: ye who trail A pike in German swamps, or shield your heads On Asian sands, I’d welcome all your griefs So I might taste the common nameless joys Which ye light-heartedly so lightly prize, And know not what a text for happiness Lies in a thoughtless laugh: what long, impassable, Unmeasured gulfs of joy sunder it off 1491 From my heart-stifling woe. _Enter Octavia._ Thou art welcome, sister. _OCTAVIA._ Brother, a request you must grant. _Br._ Anything, Dearest, to thee. _Oct._ Sup not to-night with Cæsar. _Br._ I must. Yet what’s thy reason? Thou art moved Strangely beyond the matter. _Oct._ Read this paper. _Br._ (_reads_). _Britannicus, sup not to-day with Cæsar._ How came you by it? _Oct._ ’Tis from Fulvia, The maid that loves Seleucus; whence ’tis his. _Br._ Most like; I know the turbaned mountebank Keeps an old kindness for me. Yet nay, nay— 1500 If this should now be found—nay, he’s too shrewd To put himself in writing. _Oct._ He might dare With Fulvia. _Br._ Nay. I cannot think ’tis his. And were it, what’s his credit? I do not trust These fellows far. They trade in mystery, And love to thicken water,—and if there be A plot to poison me, to-day’s occasion Offers no easier vantage than to-morrow’s. My safety lies elsewhere. _Oct._ O do not go. _Br._ Fear not, Octavia, I am very careful, 1510 And eat but sparingly of any dish, Nor aught but what goes round. To stay away Might show suspicion, and could serve no end. _Oct._ Brother, be warned, go not to-night; to-morrow We may learn more. I beg... _Br._ Nay, urge me not, Since with this warning I am doubly safe. _Oct._ Oh, I dread Nero’s anger; ’tis most certain That ill will come of it. _Br._ Nay, fear him not. Let us go sup. I will use all precaution, 1519 Thou may’st be sure, since for thy sake I do it: And while thou livest I shall have both reason And wish to live. Have care, too, for thyself; I think thy peril is no less than mine. [_Exeunt._ SCENE · 5 _Supper-room in the Palace. All are reclined at two tables, thus_: _Agrippina_, _Nero_, _Poppæa_.| _A gentm._, _Octavia_, _A lady_. _Tigellinus_, _A gentm._ | _Britannicus_, _Paris_. _A lady_, _Domitia._ | _Petronius_, _Lucan._ | _Waiters, tasters, etc. Some are talking._ _NERO._ I will propose a question to the table: Which of the arts is greatest? Lucan, these sausages Are something new: try them. _POPPÆA._ You question, Cæsar, Which of the arts is greatest? I would answer The one which Cæsar honours. _TIGELLINUS._ But if Cæsar Should honour more than one? _PETRONIUS._ The sausages 1529 Are good enough. As for the arts, here’s Lucan Can speak for poetry. _Ner._ If any man Could prove one art beyond contention first, I would reward him excellently. With me To know the best and follow it are one: Success being easy in all, my difficulty Lies in distraction: show me then the best, I’ll perfect that. _Pop._ What! Cæsar give up singing? _Ner._ For better things. _Tig._ Which be the arts? _Petr._ (_to servants_). Here, vermin, This wine’s half-way to vinegar. _Ner._ Who will name The arts? There’s sculpture, painting, poetry, 1540 Singing.. _PARIS._ And acting. _Ner._ Well, what more? _Tig._ Horse-racing. _Pop._ (_across_). Ruling I think’s an art. _AGRIPPINA_ (_across_). And making love. _Ner._ ’Tis of the fine arts we would speak. (_To servants_) Ho! fellows, Pour out the wine! Ah, here’s a lovely mullet. Has this been tasted? _TASTER._ Ay, Cæsar. ’Tis stuffed with truffles. _Ner_. A mullet stuffed with truffles. Now, Poppæa, Will not this please? _Pop._ I thank you.—(_aside_) Prithee, bid Lucan to speak for poetry. _BRITANNICUS_ (_to servant_). Nay, the mullet. _Ner._ Lucan, what say you for your art? _LUCAN._ I claim The first place for it, and I say ’tis proved 1550 Nobler than any plastic art in this; It needs not tools nor gross material, And hath twin doors to the mind, both eye and ear. Nay, even of drama Aristotle held, Though a good play must act well, that ’tis perfect Without the stage: which shows that poetry Stains not her excellence by being kind To those encumbrances, which, in my judgment, Are pushed to fetter fancy.—Then hath our art Such strong and universal mastery 1560 O’er heart and mind, that here ’tis only music Competes, and she is second far in scope, Directness, and distinction. _Ner._ You think that? _Luc._ Ay, Cæsar. _Ner._ Do you! you who have ever been More gracious to my voice than to my pen! Am I a better singer then than poet, Think you? _Luc._ Nay, Cæsar; but.... _Ner._ Ha! then you are envious. You would not have me write because, forsooth, You write yourself. Now, by the god, I swear Thou shalt not publish nor recite a verse 1570 Within my empire till I give thee leave. One man to keep the muses to himself! Monstrous! _Pop._ And serve him right. _Luc._ (_aside_). Monstrous indeed! _Ner._ (_to servants_). Heat me some wine. Come, lords, ye drink not. Eh! what have we here? _Servant._ Cherubim, Cæsar. _Ner._ What is Cherubim? _Petr._ The gods of the Jews. _Ner._ Hoo! let us eat their gods. They are much like pheasants. _Servt._ ’Tis a pheasant, Cæsar, And stuffed with woodcock. _Petr._ Cæsar, there’s one art Has not been mentioned; though I think at table It should not be passed o’er. 1581 _Ner._ What art is that? _Petr._ I shall contend it is the first of all. _Ner._ Name it. _Petr._ It hath no name. It scarce exists. I think the goddess never walked the earth. _Par._ Ranks she with poetry? _Petr._ I avouch above. _Par._ Cæsar, if this be proved, thou must rescind Thy poet’s sentence. _Ner._ Let him prove it first. _Petr._ I see in other arts some wit or fancy Extrinsical to nature. I can find No ground of need in any, save maybe 1590 In architecture,—which ranks not so well As to be mentioned by you.—Now, if I Show you an art whose matter every day Is life’s necessity, which gives more scope To skill than any other, which delights Among the senses one which the other arts Wholly neglect, would you not say this art Hath the first claim? See, I could live without The joys of harmony, colour, or form, But without this it were impossible 1600 To outlast the week. _Par._ Oh! Cookery. _Several._ Cookery, cookery! _Petr._ There’s the mistake I gird at. None of you But thinks this art I speak of, which includes Pleasures of entertainment, ease and elegance, The mind’s best recreation, the satisfaction Of the body’s nearest needs, the preservation Of health, and with all this, the gratifying Of that one sense, which above all the senses Is subtle, difficult, discerning, ticklish, And most importunate,—that this great art 1610 Is a cook’s province. _Ner._ True, Petronius, true; There’s room for bettering these things. _Petr._ Why, wine— Just think of wine. A hundred vintages Lie in my cellar; by my taste I tell Each one; are eye or ear so delicate? _Par._ Here’s half a case already. _Petr._ Then again, Look on this side. You bid your friends to supper: That is a promise; and hath all your life An hour more suitable for skilful kindness? 1619 They come perturbed, fatigued, hungry and thirsty; Nature exhausts them for you, drains them empty To take all kinds of pleasure; their grated nerves Ask music, their wearied limbs soft cushioned couches, Their harassed mind wise cheerful conversation, Their body’s appetites fawn at the word Of food and wine: and yet we see these things, Which should be studied, ordered, suited, measured, All jumbled in confusion, till a feast, Instead of relaxation and renewal, Becomes, I say, for body and for mind 1630 The worst discomfort and the stiffest trial That life can show. _Par._ Bravo! bravo! _Ner._ For one, I am converted. Thou shalt be henceforth Arbiter of my table. _Br._ (_to servt._) ’Tis boiling hot; Taste it. _Ner._ (_to Petron._) Accept you the office? _Petr._ This would make me A Cæsar above Cæsar. _Ner._ In the province Of imperial æsthetics. _Servt. to Brit._ Pardon, your highness, I will add water to it: ’tis yet unmixed. [_They pour in the poison._ _Petr._ ’Twill be a tyranny. For look, I hold Man’s stomach is not to be trifled with. 1640 Not only should your table give delight Even to the ravishment of every palate, But since the end and final cause of food Is not to breed diseases in the flesh, Nor heat the spirits more than they can bear, But rather to build up and comfort health, I’d order first that there be served at table Nothing but what is wholesome. _Br._ (_after drinking nubile Petr. speaks_). Ah! [_Falls back._ _Oct._ The wine, the wine! _Br._ Ah! [_Dies._ _Oct._ He is dead. O dead! O dead! 1650 _Lucan, Petronius and Paris go to Britannicus. Domitia follows.—All rising._ _Agr._ What is this? _Ner._ He hath a fit. _Petr._ He doth not breathe. _Oct._ (_has come round to front_). Alas, alas! my brother; he is dead. _Ner._ Nay, sit you down; look not aghast, I say. He hath the falling sickness, and will oft Faint on a sudden, as ye see. He lies An hour as dead, and then awakes again With nought amiss. Best take him out in quiet. (_To servants._) Carry him from the room. _Luc._ Lift you his feet, Petronius. We two will take him. _Ner._ Let him be, I say. 1660 His servants will attend him. Return to table: We cannot spare you. _Par._ (_to Oct._) Honoured lady, be hopeful: For hath your noble brother e’er been taken Like this, he may recover. _Oct._ (_to Par._) Never— Never! O never! he is dead! I knew it! [_Going._ _Ner._ (_to Oct._) Heh, sit you down. What could you do, I pray? He will come round. _Oct._ Oh! I will follow him. [_Exit with servants who are carrying Brit._ _Petr._ (_to Par._) How happened it? _Par._ (_to Petr._) He drank a draught of wine Fresh mixed, and then fell back just as you saw. What think you? _Petr._ (_to Par._) Think you ’twas aught? 1670 _Par._ (_to Luc._) What think you? _Luc._ Impossible. _Dom._ (_aside_). He is poisoned. Yet my sister Was nothing privy to it. She is pale. _Ner._ Come, sit you down, aunt: come, Petronius, Lucan, be seated. Let not the horrid sight Unwhet your appetites. _Petr._ (_to Luc._) That was no fit. [_To Par._ He is dead. What if ’twere poison? Where’s the drink? _Par._ ’Twas hurried out. _Luc._ O God! _Ner._ (_to servts._) Serve out the wine. We all must need a bumper; ’tis most natural. I have known the mere revulsion to provoke In a strong man a seizure similar 1680 To that which frighted him. _Par._ (_aside_). ’Twould not amaze me, Had he such drink to cheer him. [_All refuse drink._ _Pop._ (_to Nero_). I will not drink. _Ner._ From my cup. _Pop._ Well, from thine. [_Drinks._ _Luc._ (_aside_). He is self-betrayed. _Ner._ Where were we? _Petr._ At the point where Cæsar made me Arbiter of his table. I shall ask To inaugurate my office. _Ner._ Do so, Petronius. _Petr._ Then know you are all dismissed. Let all go home, And for the prince’s safety offer up [_All rise._ What vows ye may unto the gods. Myself, I set the example, and go first. Come, Lucan. [_Going._ _Ner._ Eh! eh! yet thus ’tis best. Good night, Petronius, 1691 Thou hast spoken well; may the gods hear thy prayers. I wish you all good night. _In disorder of going curtain falls._ ACT · IV SCENE · 1 _The same. A public place. THRASEA and PRISCUS meeting._ _PRISCUS._ I was coming to your house. _THRASEA._ ’Tis well we meet. How went it in the senate? _Pr._ As you said. A message read from Nero. _Thr._ Seneca? _Pr._ No doubt. _Thr._ And in what terms touched he the murder? _Pr._ With double tongue, as being an ill which none, And Cæsar least, could have desired; and yet A good none should lament. _Thr._ He is very prompt. 1700 What glozing for the hasty burial? _Pr._ The speech was thus; that ’twas the better custom Of simple times to shun all vain parade: That private grief was mocked by frigid pomp, And public business and quiet thereby Idly disturbed;—_Then for myself_, it ran, _To have lost the aid and comfort of a brother Demands your sympathy. Of your goodwill I make no doubt; the more that my misfortune Throws me upon it, seeing that all my hopes 1710 Now anchor wholly on the commonwealth. Wherefore to you, my lords, and to the people, I look so much the more for maintenance And favour, since I now am left alone Of all my family, to bear the cares Your empire throws upon me._ _Thr._ This was well. _Pr._ Then were there gifts decreed to all his friends. _Thr._ Hush-money. Did none murmur? _Pr._ There were none So much as frowned. _Thr._ See, Lucan! let us speak with him. _Enter Lucan._ If now he be not shaken, I mistake 1720 His temper. _LUCAN._ Good day, Thrasea. _Thr._ A dull morning. _Luc._ Comest thou from the house? _Thr._ Nay, more’s the pity. There was a distribution, as I hear, To friends of order. Say, how didst thou fare? _Luc._ In many things, Thrasea, I hold not with thee, Nor will pretend that I can see in virtue A self-sufficiency invulnerable Against the crime of others. I believe The world is wronged, and burn to avenge the wrong. But, as an honest man, I take thy hand. 1730 _Thr._ I looked for this, Lucan, and take thy hand. Frivolity and crime are most unworthy Of thy companionship. _Luc._ My uncle’s hope Tainted my judgment. I have been blind, and wronged thee. _Thr._ Where I am misconceived I blame myself. _Luc._ Hear me abjure. _Thr._ Spare words. There’s no more fear Thou wilt be duped. Cæsar, in slaying his brother, Has doffed the mask. _Luc._ The heart of Rome must swell To put the monster down. _Thr._ We have our part: But in the sorry tragedy he makes 1740 We can be but spectators. On his stage There’s nought but folly. Come thou home with me: I’ll show thee how we may regard this play, Take note of all the actors, and watch the end. [_Exeunt._ SCENE · 2 _The room in Domitia’s house, Enter DOMITIA and PARIS._ _DOMITIA._ ’Twas a most shameful deed; we take upon us A just revenge. _PARIS._ But ’tis the general thought That Nero killed his brother; that his mother Had no hand in it, rather would have saved him. _Dom._ ’Twas her intrigues determined him, and they Who egg on others are the real movers. 1750 Now will he hate her more a thousand-fold For driving him to crime. She will not ’scape: Our plot will stand. _Par._ Is it thy scheme to push Silana’s accusation? _Dom._ Ay, ’tis that. We shall accuse the Augusta of intent To marry Plautus, to assert his claim, And thus assail the throne. _Par._ How wilt thou broach it? _Dom._ We have fixed to-night. Cæsar will dine at home, And with convenient company. ’Tis agreed When he’s well drunk, you enter, announce the plot As freshly hatched, and so unmask the affair 1761 That he shall be persuaded. _Par._ How glibly, madam, Speech can glide o’er the hitch; I must feel flattered That just in the awkward place I am shovelled in To carry it through, who have no heart in the matter. _Dom._ No heart! had you no ear then to my promise? _Par._ ’Tis little for the risk. But what of Burrus? _Dom._ Seeing that without his name the plot were weak, And that to avouch his treason would discredit it, We say he is suspected. _Par._ ’Twill not stand. 1770 We lack confederates. _Dom._ You forget Poppæa. I have sent for her to try her. If I mistake not, ’Tis she that knocks. Get you behind the door, And watch what passes. There! [_Paris hides._ _Enter Poppæa._ Now this is kind. _POPPÆA._ I am bounden, lady, to wait on Cæsar’s aunt. _Dom._ I count the days, Poppæa, when you yourself Will call me aunt: and in that happy hope I’ll stand thy friend. _Pop._ I shall have full need, madam, Of all good offices. _Dom._ Maybe: my sister Is an unscrupulous enemy. Beware! 1780 She stole from me a husband, and will now Keep you from winning one. _Pop._ She doth not hide Her disapproval of my love to Cæsar, And thus appears my foe; but in truth, madam, Half of my heart sides with her, and the fear Lest the full passion which I bear your nephew May shame his rank, conquers my love so far That oft I doubt if I have a heart to bear The honour I have dreamed of, or a love Worthy of him, since it so much can fear. 1790 _Dom._ Tut, tut! if you’re the woman that I think You’re just what I would wish his wife to be. Wronged in his marriage, he since hath wronged himself: Octavia is a ninny, but his low And last intrigues have scandalized the court: Our family is hurt. You are his equal In wit and manners, and can hold your place; Nor in opposing you is it his good His mother weighs: rather it suits her schemes To have his wife a fool. ’Tis not unknown 1800 What lately she had dared to keep her place, But that Britannicus’ so sudden death Blasted her plots: now in her constant project Your marriage threatens her. _Pop._ The more I see It blackens more. May I dare ask you, madam, To tell your sister that I willingly Retire, if she prevail upon her son Quite to forget his love and put me by? _Dom._ Which side to take? that must you first determine; ’Tis Cæsar or his mother. I supposed 1810 ’Twas him you loved, not her. Now should I tell you That she is deeply pledged to take his life, And seize the empire... _Pop._ Oh! what wicked crimes! Impossible! _Dom._ But if I prove it to you? _Pop._ I could not hear it. _Dom._ Nay, but if ’tis true, Side you with us who hinder it, or her Who pushes it? _Pop._ O madam, ’tis incredible. _Dom._ Ay, and to-night, as Nero sits at supper, When Paris brings the news he’ll not believe it. But then a word from you might turn the scale, 1820 And rouse his better judgment. _Pop._ The very thought That her destruction were my safety, madam, Would hold my tongue. Indeed you have wronged me much, Telling me this. _Dom._ Why, such things you will hear. _Pop._ Nay, let me go. _Dom._ Ay, go, but think upon it. _Pop._ Farewell. [_Exit._ _Dom._ (_sola_). Was I mistaken? _Par._ (_re-entering_). My mind is changed. _Dom._ How now! what say you? _Par._ Madam, the plot will stand. _Dom._ Did you hear all? _Par._ And saw. _Dom._ All that compunction... _Par._ Ay, be sure of it. Why she and I could carry anything. 1830 She’s a born actress: we must keep good friends With her. _Dom._ Then this is well; go learn your part. [_Exeunt._ SCENE · 3 _At the tomb of Britannicus, Enter OCTAVIA and ATTENDANTS._ _OCTAVIA._ Hang there, sweet roses, while your blooms are wet, Hang there and weep unblamed; ay, weep one hour, While yet your tender, fleshly hues remember His fair young prime; then wither, droop, and die, And with your changèd tissues paint my grief. Nay, let those old wreaths lie, the shrivelled petals Speak feelingly of sorrow; strew them down About the steps: we mock death being trim. 1840 Now here another. Ah! see, set it you: I cannot reach. Have you not thought these roses Weave a fit emblem—how they wait for noon That comes to kill their promise, and the crown Is but a mock one? _ATTENDANT._ ’Tis a good custom, lady, To honour thus the tombs of those we love. _Oct._ Custom! Is this a custom? Then I think I wrong my sorrow in such common shows. _Att._ Nay, it doth ease affliction to be busy; And grief, that cannot reckon with a mystery, 1850 Is comforted by trifles. _Oct._ Why, thou’rt wrong; It brings no comfort. _Att._ And ’tis kindly done To hide the fresh-cut stone. Death is hard featured In a new-built tomb. _Oct._ O, hold thy peace! I see Thou canst not be my comforter. Alas, I blame thee not. But yet, whate’er be said, Think not our gracious deed finds its account In the honour done: the wreaths I bring were woven More for myself; the tears I shed, I shed The more abundantly that they are crimes 1860 In the sight of him that slew him. _Att._ Speak not so, Lady; thou’rt o’er-distraught. _Oct._ What would’st thou have me? Knowing my sorrow thou should’st rather wonder, And think it well that I speak sense at all. _Att._ Let not such passion kill thy courage, lady; The greatest die. There stands the tomb of Julius, Whose mighty march was no less foully stayed At noon of power: there is Augustus’ tomb, Wherein so many lie... _Oct._ Why, what are they To me? Is’t not my brother that is dead? 1870 Whose life was mine, as needful to my day As is the sun; as natural, old a want To very life as is the bathing air That my blood battens on. Take these away And give him back; it then were likelier I should not gasp, fret, pale, nor starve, nor pine. He is gone! O miserably, suddenly, For ever; alas! alas!—See, who comes hither? _Att._ ’Tis Agrippina, lady; and she carries Wreaths such as ours. 1880 _Oct._ Let us begone in haste. _Att._ Alas! she hath seen us, lady: ’tis too late. _Oct._ I’ll but salute her. I pray you all keep back, Nor speak with her attendants. _Enter Agrippina, Fulvia, and Attendants._ _AGRIPPINA._ My dearest daughter, I have longed for this embrace. Where else but here Beside this sacred tomb should we have met? I should have been much with thee in thy sorrow, But am forbidden the palace. _Oct._ I must thank thee Doing this grace to my unhappy brother. The gods grant thee kind messages. Farewell. _Agr._ Nay, go not thus. See how I hang these garlands. _Oct._ Not there, nay, not on mine; not there! thy grief 1891 Must own a lower place; mix not its show With mine. He was my brother. _Agr._ Thou art right. Set them here, Fulvia. If my heart is wronged, ’Tis done unwittingly; thou canst not know. _Oct._ I leave thee. _Agr._ Grant one word. _Oct._ Would’st thou be kind ’Twill be but one. _Agr._ ’Tis this then: I am kind. In sum ’twas this I came to say. _Oct._ If hither Thou didst but come to seek me, know I had chosen The hour to be alone. _Agr._ My dearest child, 1900 My injured child! See, I would have thee trust My friendship. ’Twas my constant, loving wish To right thy brother’s wrongs, and now my heart Is wholly turned on thee. _Oct._ Think not of me. Am I not past all help? nor do I crave The help that leads to death. _Agr._ O never dream That I had hand in that accursèd deed. The terror of it rather hath possessed My purpose with the justice of revenge. 1909 _Oct._ I cannot thank thee, and from thy messengers Have gathered all. There’s nought to say. Farewell. _Agr._ Thou dost not know Poppæa marries Cæsar. _Oct._ Ay. _Agr._ Thou consentest? _Oct._ Say, would my refusal Or my consent be counted? _Agr._ It shall not be. _Oct._ It matters not. _Agr._ Thou lookest for divorce? _Oct._ Can I remain his wife who killed my brother? _Agr._ Thou art the last branch of the house of Claudius, And if thou wilt forget the hurt now done thee, May’st yet retrieve thy blood; but being too proud, Wilt more dishonour what thou seemest to honour. If now thou’rt brave, and wilt join hands with me... _Oct._ O never, never! was it not that hand That.... O my brother, with thy trait’rous foe Make peace, and at thy tomb! Ask clemency Of him that murdered thee! O never.— Thou most dear shade, who wast too mild and kind, If death seal not thy spiritual sense To my loud sorrow, hear me! O thou my joy, By whom the bitterness of life, my lot Of horror, was quite sweetened,—cruelly, 1930 Most cruelly slain. Ay, I will all forget When he who wrought this thing can bring again Out of thy cold unmotionable ashes The well-compacted body and grace of life. Ay, if he make one smile of thine, although It last no time, I will forget: but else, I say, the thing he hath done, since so ’tis done That he cannot undo it, he must o’er-do Ere I forget. _Agr._ I will be yet thy friend— [_Exit Oct. with Attendants._ There comes no help from her. Maybe her grief Is yet too fresh. Come, Fulvia, let us go. 1941 She would not speak with me. Now on all hands Thou seest I am set aside, and count for nought. Yet not for this am I a whit discouraged; I shall rise yet. Am I not Agrippina? [_Exeunt._ SCENE · 4 _A room in the Palace. Enter through a door from the supper-room NERO and POPPÆA._ _NERO._ Now ere they follow, Poppæa, ease my heart, And tell me thy request. _POPPÆA._ Thou’lt grant it me? _Ner._ Whate’er it be, if thou wilt come to Baiæ. _Pop._ I’ll have it without bargain or not at all. _Ner._ I grant it: ask. 1950 _Pop._ ’Tis that you give my husband The post in Lusitania which he begs. _Ner._ ’Tis his. Would he were there. _Pop._ My thanks. _Ner._ I prithee Call him not husband. _Pop._ Ah, now I pierce this veil Of generosity: why, when he goes I must go with him. _Ner._ Eh! if that’s the case I grant not his commission. _Pop._ ’Tis a promise. _Ner._ I had a promise once. _Pop._ That was conditioned. _Ner._ And what condition have I not fulfilled? _Pop._ Heavens! is’t forgotten? _Ner._ Say, what have I lacked in? _Pop._ Or did I dream ’twas promised me? ’Twas this; 1960 Marriage. _Ner._ By Juno, I will marry thee. But come to Baiæ. _Pop._ Nay; thine oath is vain Upon the point of honour. There are things Idle and ceremonial, and that count In love as nought, but which alone can make Divorce from Otho honourable, nay, To me, I say, possible. Till the day Octavia is divorced I am Otho’s wife, Ay, and am well content to be: he loves me, And lacks in nothing that a gentlema. 1970 And lover should observe. I sometimes think That you mistake... _Ner._ Ah! _Pop._ But to mistake in that! Seem to forget! I fly. _Ner._ O most impatient! I have yet no pretext. _Pop._ Nay, nor ever will. Besides, your mother rules: she would not suffer it. I have no desire to taste her dishes. _Ner._ Hush! They come. _Enter through the door Petronius, Tigellinus and Anicetus._ Where be the others? _TIGELLINUS._ They have taken Cæsar’s gracious permission, and gone home. ’Tis late. _Ner._ Why, who art thou to say ’tis late? Be seated, be seated. I’ll tell thee, Anicetus, 1980 More of my scheme anon; but for the present We keep Minerva’s feast at Baiæ; thither Must thou convey the court. Combine high pomp With masterly dispatch; our games shall reach The limit of invention, and ourselves Take part. To thee I say, come not behind. _ANICETUS._ Grant me the means to be great Cæsar’s herald, I’ll make a wonder that shall fetch the nymphs From their blue depths in ravishment to see His ships upon the waters. 1990 _Ner._ I shall be liberal, And give thee full instruction. (_To Pop._) Think, my love, What could be pleasanter, now spring is come, Than to confide our vexed and careful spirits To nature’s flush; to leave our memories With the din and smoke of Rome, and force a pageant Upon the lazy mirror of the bay,— One to make Venus jealous, and confound The richness of the season. Thou dost not guess What I can do. Say, would’st thou miss the seeing Of my magnificence? 2000 _Enter Paris._ _Pop._ See, here is Paris. _Ner._ He comes to make us merry. The gods defend us! He has seen a ghost. _Pop._ He has something to deliver. _Ner._ Patience! I know his mood: he will be tragic; And you shall see the severe and tearful muse Outstride her dignity, and fall along. (_To Paris_) Begin! _PARIS._ Most mighty and most honoured Cæsar, I cannot speak for shame. _Petr._ Why, man, thou’st spoken. _Ner._ He opens well. _Petr._ Like the nurse in Seneca’s tragedy. _Par._ The tale I bring, my lords, is little suited To make your sport. _Petr._ No? _Ner._ This is excellent. 2011 _Pop._ I think he is in earnest. _Ner._ ’Tis his art. _Par._ I am a messenger now, and no actor, Sent by your royal aunt Domitia To unmask a thing, which, though the gods be praised That in discovery have wrought prevention, Is yet a damnèd plot.... _Ner._ (_rising_). A plot, a plot! [_All rise._ Stand off; stand off! a plot, thou say’st? a plot? _Pop._ (_aside to Nero_). Pray heaven this prove not now some fresh contrivance Of the empress. 2020 _Ner._ Stand all aside. Art thou in earnest? _Par._ Pardon me, Cæsar. Did this plot concern Less than thy life... _Ner._ My life! by all the gods, Speak but his name who dares. _Par._ Will Cæsar’s ear Grant me indulgence? _Ner._ Speak, fool, or thou diest. _Par._ The matter is disclosed by certain freedmen Engaged by the empress. _Ner._ Ah! _Pop._ (_to Nero_). Said I not so? _Ner._ Be this proved, ’tis the last. _Pop._ (_to Nero_). Ay, till the next. _Ner._ Paris, as thou would’st live another moment, Speak now but truth. _Par._ (_shows a paper_). See here the evidence. If Cæsar read this, ’twill give certain colour 2030 To worst suspicion. Here are writ the names. _Ner._ Read me the names. _Par._ Rubellius Plautus. _Ner._ Ha! Enough. I know ’tis true the villain’s blood Hath from Augustus equal claim with mine. Who else? _Par._ Balbillus and Arruntius Stella, With Fænius Rufus, and your royal mother, And some who ’scape the crime disclosing it. _Ner._ I’ll have their lives to-night. _Tig._ I pray now, Cæsar, Grant me this order. _Anic._ Or me. _Ner._ Nay, who are ye? Go, Tigellinus, fetch me Burrus hither. 2040 _Par._ I have his name set down with the conspiracy. _Ner._ Burrus? _Par._ ’Tis question of him, nothing certain. _Ner._ Escort him here unarmed; I’ll speak with him. _Tig._ Cæsar, I go. [_Exit._ _Ner._ Give me thy paper, sirrah. What have we here? [_Reads._ _Petr._ (_to Servt._) Call me my servant there. _Anic._ Wilt thou go? _Petr._ Ay, ’tis sadly out of place, This business at this time. Look, Anicetus, Thou’rt new to Cæsar’s suppers; let me tell thee There’s ever something wrong. See how he takes it! Mad, mad! 2050 _Ner._ (_aside_). I see. Plautus. This hits my life: Britannicus being dead, that hope cut off, She looks to Plautus’ claim: and I to be Poisoned or what appears not: yet I doubt not Poisoned. ’Tis found in time. Now ’tis plain war; The strongest wins. Poison! ’Tis life for life. Nay, maybe already I have swallowed down Some death-steeped morsel; ay, this very night Have tasted of it, and the subtle drug Runs in my veins concocting: my spirit sickens, I faint and tremble. What is it? _Anic._ (_advancing_). Cæsar, a word. 2060 _Ner._ What would’st thou say? _Anic._ (_to Ner._) ’Tis I can do this thing. None that be here lack will: I have the means. ’Twere easy, would you give me the command. _Ner._ What would be easy? _Anic._ Why, this thing that hangs, Which you for Rome so wisely, and for you Rome and your friends have wished. If but your foe Step on a ship of mine, I’ll beg my death If it touch land again. We go to Baiæ, And there upon the hazard of the sea May this disorder sleep. _Enter Burrus with Tigellinus._ _Ner._ (_to Anic._) I thank thy zeal; 2070 There is no need; give way.—Burrus, thou’rt called Upon a stern occasion. Is’t not death To any man or woman whosoe’er That plots to murder Cæsar? _BURRUS._ Death deserved. _Ner._ Here be the names of some who thus offend. Thine is amongst them: of thine honesty I am too well persuaded to demand More proof than this, that thou do execute All these conspirators to-night. _Bur._ —Cæsar Is not mistaken in me. Let me see 2080 The names. [_Takes paper and reads._ _Par._ (_aside_). Now may Jove blast the general’s wits, Else we be lost. _Petr._ (_to Anic._) Take my advice. (_going_). _Anic._ (_to Petr._) Nay, nay, I’ll see it out. [_Exit Petronius._ _Bur._ (_aside_). What’s this? Why, ’tis mere nonsense.— What evidence hath Cæsar of this plot? _Ner._ Confession of the traitors. Paris brings it Fresh from Domitia. _Bur._ Now, with your permission, I’ll question Paris. _Ner._ Question! why, is’t not plain? Question is treasonous; and thou to question, Whose name the black suspicion pricks! wilt thou Question?—who hast the deepest cause of all 2090 For sure conviction? Is’t not horrible That I, to whose security the empire Looks for stability, should most of all Live an uneasy and precarious life, And find no remedy because my ministers, Who should be over-zealous to protect me Even from imagined danger, shut their eyes And ears to plots and perils which I hear My slaves and women prate of? _Bur._ Cæsar, the matter Demands inquiry. That you have been much wronged Is clear: by whom is doubtful. Let me pray 2101 You save your judgment from reproach of haste, And hear what I advise. _Ner._ Speak; I will hear. Speak. _Bur._ First dismiss the company: ’tis ill To have had this audience. _Ner._ Friends, you are all dismissed. Begone without a word: this business presses. _Pop._ (_to Nero_). Have some one with you, Nero; are you advised? Keep a guard while you can. _Ner._ (_to Pop._) Nay, have no fear. _Pop._ I would not trust him. Did not Paris say His name was with the rest? _Ner._ (_to Pop._) Be not afraid.— 2110 Good night, my lords. (_To Bur._) Shall Paris stay? _Bur._ No, none. _Ner._ Paris, await without; the rest go home. [_Anic. Tig. and Par. go out: Poppæa tarries._ _Pop._ (_to Nero_). Oh, do not trust this man! _Ner._ (_to Pop._) He’s not my enemy. _Pop._ I fear to leave thee with him. _Ner._ Have no fear. _Pop._ Could he not kill thee? _Ner._ Nay, nay. _Pop._ Oh, he will. Alas! alas! Oh! oh! [_Faints._ _Ner._ Why, thou must go. [_Exit Nero carrying out Poppæa._ _Bur._ (_solus_). Be hanged! the fool’s gone too. _Re-enter Nero._ _Ner._ Now, Burrus, now. Art thou my friend? _Bur._ —We are alone, and while There’s none to hear, you must excuse a soldier If he speak plainly, Cæsar. _Ner._ Indeed, Burrus, 2120 Thou art my only friend; speak as a friend. _Bur._ I have heard it said the German warriors, Meet o’er their cups, and, hot with wine, resolve Matters of state; but ere they put in act Their midnight policy, they meet again In morning hours to see if sober sense Approve what frenzied zeal inspired. The custom Has been applauded. Chance has given to you The one half of the method: use the other. _Ner._ I am not drunk. 2130 _Bur._ Such wandering judgment, Cæsar, Asks such excuse. _Ner._ My judgment wanders not. I am cool. My face is flushed?... _Bur._ How will this look If, sitting here at table, at a breath Of hearsay you commit to instant death Your mother and four noble citizens, With others of less note? _Ner._ Choose I the time? Shall the conspirators be pardoned then ’Cause Cæsar sups? or say Cæsar must fast And touch no wine, lest when his blood be warm Some treasonous practice creep into his ears, 2140 And they who would befriend conspiracy May point suspicion on his judgment! Now Is a good hour for treason; Cæsar sups, And must not credit it. _Bur._ I do not blame Your feast. _Ner._ No more then: let it be to-night. _Bur._ What! on a charge unproven? _Ner._ Thou may’st prove it. _Bur._ See, you acquit me; why not then the rest? _Ner._ Acquit my mother! would’st thou persuade me, Burrus, She can be acquitted? _Bur._ Of the deeds she has done She is guilty; for this action charged against her, It is not hers. _Ner._ Oh, more, much more is hers 2151 Than thou dost dream. The crime men charge on me, My brother’s death, Burrus, indeed, I swear, Though thou believe me not, yet if my part In that were separate and weighed ’gainst hers ... I would not tell thee... Oh, I had been happy had I But heard thee then. _Bur._ Your peace even now as much Hangs on good counsel. You are hot: be guided, Cæsar. _Ner._ Nay, now thou’rt changed, thou’rt wrong: thou goest round To the other side. If thou would’st give the advice I need, I’d take it gladly. Listen, Burrus: 2161 I have another secret; if I tell thee Thou may’st befriend me. I will tell thee. Hark! ’Tis this: I fear my mother; I cannot sound Her heartlessness; my terror shames the shows And feeble efforts of my trust and love. I have read her eyes— Oh, there’s no tenderness, no pious scruple Writ in my favour there; nothing but hate. To think that I am her son but whets to fierceness Her fury, and her hellish plots are laid 2171 More recklessly and safely that she deems I am not knit of that obdurate nerve To sear the tender place of natural love. I would not do it, Burrus, though I fear her And hate her, as I must; but let it end Ere it be worse. I pray thee do it, Burrus. _Bur._ The cause of fear is magnified by terror: The present circumstance were amply met By Agrippina’s exile, which I urge, 2180 As ever, now. But let such sentence rest On proven crime. _Ner._ Oh, thus were ne’er an end. Done, we stand clear. _Bur._ Thus done, ’twere a foul crime: And if you have found remorse in what before Was schemed in fear and haste, consider, Cæsar, If you would thank me for subserviency Did I obey; for your sake I refuse. _Ner._ Eh! _Bur._ I refuse. _Ner._ I have other friends. _Bur._ So be it. Take my demission. But remember, Cæsar, That he who fills my place, handles the power 2190 That holds you up; he that hath strength to help May find the will to hurt you. _Ner._ I meant not that. I trust thee, Burrus: I’ll be guided by thee. What wilt thou do? _Bur._ The wisest course is thus: To-morrow Seneca and I will go With chosen witnesses to Agrippina, And lay the charge. If she draw quit of it, Well; but if not, I promise that her place Shall not win favour of me. _Ner._ Dost thou promise? _Bur._ I promise that. _Ner._ And if there be a doubt, 2200 Thou’lt wrest it to my side? _Bur._ I promise that. _Ner._ ’Tis death. _Bur._ Ay, death. _Ner._ If that be thy last word I am free. I would I had more such friends as thou. But bring it not back; take all my power. Thou saidst I had no cause for fear? _Bur._ What should you fear? _Ner._ I think thou’rt right. _Bur._ Now, Cæsar, I will leave you. Your spirits are much moved. _Ner._ Indeed I swear I am not moved. There was no need to blame My supper, Burrus. _Bur._ Nay, I blamed it not. _Ner._ I am not sensible to wine as others. 2210 Of all I meet there’s none, no, not the best, Can eat and drink as I. There’s something, Burrus, In that. I think if I, who rule the world, Could not enjoy my wine, that were a blemish Which scorn might hit. _Bur._ I never blamed your supper. _Ner._ Hadst thou been there, thou would’st have praised it well. I have learned much lately in these things. Petronius, Ay, he’s the man—I’m blessed in this Petronius. Thou know’st him? _Bur._ Ay, and would not keep his hours. ’Tis late, to bed. _Ner._ Well, Burrus, I’ll to bed. 2220 But thou must sup with me. I’d gladly have thee One of our party. I shall tell Petronius. _Bur._ Cæsar, good night. _Ner._ By heaven, I had forgot; Where did I leave Poppæa? I remember. Good night, Burrus, good night. [_Exit._ _Bur._ Now may brave Bacchus Reclaim the field; for me, I’ll gather up This quenched brand, and be off. What must men think Of Cæsar, who would fetch him with such trash? The Augusta marry Plautus! Master Paris For this will need his wit to save his skin. [_Exit._ SCENE · 5 _A small room in Agrippina’s house. Enter AGRIPPINA and FULVIA._ _AGRIPPINA._ My days are weary, Fulvia. Know you not 2231 Some art to make time fly? another month Of prison and neglect would kill me quite. _FULVIA._ Is’t not the change more than the solitude Vexes your majesty? _Agr._ Nay, I was never made For isolation, and even by my friends I am utterly forsaken. _Ful._ Junia Silana Was very constant, tho’ we have not seen her Now for four days. _Agr._ Bah! she’s my foe. I wronged her That way a woman ne’er forgives. ’Twas I 2240 Broke off her match with Sextius, you remember. _Ful._ Your true friends dare not come: they stand aloof, Watching the time to do you service, madam. _Agr._ You speak of Pallas: there’s none else. _Ful._ The lot Of late befallen your majesty is such As all our sex have borne, who have not raised Nor much demeaned themselves beyond the rest. _Agr._ True; but ’twas never mine; I made escape. They that would lock us up in idleness, Shut us from all affairs, treat us as dolls 2250 Appointed for their pleasure; these but make it The easier for a woman with a will To have her way. Life lacks machinery To thwart us. Had I been a man, methinks I had done as well, but never with the means I have used. Nay, nay, ’tis easy for a woman, Be she but quick and brave, to have her will. _Enter Servant, who speaks to Fulvia, and she to Agrippina._ Burrus and Seneca you say! Admit them. Fulvia, here’s one apiece: make your own choice; I’ve none, and can be generous. Pray come in. 2260 _Enter Burrus and Seneca with two others._ Come in, my lords, come in. You are very welcome. Look, Fulvia, now if Mercury have not heard Our prayers and sent us noble visitors! Pray you be seated. Alas, in this poor house I fear I cannot show you the reception You and your gallant followers deserve. ’Tis not what thou’rt accustomed to at home, Seneca, I know: pardon it. Thou lookest cold. Come near the fire: pray heaven this bitter weather May not have touched thy chest. A Gallic winter! I can remember no such fall of snow 2271 In March these twenty years; but looking back, I find one noted in my journal then. How goes your health, my lords? _SENECA._ Well, thank you, madam. _Agr._ I am very glad: your visit is well meant; It cheers me much. _BURRUS._ The truth is, madam, we come At Nero’s order. _Agr._ Ha! then I strike you off [_Rising._ My list of friends again. I thought as much; I wondered how you dared me this affront In my last poor retreat, here where I sit 2280 Alone and friendless, in the worst disgrace Woman can suffer;—ay, and caused by you. But learn that, if nought else, this house is mine; If ’tis so small that it can welcome little, It can exclude the more. At Cæsar’s order Ye have forgot your manners, now at mine Resume them. Ye have done his hest, begone! Begone! _Sen._ I pray you, madam, hear the message; We may not leave without delivering it. Burrus will speak it. _Agr._ Oh—Burrus speak it. 2290 If Burrus speak, the affair is mighty black. There’s none like him to break an ugly business. [_Sitting._ Hey! Well, we have nought to do, so let us hear The last of the court. Octavia’s divorce? _Sen._ Believe me, lady, I feel much aggrieved In all that hurts you here. _Agr._ Stranger than fiction. Now what’s the matter? _Bur._ There has been information To Cæsar of plots against his life, the which The informers charge on you. This the chief item, That you have entered with Rubellius Plautus 2300 Into conspiracy to set him up In Nero’s place, and to dethrone your son. I come with Seneca and these witnesses To hear the answer, which your majesty No doubt hath very ready, and accordingly To acquit you of the charge. _Agr._ —Excellent! Now, Seneca, ’s thy turn; or will these gentlemen? Fulvia, we have depositions to be made: Fetch pens and paper; all shall be in order. _Sen._ Madam, remember on what past occasions Cæsar hath shown suspicion, and believe, 2311 Whate’er your innocency, there is cause To make it clear. _Agr._ Thy prudence, Seneca, Is vanity, not kindness; spare it, pray. Here is your paper, gentlemen: I’ll give you Matter for Cæsar’s reading. Tell me first Who’s my accuser? _Bur._ There are two—the first Junia Silana, the other is your sister Domitia: they bring forth as evidence The informers, certain freedmen, Atimetus, 2320 Iturius, and Calvisius, who affirm That you have lately been on terms with Plautus, Stirring him up to make an enterprise Against the state; that you, by marrying him (Who by the mother’s side may claim a line As rightly from Augustus as doth Nero), Might reinstate yourself, dethrone your son, And bring disaster to the commonwealth. That is the charge, of which we are come to hear The refutation, not to press the count. 2330 _Agr._ Pah! You’re a brace of idiots, if ye think This needs refuting. Who’s Silana, pray, That if she speak, the very bonds of nature And heaven must be repealed to give her credit, Saying a mother plots to kill her son? I marvel not that she, being childless, dares Avouch such madness, never having known How near the affections of all mothers are, Nor that a mother cannot shift her love Like an adulteress;—nay, nor do I wonder 2340 That she should find among her freedmen those, Who, having in luxury spent all their substance, Will for the promise of the old lady’s purse Sustain the accusation: but that for this I should be seriously held suspect Of the infamy of parricide, or Cæsar Of giving ear to it, this I marvel at. As for Domitia, I would thank my sister Even for her jealousy, were but the strife 2349 One of good will and kindness towards my Nero. But now she wastes her time with her man Paris, Composing as ’twere fables for the stage. Let her go back to Baiæ and her fishpools; They kept her trifling spirit well employed, When by my efforts Nero’s first adoption, Proconsular authority, consulate, And other steps to empire were procured. Are ye now answered?— Or is there any can be brought to show That I have practised with the city cohorts, 2360 Corrupted the loyalty of the provinces, Solicited the freedmen to rebellion? Or to what purpose think ye? Had Britannicus Been Cæsar, then I grant I might have lived; But if ’tis Plautus, or whoever else Should get the power, how should I lack accusers To charge me, not with words escaped in passion, But deeds and crimes—crimes—ay, Seneca, crimes, Of which I could not hope to be acquitted Save as a mother by her son? And ye 2370 Think I shall here defend myself to you! Send Cæsar to me. By the gods I swear I’ll be revenged on all who have had a hand In this most cowardly and senseless plot. I wait him here: tell him that to none other Will I resolve this matter. _Bur._ Be content To say so much in form, that our report Suffice for your acquittal. _Agr._ I bid you go. _Bur._ Cæsar shall hear your message. _Sen._ Madam, we go. _Agr._ Ay, go, good fellows; though ye have roused my passion, 2380 Your coming here hath cheered me wondrously. Nay, if ye have ever such another matter, Bring it again; be not abashed, but come; Or send your wives, and those two gentlemen, Whose names I know not. My lords, your humble servant. [_Exeunt Burrus and Seneca and two Gentlemen._ Plautus! now is it possible I was wrong Not to have thought of Plautus? No, I laugh, ’Tis merely laughable. At forty-five To marry a pretender; and Plautus too! He would not have me. Fulvia, do you think 2390 That Plautus wants to marry me? Ha! ha! Is it my beauty, think you, or my virtue, Or my good fortune tempts the stoic? Oh, Domitia, oh, you are dull. I cannot fear This plot. We shall retire with more than honour. ’Twas strange, I think, that Pallas was not struck; His name escaped. _Ful._ There is ample reason, madam. They say that in his house he holds such caution As not to speak before his slaves. His orders Are given by nod and sign, or if there’s need 2400 He writes: there’s none can say they have heard him speak. _Agr._ May good come of it. ’Twould be hard indeed If they should exile Plautus for a fear Lest I should marry him. That were a fate Of irony. Why, give the man his choice Of marrying me and exile, would he not Fly to the pole? Poor Plautus! marry Plautus! _Both._ Ha! ha! ha! he! he! _Enter Nero. Agrippina is seated._ _NERO._ I find you merry, mother; the gods be praised That you deny the impeachment. _Agr._ Really, Nero, Burrus’ memory is getting very short If he said I denied it. I did not. _Ner._ You did not? _Agr._ Nay, I’d not be at the pains. _Ner._ Called you me hither? _Agr._ Ay, you seem misled. I guess who ’tis. But let that pass. I hoped I might advise you privately; I knew You would not wish it known. Now, was I wrong? _Ner._ Do you deny what is affirmed against you? _Agr._ No, son: for if you wished to take my life, Why should I rob you of this grand pretence? 2420 Yet since you cannot, and the charge itself But moves my laughter, as you overheard, My only wish is you should now retire With dignity, and act as Cæsar ought. _Ner._ (_aside_). This then is added to my shames. _Agr._ What say you? Fulvia, await without. [_Exit Fulvia._] Who brought this to thee? _Ner._ Paris. _Agr._ The player! when? _Ner._ Last night at supper. _Agr._ Tell me, didst thou believe it? is it possible? Thou didst! Whence gottest thou thy wits I wonder; Certain they are not mine, no, nor thy father’s: I think they came of Claudius by adoption. 2431 Dost thou believe it still? _Ner._ Whate’er I have done Was on advice. _Agr._ A pious caution truly. Is this thy trust? Yet, yet I must forgive thee. See, I was angered. Nay, ’twas not thy judgment: I know who leads. But for these foolish women I sentence exile. _Ner._ Sentence whom to exile? _Agr._ The two devisers. Yet I think my sister Is harmless; but the other, that Silana— _Ner._ Silana must be banished? 2440 _Agr._ Judge her, Nero, When thou hast heard. She and thy aunt Domitia Have been the two who, in my sad retirement, Have visited me most. Day after day They have made a show of kindness, finding joy In my disgrace, to view it; and have but left me To try this trick. _Ner._ (_aside_). ’Tis plain I have been fooled. _Agr._ For those that brought the tale, thou knowest that they Must taste the penalties they sought to inflict; That thou must know; but ’tis not all. The acquittal Of those accused will not be full without 2450 Some honour shown them. Best among the names Stand Fænius Rufus and Arruntius Stella, Who may have city posts: gentle Balbillus, Who has long deserved it, must be paid at last With a proconsulate. For myself, thou knowest I have taken all disgrace so patiently That I expect some boon, though yet I fear To ask; but when I have seen my slandered friends Honoured, I’ll write it thee. _Ner._ I shall be quick To punish and to make amends. ’Tis just 2460 Towards Burrus, I should tell you from the first He took your part. _Agr._ What could he else? Now, Nero, I have done: go home, and there resolve the matter With common sense; take Burrus into counsel As to what penalties and what promotions Shall be distributed. Before the people Remember that some feeling must be shown, And anger for effronteries attempted Against your majesty. Now go, the affair Has somewhat tired me.—Nay, touch me not; farewell. 2470 _Ner._ I see you are right; farewell. _Agr._ I have more advice, Which I will write to thee. [_Exit Nero._ Excellent this—I have not had my way Thus for a long long while: ay, now is my time To strike. I’ll venture with a letter to him And claim my boon, that he dismiss Poppæa. There’s much to say on that which may seem aimed More at his good than mine; and if she have plunged In this false step, his vanity being touched 2479 May shake his liking. I will do it at once. [_Exit._ SCENE · 6 _A room in the Palace. Enter NERO and POPPÆA._ _NERO._ All for thy sake was planned, and now my pleasure In scheming thine is fled; for what is Baiæ, And what Minerva’s feast, blue skies and seas, Or games, or mirth, or wine, or the soft season, If thou deny me? Prithee say thou’lt come. _POPPÆA._ Nay, I’ll not go. _Ner._ Thou wilt not? _Pop._ Nay, I cannot. _Ner._ Cannot to Cæsar? _Pop._ Prove me then thou’rt Cæsar, And not a ward. _Ner._ A ward! _Pop._ I said a ward. May I not see thee vexed? ’Tis what men whisper, Who dare not vex thee. Well, thy mother’s child, So much that at her beck thou forfeitest 2491 Empire and liberty. _Ner._ Wouldst thou enrage me! What dost thou mean, Poppæa? _Pop._ Deny not that: If ’tis not that hinders our marriage, then The case, I fear, blackens. I, who can smile At that, must weep another cause. I’ll think Thou’rt tired of me. _Ner._ Now by what sign? _Pop._ Maybe Thou hast seen a better beauty, and repented The promise given to me. _Ner._ O treason, treason! _Pop._ Thinkest my blood unworthy of alliance 2500 With thine—tho’, truth, my ancestors have triumphed. _Ner._ Who dares that lie shall bleed. _Pop._ Or that our bed Is not like to be blest. _Ner._ The fruitful gods With all their oracles avert the omen. _Pop._ Or that I urge my marriage for advancement; And thou, doubting my love, pressest denial To proof of faith. _Ner._ Ay, that is it; thou’st hit it. _Pop._ Or that I, once thy wife, would cross thy mother, Divulge her crimes, the hate the senate bear her, And last, though that’s well known, how she hates thee. _Ner._ Speak of this once for all, then let the jest Be dead. _Pop._ Nay, ’tis no jest, for Agrippina 2512 Will never love a daughter who loves thee. Restore me to my husband. I were happier In any place, howe’er remote from Rome, Where thy disgrace and wrongs can but be spoken, Not seen and felt as here. See why I go. _Ner._ Poppæa, since I have never hid from thee My quarrel with my mother, thou mayst know It draws to end. _Pop._ Oh, is’t the turn for kindness? 2520 Hath she been kind again? Why, ’tis deception. When her plot failed she cast it off, and now Exults: ’tis her fresh confidence seems kind. _Ner._ ’Twas not her plot. Or else I’d rather think She put the snare to catch my foolish aunt, Who blindly took the bait. _Pop._ Then she pretended Treason, that she might better hurt her sister: And yet can win thy trust! _Ner._ Nay, heaven forbid; I trust her not. _Pop._ She hates me. _Ner._ Nay, her kinship Is jealous for Octavia; but... _Pop._ Ah, true! 2530 To kill one’s husband, plot against one’s son, Should leave unsatisfied some tender feelings To spend upon a step-child. Why, she knows Those arts which manage you would not gull me, A woman not her child. Her whole design Is bent to thwart our marriage; and she will. I know it. _Ner._ I swear that were this proved against her, Came it to a question ’twixt herself and thee, Which to take, which to lose, then not a moment Would I delay: the blow I have often sworn 2540 To strike should fall. _Enter Messenger._ _MESSENGER._ A letter from the Augusta. [_Exit._ _Pop._ Now, as she loves me, this is mine. _Ner._ Not so. _Pop._ Then as thou lovest me. _Ner._ Well. _Pop._ (_reading_). Ho! ho! ho! ho! Now shines the sun at noon. _Ner._ What is’t? _Pop._ I read? _Ner._ Read then. _Pop._ (_reads_). _To her dearest son. Ha! ha! ha! When last we met thou wilt remember to have confessed some shame for wrong done to me. The wrong I forgive, but eagerly seize on thy sorrow to ask of thee, in regard for thine own happiness, this only favour. ’Tis my earnest prayer and advice that thou dismiss Poppæa._ 2551 _Ner._ Ha! writes she so? _Pop._ Attend, the reasons follow. (_Reading._) _Beware of her: nor think that I grudge thee the happiness which thou now findest in her. Marriage with her can lead only to thy misery. I know her well._ Now hear my character. _Ner._ Give me the letter. _Pop._ _She is vain, deceitful, self-seeking, and, being by nature cold, hath the art to assume the mask of passion; and ’neath the show of virtue designedly conceals her wickedness and mischief. She loves thee no better than she loves Otho._ 2561 _Ner._ Give me the letter. _Pop._ Nay, one sentence more. _Believe a woman sees further than a man, since to her eyes beauty is no veil._ She grants me beauty then. [_Gives letter to Nero._ _Ner._ (_reading_). ’Tis so, ’tis so. Ye gods! and thou wert right. Poppæa, this is the end. Come not to Baiæ. Wait my return. _Pop._ What’s now to do, I pray? _Ner._ Ask not: when I return I shall be free. We will be married. _Pop._ Will you banish her? 2570 _Ner._ Ask nothing. _Pop._ From her exile still her plottings Will reach to Rome. _Ner._ Not so, for she shall go Whence nothing reaches Rome. _Pop._ Oh, now I fear I have said too much; let not my love o’ercome thee. Maybe she meant not this. _Ner._ Thou meddle not! _Pop._ Oh, but at least no crimes, Nero, no crimes! Promise me that; rather I’ll fly to-night. _Ner._ Poppæa, in earnest of the happy day When thou wilt be my wife, I bid thee now Depart. 2580 _Pop._ (_kissing him_). Husband, I go. [_Exit._ _Ner._ What ho! what ho! _Enter a Servant._ Is Anicetus in the palace? _SERVANT._ Ay, Cæsar. _Ner._ Go, bid him hither straight. [_Exit Servant._ It shall be done. Ay, now it shall be done. Let me consider; I must be cool, lest I be foiled once more. Where lies my hindrance? not in her; she has twice Deceived me and escaped: now in my turn I steal her weapon, and can use it better, Having been plain before. Then Seneca... He shall not know, so are his scruples quiet. For mine, they are hushed already; but ’twere best Recount the terms which reason can oppose 2591 To too rebellious nature: first there’s my motive, Huge as the earth; liberty, happiness, Empire: that cannot slide, I fear not that. Then there’s the ground of justice; Claudius’ death, O’er which the executive too long hath slept In Cæsar’s piety: the sentence now O’ertakes the murderess with a double score, Since she by her conspiracy contrived Britannicus should die ... ay, for his death 2600 The heavy penalty hangs o’er some head; Now let it fall on hers,—so I am quit. All this condemns her, long-expected justice Cries, and occasion hurries on the hand. Ay, ay, I am clear. Poppæa being my stake, I cannot shrink nor swerve. What was’t she wrote? Why here is more. [_Reads._ _Be with me in this matter, But if thou should’st refuse, we are worse foes._ She dares the threat. _Enter Anicetus._ _ANICETUS._ Cæsar hath summoned me. _Ner._ Good Anicetus, tell me, is there none 2610 Greater than Cæsar? _Anic._ Nay, Cæsar, there is none. _Ner._ But were there one to whom it might be said Cæsar owed life and fortune—dost thou take me? _Anic._ Cæsar would say the Augusta. _Ner._ Nay, thou’rt dull: ’Twas thee I meant. _Anic._ Me, Cæsar! _Ner._ Dost remember Boasting to me that thou hadst sailor means To do a certain thing? _Anic._ Ay. _Ner._ Do it now. I’ll owe thee life and fortune. Canst thou be trusted? _Anic._ My love for Cæsar follows hand in hand With his command in this. _Ner._ Then do it, I say; 2620 No words, no explanation. Agrippina Will come to Baiæ: there have thou thy ship. _Anic._ I will have one at Bauli, one at Baiæ: If she take either it shall serve the turn. _Ner._ Go now contrive thy means; let nothing ’scape thee To me or any other: when ’tis done Hold thy head high. _Anic._ Cæsar, I go to do it. [_Exit._ _Ner._ Now comes my part: ay, though it vex my soul To stoop; tho’ this be Cæsar’s greatest wrong, That he must patch his faultless power with guile, And having all command, miss of his will 2631 But for a subterfuge .... yet for this once I’ll do it—’tis little; but to write a letter, Feign to discard Poppæa, as mistrusting Her love and character; and from that vantage I surely win my mother to come forth And join the court at Baiæ—she will come. ACT · V SCENE · 1 _Baiæ. A room in Agrippina’s villa; the back gives out on the sea, where a galley is seen moored to quay of villa. AGRIPPINA and FULVIA._ _AGRIPPINA._ Is not this charming, Fulvia? what a day! I feel I have never breathed spring air before. And how the people cheered! it did me good. 2640 Here’s my old seat. The villa’s looking well. Could but Domitia see us now! How smoothly Her little plot went off! My first suspicions, Fulvia, I am sure were wrong: this invitation Was most well meant; and see the tenderness Has even called up my tears. You cannot know What fond associations make this house A home indeed. I wish I had not refused To take the yacht at Bauli: ’twas an error, Over-precaution. _FULVIA._ Madam, I but told you 2650 The very words Seleucus.... [_A noise without._ _Agr._ What is that noise? _Ful._ ’Tis Cæsar coming with a company. _Agr._ Oh, I will see. (_Looking forth._) And there is Seneca And Burrus. There’s much meaning in this visit. How grand he looks with all his lords about him! There never was a Cæsar like him: others Have been but Cæsars; he’s an emperor, And wears the full magnificence of state In beardless boyhood.—Fulvia, I do love splendour. To be so young and rule the world! 2660 _Enter Nero, Seneca, and Burrus._ Now, welcome, Welcome, my son! _NERO._ Welcome to Baiæ, mother. We are come the first day of the feast to pay you The season’s compliments. _Agr._ A prompt return. What pleasure ’tis, Nero, I cannot say. Welcome, my lords. _SENECA._ My loving service, lady. _Ner._ Crossed you the bay from Bauli? _Agr._ Nay, you’ll laugh; ’Twas foolish; but I wished the folk to see My joy and reconcilement, and in the thought To please so many friends I kept my litter. _Ner._ You’ll all sup with us? 2670 _Agr._ I look for nothing better. _Ner._ Whom will you bring? _Agr._ I have no one with me here But Polla Acerronia. _Ner._ And where is she? _Agr._ She took the yacht, and so arrived before us, But has not left it: like the child she is, The new toy quite distracts her: she is there. _Ner._ Row you this afternoon upon the bay? _Agr._ I had thought of it; and now, if you would come That were a double pleasure. _Ner._ I am sorry, I must go Order to-morrow’s games. _Agr._ Your lords mayhap Will join me. I can take them to your villa. 2680 _Sen._ I’ll gladly come: the dust the crowd treads up Has filled my throat and set me coughing shrewdly. _Ner._ Nay, I shall want you both. _Agr._ Some other time I hope, my lords. _BURRUS._ I thank your majesty. _Ner._ Farewell till supper. _Agr._ Why! so short a visit! _Ner._ We shall meet soon. _Agr._ Well, I will sail alone With Polla; ’tis her wish. Escort me, Nero? _Ner._ Ay. _Agr._ For the sake of that I’ll go at once. I love the sea. [_Exeunt Nero with Agr. and Fulv. down the quay, where they are still seen._ _Sen._ Burrus, what say you now! Has not the thing I looked for come to pass? 2690 _Bur._ There’s as you say a most astounding change; Can you explain it? _Sen._ Well, you see it, Burrus. _Bur._ How came it all about? _Sen._ See now how tenderly They both embrace. _Bur._ Who would have thought it? _Sen._ I; I should have thought it: and I point to this To justify my words those many times Our speech has come to difference. _Re-enter Nero. Fulvia goes into house._ _Ner._ Now, lords, I go. _Bur. and Sen._ We follow, Cæsar. _Ner._ I have changed my mind; I want you not. [_Going._ _Bur._ Will Cæsar name the hour When we shall wait on him? 2700 _Ner._ Why, come at once. I cannot tell what hour I may not want you. Attend me at my villa. [_Exit._ _Bur._ Of a sudden He is changed again. _Sen._ You see how easily He is overcome with kindness. Would you know The noble sacrifice he has made? _Bur._ What’s that? _Sen._ Why, he has renounced Poppæa. _Bur._ Nay! _Sen._ Ay. _Bur._ Who told you? _Sen._ I saw the letter. _Bur._ How! Poppæa shows it? _Sen._ ’Twas writ his mother. _Bur._ Then he has deceived her. _Sen._ Can you think that? _Bur._ The letter makes all plain. Why did he write it? _Sen._ Why? _Bur._ Well, well. _Sen._ Oh, Burrus, 2710 I have every cause for hope; and here to-day The meeting in this house more than assures me He must redeem the promise of his youth. ’Twas in this very room, ten years ago, I first saw Nero—Ay, ’tis now ten years— I was arrived from Corsica at Rome, And there found summons to attend the Augusta At Baiæ: hither in all haste I came. The yearnings and the miseries of exile Would make a mean deliverer seem a god, 2720 And my return drave me half mad with joy. I entered: in that chair sat Agrippina, My kind deliverer, my friend, the empress. Time had not marred her beauty, and as she spake Impatience flushed her cheek—she shared my joy. I knelt in tears there, nor ashamed of tears, Though at her side I was aware was standing A boy of some twelve years; whom, when I rose, She then presented as her son, and bade me Take him for pupil. As I saw him then 2730 In fullest grace of boyhood, apt in all Boys should be manly in, and gifted further Than boys are wont with insight, and the touch Of human sympathy and learned taste, Proficient in some arts and dull in none, But coy withal and generous, ’twas no wonder If ere that evening passed I had admitted The schemes his mother had laid, which in short time Were brought to pass. _Bur._ ’Twas a black day. _Sen._ And yet, Burrus, if after you had seen how kindly 2740 He took instruction, how he came to love me, You would not wonder—nay, I can remember Claudius himself was shamed if his Britannicus, Being younger but by some two years, were by Where Nero was: and had I been the father I might have wished, I think, to have done as he, And called the best my son. _Bur._ He killed Britannicus. _Sen._ Burrus, if as it seems you quite distrust him, Why hold you still the office which establishes His power? _Bur._ Because it is an office, Seneca, 2750 The top of my profession: yet, by the gods, Find you a better man, and I’ll be gone. But, as a soldier, I’ll not see the guards Commanded by some brute like Tigellinus. _Sen._ Nay, be not angry. _Bur._ Would not you be angry Thus to be questioned? _Sen._ Nay, indeed, by habit I question oft myself. _Bur._ Then, for one question I’ll be appeased. I know you, Seneca, For a man of many parts, a scholar, poet, Lawyer, and politician, what you will; 2760 A courtier too besides, a man of business, A money-maker; in short, a man of the world, That like a ship lifting to every wave, Heeling to every blast, makes good her way And leaves no track. Now what I ask is this: How ride so lightly with the times, and yet Be the unbending stoic, the philosopher, The rock, I say, that planted in the deep Moves not a hair, but sees the buffeting breakers Boil and withdraw? Which is the matter, Seneca? Nay, ’tis a pertinent and friendly question— 2771 I’ll take your answer as we go along. [_Exeunt Burrus and Seneca._ _Re-enter Fulvia._ _Ful._ Of all delights I think that liberty Is the prime element: nothing is pleasant Joined with a must. Why, even this journey hither That has so cheered my mistress, all the talk Of sky and fields and trees, tired me to death. I’m sick of servitude, with ’time for this’ And ’time for that’: I’d give my ears for freedom; [_She sits in Agrippina’s chair._ To have my servants, and say—Prithee, Fulvia, What is o’clock?—Fetch me the little kerchief I left upon my bed—Come, Fulvia, quick; 2782 I want you—Fulvia, go, order my litter— Fulvia, be gone; we’ve business—Fulvia, stay, Amuse me for a while.—I would to heaven I were in Rome again! (_Shouts heard._) Hey, what a noise! Cheering my lady! here’s a change indeed. Well, I shan’t lose by that. Gods, how they cheer! She might have taken me with her. I know well I shan’t see the outside of these villa walls 2790 Till bound for home. And here no visitors, At least for me. Cheer on, my lads! and yet If I should get the chance I’d like to see These famous Neapolitans: I’m told They’re wondrous saucy, and ingenious singers. What’s that? a boat! my lady! gracious heavens! [_A boat rows up to quay._ My lady, O my lady, what’s the matter? _Enter Agrippina up from the quay, clothes dripping; the boat remains._ _Agr._ An accident, and I am escaped by swimming: Yet thou must know, Fulvia, ’twas a contrivance To take my life—the kindness was all hollow— A dastardly contrivance: ’twas the ship 2801 Seleucus spoke of. Look, I am hurt in the shoulder, Yet ’tis not much. _Ful._ Alack, alack, my lady! _Agr._ I am cold and faint. I must at once go shift These dripping habits. When I am rested somewhat Thou shalt hear all: meanwhile, call in the sailors Who rowed me hither: get from them whate’er They saw or know, and promise a reward Worthy of my deliverance. [_Going._ _Ful._ Praised be the gods, My lady, that thou’rt safe. _ Agr._ (_turning_). Polla is killed. [_Exit._ _Ful._ What, Polla! Killed! she said killed. Polla killed!2811 Ho! fellows, come within, nay, come within. _Sailors enter._ _SAILOR._ We are not fit, my lady. By thy leave, We are poor fishermen. _Ful._ Come, fellows, come. Which is the captain? _Sail._ Me, so please thee, lady. _Ful._ Ye have brought the empress safe, and for that service Shall have a good reward. But, tell me now, How came she in your boat? _Sail._ ’Twas thus, my lady. It being the feast, we smartened up the boat And pulled her close along the shore, to find 2820 A party of landsmen, such as love to visit Misenum, or be rowed across the bay To Pausilypum, lady, and Virgil’s villa. When, as we lay, the Augusta’s galley passed, Not half a cable’s length, and then we cheered, And after took no note of her, till Gripus, He cries, Look! see the galley. And there she was Laid on her beam-ends in the offing. Ho! We cried, and gave the alarm, and led the chase To reach her first: when presently she righted, 2830 Steadied, and trimmed her oars, and drew away. While we were wondering and talking of it I spied a something floating, and again Putting about, saw ’twas a swimmer’s head. Four other boats with ours made for it too; But we gave way with a will and held our own, And coming alongside, found ’twas the Augusta. I reached her out an oar, and I and my mate Lifted her in handsomely. Then she bad us Straight row her hither. She’s a most brave lady, Ay, and can swim. 2841 _Ful._ Know you no more? _Sail._ No, lady. We looked, but saw naught else, not even a spar. The Augusta told us there was none but she. _Ful._ What was the reason why the galley heeled? _Sail._ I cannot tell. _Ful._ What could it be? _Sail._ D’ye see, My lady, ’tis the Admiral’s boat, this galley. It’s not for me.... _Ful._ There’s not a breath of wind. _Sail._ The mischief was aboard. _Ful._ You know no more? _Sail._ Nothing, my lady. _Ful._ Then begone; to-morrow Come for your recompense. I know not yet 2850 The Augusta’s pleasure. _The Sailors._ Thank thee, thank thee, my lady. [_Exeunt Sailors._ _Ful._ ’Tis plain the men know nothing. _Sailor_ (_returning_). Please thee, lady, If not too bold, we’ll ask thee if the Augusta Has taken harm from being so long in the water. _Ful._ Thank you, my men. I pray she’s none the worse. _Sail._ ’Tis bitter cold, indeed. But I can tell She’s of good stuff; ay, and can swim. _Ful._ Be sure You are fortunate to have done her this good service. _Sail._ I make my humble duties. [_Exit._ _Ful._ Alas, alas! What can this mystery mean? I die to hear. 2860 I must now go attend her; ah! here she comes. _Enter Agrippina._ _Agr._ Fetch me some wine and a warm coverlet; The fur one from my bed. _Ful._ Ay, madam, quickly. [_Exit._ _Agr._ I have no friend here but her and the few servants Upon the place: ’tis plotted well indeed To catch me thus alone: Mistress Poppæa Is seen in this. Yet being escaped, I think I yet will prove her match. _Re-enter Fulvia._ Ah, thank you, so. _Ful._ Are you recovered, madam, from the shock? _Agr._ I am warm again. I think too that my hurt Is very little: but I am somewhat shaken. 2871 _Ful._ What is it that hath happed? The sailors knew Nothing but that they found you. _Agr._ Did they see Nothing? _Ful._ They saw the galley lurch, and say The Admiral must know. _Agr._ ’Tis likely enough ’Twas his contrivance. Now I’ll tell thee all, Fulvia, and thou must help me all thou canst When thou hast heard: indeed I tell thee partly To clear my judgment.—We had rowed about a mile, Polla and I, and sat upon the poop, 2880 Taking our pleasure, when, all on a sudden, Darkness; the awning fell, with such a crash As took away my spirits, and Polla and I Were thrown down from our couches by the weight Of falling cloth and spars: one heavy beam Grazed my left shoulder, and we lay crushed down Upon the deck. Then I heard Polla laugh, Finding we were not hurt, and she crept forth Forward, beneath the curtains; the oars stopped: I heard a rush of feet, and presently 2890 Came Polla’s voice, ’Hold, slay me not, ye villains, I am Agrippina.’ Then, ’Ah me, I am slain!’ And one long deathly groan. This, when I heard, Taught me my part, and towards the other side, Crawling, I came to the window o’er the stern, Where lay my only escape; and silently, Feet foremost, I crept out, and by the ladder Slipped down without a sound into the sea. The galley still held way, and in few strokes I saw that I was left and unperceived; 2900 And so swam on until the fishermen Hailed me by name, and took me in their boat. _Ful._ Who can have laid this plot to kill you, madam? _Agr._ ’Tis Nero, Fulvia, he who seemed but late So kind and dutiful: ’twas all hollowness, Part of the plot, to bring me here alone, Away from friends: ay, and perceive this too, To lay my death to charge of an accident, And hide, maybe, even my dead body, drowned And lost in the depths of the sea. Now, being alone, I shall need thee to aid me. _Ful._ Dearest madam, 2911 What can I do? _Agr._ Thou must be faithful to me Whatever happens. Hearken, I said ’twas Nero Had done this: ’tis not so; my real enemy, The mover, is Poppæa. I blame not Nero: I bade him to discard her: he was driven To choose between us: she hath carried it. But being escaped, and she not here, I yet Can right myself with him. ’Tis not too late; Nay, I can amply trust those broad affections, 2920 Which ’twixt a mother and her son remain At bottom, spite of all. Ay, they remain. The common knowledge of this guilty attempt Will clear the way: and when I show the path, He will be glad to escape. I have writ a letter, Which, if he read, will work. ’Tis pure submission. Remember, we must ever speak of this But as an accident. Here is the letter; Send Agerinus with it straight to Cæsar; Of all my servants he’s the one must bear it: 2930 Nero has known him from a child, will trust him; Nay, he hath rid so oft upon his shoulders That he is half a brother, half a father. Send him at once: I have bidden him await: He should be here. _Ful._ Alas, this is a day Of sorrow indeed. I pray Minerva guard Her feast from ill. [_Exit with letter._ _Agr._ Indeed I have little fear, If he but read. Yet now, after this warning, I must beware. ’Tis plain the people love me; 2939 They cheered me so. My escape will add to favour. _Ful._ (_re-entering_). He waited at the gate, and with full speed Runs with the letter. _Agr._ Come; one business Must now be not neglected; there’s poor Polla. Bring pens and ink and wax: we will seal up All her effects, and make an inventory In proper form, and do whate’er we may While we have time. Let us go see to it. [_Exeunt._ SCENE · 2 _A room in Nero’s villa. A table with papers. Enter NERO, SENECA, BURRUS, and TIGELLINUS._ _NERO._ We have an hour: sit down, my lords, we’ll hold A privy council. I have in my mind a matter Touching the subsidies. _BURRUS._ The day is good 2950 For market matters, ’tis Minerva’s peace: The sword is sheathed. _Ner._ (_to Servants_). Set light upon the table. _SENECA._ To talk of subsidies hurts no man’s conscience. What is the business, Cæsar? _Ner._ I am vexed By the complaints against the imperial household In the gathering of tolls.—Here in these papers Are weighty charges ’gainst Pomponius Silvanus, and Sulpicius Camerinus: Read them at leisure. But I ask you first Whether there be not cause for discontent 2960 In present management? _Sen._ ’Tis a deep evil. But never was the empire better governed; Nor is there more extortion now, I think, Than ever was. _Ner._ And were there no extortion? _Sen._ Nay, while you farm the taxes there will be Extortion still. _Ner._ You all think that, my lords? _Sen._ Ay, ay. _Ner._ And so say I. You have my grounds. Now hear my scheme, by which for once and all I rid the empire of this blot. ’Tis this. I will have no more tolls or tallages, 2970 Customs or duties levied: nay, not one Through all the empire. I will make this present To the human race: I say, their old vexation And burden shall away. _TIGELLINUS._ Magnificent. _Sen._ ’Tis generously meant, most generously. But is it possible? _Ner._ Why not? _Sen._ The treasury, Eased of this sum, must fill the deficit By other means. If you cut off the customs, You must increase the tributes, rates, and rents. If one shoe pinches, ’tis no remedy 2980 To stuff both feet in the other. _Ner._ But my scheme Has precedent; there was no tallage taken Throughout all Italy for some six years Ere Julius. _Sen._ Ay, but he restored the customs As needful. _Ner._ Whence they seemed the price of empire. _Sen._ Unjustly. In the times of greatest liberty Consuls and tribunes have ordained new customs, Which yet remain. _Tig._ I praise the scheme. _Ner._ (_to Bur._) And you? _Bur._ Where look you then for revenue? _Ner._ The rents, We’ll have the rents. The land.... 2990 _Enter Messenger with Officer of the Guard._ Why, who is this? Whence come you, man? _MESSENGER._ Cæsar, from Anicetus. He asks great Cæsar’s pardon ere I tell. _Ner._ Thou’rt free to speak. _Mess._ There has an accident Befallen the Augusta’s yacht. _Ner._ Hey! what was that? _Mess._ At a lurch of the ship the awning fell and dragged The Augusta overboard. _Ner._ Speak, man, speak on. _Mess._ We thought her drowned. _Ner._ Ha! _Mess._ But by the grace of the gods She is escaped. _Ner._ Escaped! _Mess._ She swam to shore unharmed. _Ner._ Thou wretch, And comest thou here in thy master’s place 2999 To bate mine anger? Forth and send him hither. Fly, or I kill thee. _Mess._ Pardon, great Cæsar, pardon. The Admiral follows and will straight be here. [_Runs out._ _Ner._ (_aside_). Escaped! after such boast, escaped! I am lost.— To have done this thing had tried me; to have attempted it And failed is ruin. _Sen._ (_aside from Nero_). What is this? _Bur._ (_to Sen._) ’Tis clear Cæsar knows what: and her escape not being His pleasure tells us that ’twas not his purpose. _Sen._ (_aloud_). Alas, alas! _Ner._ What friend there cries Alas? Who now stands by me? who will aid me now? _Tig._ If Cæsar make his will but known... _Ner._ Thou dullard! I need the brains of them that know my will. 3011 Now is no time for parley. Seneca, Speak what thou thinkest. _Sen._ Cæsar, I am so much grieved that... _Ner._ What’s thy pain To mine? Speak, man! _Sen._ Alas, what shall I say? _Ner._ How hast thou guessed this thing without a word, And yet hast not foreseen it? _Sen._ Oh, is’t then true? The letter false; the Augusta hither brought But to be drowned! _Ner._ See if ye know it not. _Sen._ Let her escape belie thy guilty purpose. 3020 _Ner._ Why, nay, the failure damns a thousand-fold More than her death—I am henceforth the man Who would have killed his mother, and could not. _Sen._ Alas, alas! _Ner._ Hast thou no word but that? Thou that hast ever warned me, ay, and gone So far upon this path that thou hast sought To dull the natural feeling which so long Held off my hand, hast argued ’gainst repugnance, Crying, ’tis she that is the guilty one, 3029 The dangerous one, there is no peace with her: And now the day the thing thou hast foreseen, Ay, and hast led me to, is done, thou’rt silent. Hast thou no word?—Thou that wast ever ready, Hast thou no word?—What strikes thee on a sudden Dumb? Be my counsellor now that I need thee. Speak now! Why, thou dost weep! surely thou weepest! Burrus, what sayest thou? _Bur._ This mischief, Cæsar, Being thus arisen is the Augusta’s death. Though I bewail the occasion, yet I say ’Twere most untimely justice to endanger 3040 The public peace for her whose life hath been So long the shame of justice. Since the sentence We know is just, and that necessity O’errides the common forms, the less delay The better. Let her die. _Ner._ I thank thee, Burrus. How were this best performed? _Tig._ Now, if none speak, I’ll say that Burrus, being the advocate Of what is planned, and as pretorian prefect Possessed of means, is fittest for the work. _Bur._ Look not on me, Seneca, as if to say 3050 ’Tis well; as if ’twere thy thought that my office Covered this deed. I pardon Tigellinus, That, unacquainted with a soldier’s honour, He thinks it passable in time of peace, Entering in private houses there to slay Defenceless citizens. But that the guards Would thus lay hands on one that bears the name Of Agrippina, that they could forget Their loved Germanicus, who would think this? To such a deed they would not follow me, 3060 Far less another; and if Cæsar now Look for it from me, lo, I here throw down My prefecture to any man soe’er Who durst with this condition take it up. _Ner._ Nay, Burrus, I’ll not ask thee that. Thou’rt right. And yet, if thou could’st do it— See here the man. _Enter Anicetus in haste, Paris following._ Thou hast been my ruin! _ANICETUS._ Pardon, Cæsar, pardon. I am strangely foiled. Give me one hour, and yet I’ll make amends. _Ner._ If thou canst make amends, Come hither, speak with me. [_They go aside to front._ _Bur._ Is the thing known? _PARIS._ Ay ay. _Ner._ (_to Anic._) What canst thou do? _Ani._ I have set a guard 3071 Around her villa, fearing lest the people Should force their way within, or she escape. Give me the word and I will slay her there. _Ner._ Fool, I can give no word. Think when ’tis done, If I should punish thee less for that deed Than for thy late misdoing. What is this? _Enter Officer of the Guard. Petronius follows._ _OFFICER._ The Augusta, Cæsar, sends a freedman hither, One Agerinus, with a letter. _Ner._ (_to Anic._) Now What to do? _Ani._ Bid him enter: when he comes 3080 I am prepared. Lend me thy dagger, friend (_to Tig._). [_Takes Tigellinus’ dagger._ _Enter Agerinus, who runs to Cæsar._ _AGERINUS._ Lo, Cæsar, I am sent... _Ani._ Ha! where’s thy hand? Ay, as I thought, a dagger well concealed Under his cloak. _Age._ Indeed, indeed, good sir, I have no dagger. _Ani._ How no dagger? See! Had I not caught thee! Ho! the guard, the guard! Take him to prison till he can be questioned. _Age._ You do force treason on me. Cæsar! Cæsar! [_He is borne off by Guards._ _Ani._ This villain having come, as he confessed, From the empress armed, will Cæsar leave the enquiry Now in my hands? _Ner._ I do. _Ani._ With me who will! 3091 _Tig._ I follow, lead the way. [_Exeunt Anicetus and Tigellinus. Paris follows them. Exit Nero within doors._ _PETRONIUS._ What will they go to do? _Bur._ ’Tis thus: the Admiral Has gone to kill the Augusta. _Petr._ Gods forbid! His orders? _Bur._ Humph! _Petr._ Why, men, what thing ye do! He is shamed for ever. _Bur._ Ay, and were’t not done Were shamed no less. _Sen._ Alas! ’tis true, ’tis true. And thou wert right, Burrus; but dost thou well Permitting this? _Bur._ I see ’tis necessary, And am not shamed to say I think the thing 3100 Itself is good. As for the motives, Seneca, Ay, and the manner of it, to defend them I shall not meddle. _Petr._ (_to Sen._) And thou wilt take thy share? _Sen._ ’Tis not my counsel. _Petr._ ’Twill be held as thine, And rightly, seeing that thou let it not. I could have stayed it. _Bur._ Nay, be not so sure. And if thou could’st have let it, could’st thou too Prevent the consequences? _Petr._ But remember, She is his mother. Oh, I thought him better. Is it too late now think you, if I ran... 3110 _Bur._ They are there by now. Believe ’tis for the best. If she should live but till to-morrow morn, ’Tis civil war. Consider what a party Would stir upon the tale of Claudius’ death, Or to revenge Britannicus. I say There’s nought to gain. _Petr._ Why, ’tis his mother, Burrus, His mother. I’ll be sworn he had not dared Thus to commit himself had I been by. He that should be a model to the world, The mirror of good manners, to offend 3120 Thus against taste! _Bur._ If ’twere no worse... _Petr._ Why, see, There are a hundred subtle ways by which, Had Cæsar done the thing, he had not been blamed. This vulgar butchery displays to all The motive, which so hurts your sense of right That ye neglect the manner. Why, I say, A just attention to the circumstance Would hide the doing; but thus done, the doing Proclaims the deed. And is’t not plain that ye Must share the guilt? Seneca, look for that. 3130 _Sen._ ’Tis very well for you, Petronius, To take upon yourself the criticism And ordering of appearances, and say ’If aught goes ill, blame me.’ You lay your hand On any object you mislike, remove it, Replace it as you will, can please yourself: Nay, you can blame their taste who are not pleased. But he who deals with men, and seeks to mould A character to that high rule of right Which so few can attain, he works, I say, 3140 With different matter, nor can he be blamed By any measure of his ill success. His best endeavours are like little dams Built ’gainst the ocean, on a sinking shore. Nature asserts her force—and the wise man Blames not himself for his defeat. For me, Much as my soul is grieved, ay, and my pride Wounded—tho’ yet, I thank philosophy, I can be glad for that,—my hopes—for this I mourn—my hopes blasted; yet, hear me say, I take unto myself no self-reproach, 3151 Nay, not a tittle of the part of mischief A vulgar mind might credit to my score. I have done my best, and that’s the utmost good A man can do; and if a better man Had in my place done more, ’tis perverse Fortune That placed me ill. Thus far I argue with you, Who look on me askance, and think my heart Is tainted; as if I would in such case Do such thing, as—poison my brother at table, Contrive to kill my mother: ’Tis so far 3161 From possible, that to my ears the words Carry no sense: nay, and I think such crimes May seem more horrible to other men, Whose passions make them fear them, than to me Who cannot think them mine. As for the rest, I stand with you, and never from this hour Shall mix with Cæsar more with any hope Of good. Indeed I have hoped too long, and yet The end has come too soon. 3170 _Re-enter Anicetus, Tigellinus, and Paris._ _Tig._ ’Tis done, ’tis done. _Ani._ Where is Cæsar? _Bur._ Within. [_Anicetus and Tigellinus hurry within._ _Petr._ Paris, is it true? _Par._ The Augusta lives no longer, Most brutally and miserably slain: Yet died she bravely. _Petr._ And why wentest thou To soil thy hand? _Par._ I went not to take part: But Fortune holding nature’s ruffians up, I took their pattern. _Sen._ Say, who did the deed? _Par._ I’ll tell thee what I saw. As forth we went, The coward Tigellinus, pale as death, In needless haste foremost where was no danger, Hurried us on so fast, that thro’ the street 3181 We scarce kept pace, but when he reached the wall Of the garden, and saw there the soldiers placed By Anicetus, knowing not their purpose, He shrank behind. These men being bidden seized The servants; then we entered, and with us Came the centurion. Within the room Sat Agrippina with a single maid, Who seeing the Admiral’s sword fled past us out: At which the Augusta called to her, ’Dost thou, Fulvia, desert me too?’ Then to the Admiral 3191 She spoke. ’If here thou comest to enquire From Cæsar of my health, know I am well, Recovered from my shock, and little hurt. But if, as your men’s looks would mean, ye are come Deeming that Cæsar wills that I should suffer The like I late escaped, know you mistake. ’Twas not of his contrivance, and my foe In this is his.’ None answered, and awhile Was such delay as makes the indivisible 3200 And smallest point of time various and broad; For Agrippina, when she saw her lie Fail of its aim, ventured no more, as knowing There was no wiser plea; but let her eyes Indifferently wander round her foes, Counting their strength. Then looked I to have seen Her spring, for her cheek swelled, and ’neath her robe Her foot moved; ay, and had she been but armed, One would have fallen. But if she had the thought She set it by, choosing to take her death 3210 With dignity. Then Anicetus raised His sword, and I fled out beyond the door To see no more. First Tigellinus’ voice, ’To death, thou wretch!’ then blows, but not a groan; Only she showed her spirit to the last, And made some choice of death, offering her body, ’That bare the monster,’ crying with that curse, ’Strike here, strike here!’ _Sen._ Alas, poor lady, Was that the end of thy unscrupulous, 3219 Towering ambition? Thou didst win indeed The best and worst of Fortune. _Bur._ Give her her due, Such courage as deserved the best, such crimes As make her death seem gentler than deserved. _Enter Nero between Anicetus and Tigellinus._ _Ner._ My lords, ’tis done. Nay, look not grieved. There’s none Suffers as much as I; all share the good. And think not that to keep the world at peace I grudge this sacrifice: the general care I set before my own, and therefore bid There be no public mourning, nay, to-morrow We shall attend the spectacles and games, 3230 Appear as usual before the people: Ay, and I partly look, my lords, to you That I be well received. Good night to all! ACHILLES IN SCYROS DRAMATIS PERSONÆ _THETIS_ _Mother of Achilles_. _ACHILLES_ _disguised as PYRRHA_. _LYCOMEDES_ _King of Scyros_. _ULYSSES_ _Prince of Ithaca_. _DIOMEDE_ _compassion of Ulysses_. _ABAS_ _servant to Ulysses_. _DEIDAMIA_ _daughter of Lycomedes_. _CHORUS of SCYRIAN MAIDENS._ _The scene is on the Island of Scyros, in the gardens of the palace._ _Thetis prologises._ ACHILLES _THETIS._ The deep recesses of this rocky isle, That far from undersea riseth to crown Its flowery head above the circling waves, A home for men with groves and gardens green, I chose not ill to be the hiding-place Of my loved son. Alas, I could not take him To live in my blue caverns, where the nymphs Own me for queen: and hateful is the earth To me, and all remembrance, since that morn, When, in the train of May wandering too far, 10 I trafficked with my shells and pearls to buy Her fragrant roses and fresh lilies white. Accurst the day and thou, ah, wretched Peleus, Who forcedst me to learn the fears that women Have for their mortal offspring: who but I, Thetis, Poseidon’s daughter, who alone But I of all the immortals have known this, To bear and love a son in human kind? And yet not wholly ill is the constraint, Nor do I pity mortals to be born 20 Heirs of desire and death, and the rich thought Denied to easy pleasure in the days That neither bring nor take; tho’ more to me Embittered with foreknowledge of a doom Threatened by fate, and labour how to avert. For to me, questioning the high decrees By which the sweetly tyrannous stars allot Their lives and deaths to men, answer was given That for my son Achilles there was ruled One of two things, and neither good; the better 30 A long and easy life, the worse a death Untimely-glorious, which should set his name First of the Greeks;—for so must seem to me Better and worse, so even an earthly mother Had for him chosen, tho’ for the right he died, And conquered all the gods that succour Troy.— But when I, thinking he must share my fear, Showed him the choice, he made a mortal plunge For glorious death, and would have straight gone forth To seek it; but in tenderness for me,— 40 Whom without shame he honours, and in this My love repays,—he to my tears consented To hide him from his fate; and here he dwells Disguised among the maidens like a maiden;— For so his beauty and youth permit,—to serve The daughter of the king of this fair isle, Who calls him Pyrrha for his golden hair, And knowing not prefers him o’er the rest. But I with frequent visitings assure me That he obeys; and,—for I have the power 50 To change my semblance,—I will sometimes run In likeness of a young and timorous fawn Before the maiden train, that give me chase Far in the woods, till he outstrip them all; Then turn I quick at bay with loved surprise, And bid him hail: or like a snake I glide Under the flowers, where they sit at play, And showing suddenly my gleaming eyes, All fly but he, and we may speak alone. Thus oft my love will lead me, but to-day 60 More special need hath brought: for on the seas I met at dawn a royal ship of Greece Slow stemming toward this isle. What that might bode, And who might sail thereon, I guessed; and taking A dolphin’s shape, that thro’ the heavy waters Tumbles in sport, around the labouring prow I gambolled, till her idle crew stood by To watch me from the wooden battlements. And surely among them there full soon I saw, Even as I feared, the man I feared, agaze 70 With hypocrite eyes, the prince of Ithaca, That searcheth for Achilles: of all the Greeks Whom most I dread, for his own endless wiles, And for Athena’s aid. Him when I saw, Lest I should be too late, I hither sped To warn my son, and here shall meet him soon,— Tho’ yet he hath not come,—for on these lawns The damsels of the court are wont to play, And he with them. Hark! see! even now. Nay, nay. Alas! who cometh thus? Ah, by that gait 80 Crouching along, it is my persecutor, Ulysses. Woe is me! I must fly hence. Tho’ he should know me not, I fear to face him, My hated foe, alert, invincible Of will, full of self-love and mortal guile. [_Exit._ _Enter Ulysses from the bushes, followed by Diomede, who wears a Lion’s skin._ _DIOMEDE._ We have made the circuit of the hill, and here Into the gardens are come round again. What now? _ULYSSES._ Hush thou! Look there! Some one hath seen us. He flies. _Dio._ I see not. _Ul._ Where the myrtle tops Stir each in turn. He goeth toward the shore. 90 I must see him that seeth me. Bide thou. [_Exit among the bushes._ _Dio._ Were I a dog, now, I might learn. Heigh ho! Two hours and more we have wandered on this mountain, Round and round, up and down, and round again, Gardens, and lawns, meadows, and groves, and walks, Thickets, and woods, the windings of the glades, I have them all by rote. Each petty rill We have tracked by rocky steps and paths about, And peeped into its dank and mossy caves. What sort of game should this Achilles be, 100 That we should seek him thus? Ah! back so soon? What sport? _Ul._ (_re-entering_). Well hit. ’Twas but a milk-white doe, Some petted plaything of the young princess, That fled our stranger steps. _Dio._ And whither now Turn we to seek Achilles? _Ul._ Hark, Diomede: My plot is laid and ready for thine ears. Thou madest offer of thine aid; be patient, And hear me. _Dio._ I will hearken. _Ul._ First, thou knowest How since the day the Danaan kings took oath To avenge the wrong done by the Trojan Paris 110 Against his host, the Spartan Menelaus, One oracle hath thwarted us, which said Our purpose should not prosper with the gods Unless Achilles the young son of Thetis Should lead our armies. _Dio._ Certainly, so far I am with you. _Ul._ Next, when he was sought in vain, Men looked to me; ay, and to me it fell To learn that he was lurking in this isle Of Scyros, in the court of Lycomedes. 119 The king denied the charge, adding in challenge, That I might come and make what search I pleased; Now mark... _Dio_. I listen, but thou tellest nothing. Why search we not the court if he be there, Instead of this old hill? _Ul._ ’Tis that I come to. King Lycomedes hath been one of those Who have held their arms aloof from our alliance, On the main plea of this Achilles’ absence. What if he play the game here for his friends, And hide the lad lest they be forced to fight? _Dio._ That well might be. And if the king would hide him, 130 Thy hope would hit upon him thus at hazard? _Ul._ Call me not fool. Attend and hear my plot: Nor marvel, Diomede, to learn that he, Whom the high gods name champion of the Greeks, Lurks in the habit of a girl disguised Amid the maidens of this island court. _Dio._ That were too strange. How guess you that? _Ul._ My spies, Who have searched the isle, say there’s no youth thereon, Having Achilles’ age of sixteen years, But is well known of native parentage. 140 Now Thetis’ son must be of wondrous beauty, That could not scape inquiry; we therefore look For what is hid, and not to be disguised Save as I guess. _Dio._ If this be so, thy purpose Is darker still. _Ul._ I lead thee by the steps I came myself to take, slowly and surely... And next this, that ’twere dull to ask the king To help to find the thing he goes to hide: Therefore the search must be without his knowledge. ’Twas thus I sent up Abas to the court, 150 Idly to engage him in preliminaries, The while I work; my only hope being this, To come myself to parley with the maidens; Which to procure I brought with me aboard A pedlar’s gear, and with such gawds and trinkets As tickle girlish fancies, I shall steal Upon them at their play; my hoary beard And rags will set them at their ease; and while They come about me, and turn o’er my pack, I spy. If then Achilles be among them, 160 The lad’s indifference soon will mark him out; When, watching my occasion, I’ll exhibit Something that should provoke his eye and tongue. If he betray himself, thou being at hand.... _Dio._ Why, ’tis a dirty trick. _Ul._ Not if it wins. _Dio._ Fie! fie! In rags and a white beard? _Ul._ No better way. _Dio._ The better way were not to lose the hour Hearkening to oracles, while our good ships Rot, and our men grow stale. Why, you may see Imperial Agamemnon in the eyes 171 Of all his armament walk daily forth To take fresh note of sparrows and of snakes: And if he spy an eagle, ’twill make talk For twenty days. Would you have oracles, Give me the whipping of the priests. Zeus help me! If half the chiefs knew but their minds as I, There’d be no parleying. I’ll to war alone And with my eighty ships do what I may ’Gainst gods and men. Ay, and the greater odds The better fighting. _Ul._ Now ’tis thou that talkest. 181 _Dio._ Tell me then why we are prowling on this hill. _Ul._ Excellent reasons. First that when I come I may know how to come, and where to hide From them I would not meet: and thereto this, That if Achilles fly, he should not take us At too great disadvantage: thou mayst head him, Knowing the ground about, while I pursue. He must not scape. But hark, ’tis time the plot Were put to proof; already it must be noon; 190 And I hear steps and voices. Let us return To the ship. If they that come be those we seek, ... Hark, and ’tis they,—we can look back upon them. I’ll be amongst them soon. _Dio._ ’Tis a girl’s game. [_Exeunt into the bushes._ _Enter Deidamia, Achilles as Pyrrha, with the chorus of maidens._ _DEIDAMIA_ (_without_). Follow me, follow. I lead the race. [_Enters._ _CHORUS._ Follow, we follow, we give thee chase. [_Entering._ _Deid._ Follow me, follow. _Ch._ We come, we come. _Deid._ Here is my home; I choose this tree: this is the ground 200 Where we will make our play. Stand all around, And let us beg the dwellers in this glade To bear us company. Be not afraid, (I will begin) sweet birds, whose flowery songs Sprinkle with joy the budding boughs above, The airy city where your light folk throngs, Each with his special exquisite of love,— Red-throat and white-throat, finch and golden-crest, Deep-murmuring pigeon, and soft-cooing dove,— Unto his mate addrest, that close in nest 210 Sits on the dun and dappled eggs all day. Come red-throat, white-throat, finch and golden-crest, Let not our merry play drive you away. _Ch._ And ye brown squirrels, up the rugged bark That fly, and leap from bending spray to spray, And bite the luscious shoots, if I should mark, Slip not behind the trunks, nor hide away.— Ye earthy moles, that burrowing in the dark Your glossy velvet coats so much abuse;— 219 Ye watchful dormice, and small skipping shrews, Stay not from foraging; dive not from sight.— Come moles and mice, squirrels and skipping shrews, Come all, come forth, and join in our delight. _Deid._ Enough. Now while the Dryads of the hill Interpret to the creatures our good will, Listen, and I will tell you a new game That we can play together.—As hither I came, I marked that in the hazel copse below, Where we so oft have hidden and loved to go To hear the night-bird, or to take unseen 230 Our noontide walks beneath the tangled screen, The woodcutter hath been with cruel blade, And of the tasselled plumes his strewage made: And by the mossy moots the covert shorn Now lieth low in swathe like autumn corn. These ere he lop and into bundles bind, Let us go choose the fairest we may find, And of their feathered orphan saplings weave A bowery dome, until the birds believe We build a nest, and are come here to dwell. 240 Hie forth, ye Scyrian maids; do as I tell: And having built our bower amid the green, We will choose one among us for a queen, And be the Amazons, whose maiden clan By broad Thermodon dwells, apart from man; Who rule themselves, from his dominion free, And do all things he doth, better than he. First, Amazons, your queen: to choose her now: Who shall she be? _Ch._ Thyself, thou. Who but thou? Deidamia. _Deid._ Where then were the play, 250 If I should still command, and ye obey? _Ch._ Choose thou for all. _Deid._ Nor will I name her, lest Ye say my favour sets one o’er the rest. _Ch._ Thy choice is ours. _Deid._ If then I gave my voice For Pyrrha? _Ch._ Pyrrha, Pyrrha is our choice. Hail, Pyrrha, hail! Queen of the Amazons! _Deid._ (_To Ach._). To thee I abdicate my place, and give My wreath for crown. Long, my queen, mayst thou live! Now, fellow-subjects, hie we off at once. _ACHILLES._ Stay, stay! Is this the privilege of the throne? 260 Am I preferred but to be left alone? No guard, no counsellor, no company! Deidamia, stay! _Deid._ Thy word must be My law, O queen: I will abide. But ye Forth quickly, as I said; ye know the place. _Ch._ Follow me, follow: I lead the race. Follow, we follow, we give thee chase. Follow me, follow. We come, we come. [_Exeunt Chor._ _Ach._ I could not bear that thou shouldst strain thy hands270 Dragging those branches up the sunny hill; Nor for a thousand honours thou shouldst do me, Making me here thy queen, would I consent To lose thy company, even for an hour. See, while the maids warm in their busy play, We may enjoy in quiet the sweet air, And thro’ the quivering golden green look up To the deep sky, and have high thoughts as idle And bright, as are the small white clouds becalmed In disappointed voyage to the noon: 280 There is no better pastime. _Deid._ I will sit with thee In idleness, while idleness can please. _Ach._ It is not idleness to steep the soul In nature’s beauty: rather every day We are idle letting beauteous things go by Unheld, or scarce perceived. We cannot dream Too deeply, nor o’erprize the mood of love, When it comes on us strongly, and the hour Is ripe for thought. _Deid._ I have a thought, a dream; If thou canst keep it secret. _Ach._ I am thy slave. 290 _Deid._ Suppose—’tis more than that, yet I’ll but say Suppose—we played this game of Amazons In earnest. What an isle this Scyros were; Rich and wellplanted, and its rocky coast Easy of defence: the women now upon it Could hold it. Nay, I have often thought it out: The king my sire is threescore years and more, And hath no heir: suppose that when he dies,— The gods defer it long, but when he dies, If thou and I should plan to seize this isle, 300 Drive out the men, and rule it for our own ... Wouldst thou work with me, Pyrrha, the thing could be. Why shouldst thou smile? I do not say that I Would rate my strength with men; but on the farms Women are thicker sinewed; and in thee I see what all might be. I am sure for speed No man could match thee, and thou hast an arm To tug an oar or hurl the heaviest spear, Or wrestle with the best. Why dost thou smile? _Ach._ When thou art queen, I’ll be thy general. _Deid._ That was my thought. What dost thou think? _Ach._ I think That Fate hath marked me for a general. 312 _Deid._ Nay, but I jest not. _Ach._ Then shall I forecast And weigh impediments against thee? as men Will in like case, who think no scheme mature Till counsel hath forestalled all obstacles. _Deid._ If thou canst think of any. _Ach._ First is this, Whence shall we get our subjects when our isle Is peopled but by women? _Deid._ Fairly asked, Had I not thought of it. We shall import them 320 From other isles. Girl children everywhere Are held of small account: these we will buy, Bartering for them our fruits and tapestries, And chiefly from the country whence thou comest; For there I think the women must be taller And stronger than with us. _Ach._ And who will act Persuader to the maidens of the isle To banish all their lovers? _Deid._ O Pyrrha, shame! Man’s love is nothing; what knowst thou of it To magnify its folly? ’Tis a mischief 330 To thwart our good: therefore I banish it. A woman’s love may be as much to woman As a man’s love can be. ’Tis reasonable This, and no dream. ’Tis my experience. When I am with thee, Pyrrha, I want nothing. No woman sitting by her silly lover Could take such pleasure from his flatteries As I from thy speech. When thou lookest on me I am all joy; and if ’tis so with thee, Why need we argue? Tell me, when I am with thee Dost thou lack aught, or wish I were a man? 341 _Ach._ In truth nay, but... _Deid._ A wretched but: I know What that would say; this thing cannot be done Because ’twas never done. But that’s with me The reason why it should be done. _Ach._ I see. Yet novelty hath no wear. Remember too We must grow old. The spirit of such adventure Tires as the body ages. _Deid._ For that I think I make the best provision. Nay, I have seen Full many an old dame left in last neglect, 350 Whose keen gray eye, peaked face, and silver hair Were god-like set beneath a helm of brass. _Ach._ Here be the maids: ask them their mind at once. _Deid._ Nay, for the world no word. _Enter Chorus, with flowers._ Why run they breathlessly in merry fear? What have ye seen? What now? _Ch._ The king. Fly, fly! _Ach._ Why should we fly the king? _Ch._ A man is with him, and they come this way. _Deid._ Who is it? _Ch._ Nay, we know not. _Deid._ What hath happed? _Ch._ We went forth as ye bade, and all together Ran down the hill, the straightest way we might, Into the copse, and lo! ’twas as thou saidst; 362 The hazels are all felled, but on the ground, That ’neath the straight trunks of the airy trees Lies in the spotted sunlight, are upsprung Countless anemones, white, red, and blue, In the bright glade. Forgetting why we came, We fell to gathering these. I chose the blue, As ye may see, loving blue blossoms best, That are content with heaven. _2nd Speaker._ And I the red, 370 Love’s passionate colour; and the love in these Is mixed with heavenly to a royal purple. _3rd._ And I the white: whose praise I will not tell, Lest it should blush. _4th._ And I have mixed together The red and white. _5th._ And I the red and blue. _6th._ And I the blue and white. _Deid._ Well, but the matter. What happened next, tell me? _Ch._ (_1st._) Still at this game, Like to a hungry herd that stops and feeds, Snatching what tempts it on, we made advance To the entrance of the combe; and then one cried, Look up! Look there! And from the open brow, Whence we looked down upon the sea, we saw 382 A great war-ship in the harbour: and one said, She comes from Athens; and another, nay, Her build is Rhodian: when as there we gazed, Counting her ports, and wondering of her name,— We heard men’s voices and beheld the king Mounting the hill-side, with a stranger clad In short Greek robes. Then ran we back to thee, Ere we were seen, in haste; that we may hide, 390 And not be called within to attend the guests. _Deid._ So did ye well, whoe’er it be, and best If ’tis the prince of Melos, as I fear: Who late my father said would come to woo me: But he must find me first. [_Going._ _Ach._ I’ll be thine eyes And take his measure. Let me lurk behind, I’ll learn his height, the colour of his beard, And bring thee word. _Deid._ I pray, no beards for me. Those that love beards remain. The rest with me. Follow me, follow: I lead the race. [_Exit._ _Ch._ Follow, we follow. We give thee chase— Follow me, follow— 402 —We come, we come. [_Exeunt Chor._ _Ach._ I wish I had had Apollo for my sire; Or that old Cheiron, when he taught me arms, Hunting the beasts on bushy Pelion, Had led and trained me rather, as well he knew, In that fair park of fancy and delight, Where but the Graces and the Muses come. For he could sing: and oft took down at eve 410 From the high pillar of his rocky cave The lyre or pipe, and whiled the darksome hours. Which would I had learned, to touch the stops and strings, Nor only harked thereto: for nought he sang, Whether of gods or men, of peace or war, Had any theme of sweetness to compare With my new world, here, where I am king, and rule The sweetest thing in nature. Had I skill To give translation to my joy, I think I could make music that should charm the world. O Deidamia, thou Queen of my heart, 421 I would enchant thee and thine isle. Alas! How wilt thou learn thou art mine? How can I tell And with the word not lose thee? Now this suitor Threats my betrayal... He comes. I’ll watch. Yet not With jealous eyes, but heedful of my fate. [_Hides in bushes._ _Enter Lycomedes and Abas._ _LYCOMEDES._ ’Tis folly and impertinence. I say it With due respect unto the prince, thy master, Who am as much his elder as the king His father is. He ne’er would so have wronged me,— The mild and good Laertes.—In this isle 431 Think’st thou ’twere possible a man should hide, And I not know it? _ABAS._ My Lord Ulysses, sire, Bade me assure your majesty he came More with the purpose to acquit your honour,— Which suffers greatly in the common tongue,— Than with a hope to find what he pretends He comes to seek. _Lyc._ Why should he come at all? _Ab._ Taking your invitation in the sense That I have spoken... _Lyc._ Thinks he, if I chose 440 To hide the man in Scyros, that a stranger From Ithaca could find him? _Ab._ Nay... _Lyc._ It follows Your search can never quit my honesty, Where I am held accomplice; but no less Must put a slight upon my wits, implying Me the deceived. _Ab._ Your invitation, sire, Covers that charge. _Lyc._ My invitation, sir, Was but my seal of full denial, a challenge For honour’s eye, not to be taken up. Your master hath slipped in manners: yet fear not But I will meet and treat him as his birth 451 And name require. Speak we no more of this. What think’st thou of our isle? _Ab._ The famed Ægean Hath not a finer jewel on her breast. _Lyc._ Come, come! you overpraise us: there’s no need. We Scyrians are contented.—Now we are climbed Above the town to the east; and you may see The western seaboard, and our other port. The island narrows here to twenty stades, Cut like a wasp; the shoulder where we stand 460 Is its best natured spot: It falls to the sun, And at this time of the year takes not too much. _Ab._ ’Tis strange how in all points the lie of the land Is like our Ithaca, but better clothed. _Lyc._ And larger, is’t not? _Ab._ Past comparison.— _Lyc._ What navy bring ye to the war? _Ab._ Ah, sire! We have no ships to boast of—with our own Zakynthus, Cephallenia, and the rest, Joining their numbers, raise but ten or twelve. _Lyc._ And these your prince commands? 470 _Ab._ Such as they be. _Lyc._ Tidings come slowly to us here. I pray you Tell me the latest of your preparations. The thing must drag: there was some talk awhile Of coldness ’twixt the chiefs: ’twould be no wonder. They that combine upon one private grudge May split upon another. _Ab._ Still their zeal Increases: ’tis as fire spread from a spark. _Lyc._ A spark? well—Menelaus. At this time What numbers hath he drawn, and whence? _Ab._ The ships Number above a thousand: a tenth of these 480 Are sent by Corinth, Sicyon and Mycenæ; Sixty are Spartan, and king Agamemnon Provides as many as these all told together. Then from Ægina, Epidaurus, Argos, And Tiryns Diomede brings eighty: Nestor Ninety from Pylos; from Bœotia Come eighty; Phocis and Phthiotis each Send forty; Athens fifty; and Eubœa Forty; from Salamis Ajax brings twelve; Oilean Ajax with the Locrians 490 Forty more; from our neighbours in the west, Dulichium and Ætolia, eighty sail; Again as many from hundred-citied Crete Under the king Idomeneus, and nine From Rhodes: All these, with others that escape My hasty summing, lie drawn up at Aulis. ’Tis such a sight as, I am bold to say, If but your majesty could see it, would move you To make a part of the splendour. _Lyc._ Nay, I have seen them. _Ab._ Your majesty hath been at Aulis? _Lyc._ Nay, 500 Nor yet at Aulis: but the tale thou tellest Coming unto my ears a month ago, Some of my lords and I one idle morn Crossed to Eubœa,—’tis a pleasure trip, On a clear day scarce out of sight of home— We landed ’neath Œchalia by noon, And, crossing o’er the isle on mules, were lodged That night at Chalcis. The next day at dawn I played the spy. ’Twas such a breathless morning When all the sound and motion of the sea 510 Is short and sullen, like a dreaming beast: Or as ’twere mixed of heavier elements Than the bright water, that obeys the wind. Hiring a fishing-boat we bade the sailors Row us to Aulis; when midway the straits, The morning mist lifted, and lo, a sight Unpicturable.—High upon our left Where we supposed was nothing, suddenly A tall and shadowy figure loomed: then two, And three, and four, and more towering above us: But whether poised upon the leaden sea 521 They stood, or floated in the misty air, That baffling our best vision held entangled The silver of the half-awakened sun, Or whether near or far, we could not tell, Nor what: at first I thought them rocks, but ere That error could be told, they were upon us Bearing down swiftly athwart our course; and all Saw ’twas a fleet of ships, not three or four Now, but unnumber’d: like a floating city, 530 If such could be, with walls and battlements Spread on the wondering water: and now the sun Broke thro’ the haze, and from the shields outhung Blazed back his dazzling beams, and round their prows On the divided water played; as still They rode the tide in silence, all their oars Stretched out aloft, as are the balanced wings Of storm-fowl, which returned from battling flight Across the sea, steady their aching plumes And skim along the shuddering cliffs at ease: 540 So came they gliding on the sullen plain, Out of the dark, in silent state, by force Yet unexpended of their nightlong speed. Those were the Cretan ships, who when they saw us Hailed for a pilot, and of our native sailors Took one aboard, and dipping all their oars Passed on, and we with them, into the bay. Then from all round, where the dark hulls were moored Against the shore, and from the tents above A shout of joy went up, re-echoing 550 From point to point; and we too cheered and caught The zeal of that great gathering.—Where man is met The gods will come; or shall I say man’s spirit Hath operative faculties to mix And make his gods at will? Howe’er that be, Soon a swift galley shot out from the rest To meet the comers. That was Agamemnon’s, They told me; and I doubt not he was in it, And gave his welcome to Idomeneus, And took him to his tent. On such a day 560 Our little boat rowed where we would unmarked: We were but Chalcian pilots. So I saw Whate’er I wished to see, and came away Across the strait that night, and the next day Was home by sundown. _Ab._ All this could you see Without the wish to join? _Lyc._ I say not that; For wish I did that I was young again. Then, sir, I would have left whate’er I had, My kingdom to another, for the pride, Of high place in such war; now I am old. 570 _Ab._ But older men than thou have joined us, sire. War needs experience. _Lyc._ Concerning war I am divided in opinion, Abas: But lean to think it hath a wholesome root Supportive to our earthly habit. I see The noblest beasts will love to fight, and man Is body as well as spirit: his mind that’s set In judgment o’er those twain must oft admit The grosser part hath a preponderant claim. But I regret this, and my discontent 580 Puts me this question, Shall man never come To a better state with his desire? What think you? What if our race yet young should with the time Throw off the baser passions, as I find Myself by age affected? I know not... I have a little statue in my house, Which, if you look on’t long, begets belief Of absolute perfectionment; the artist Should have been present when man’s clay was mixed. Prometheus, or whoever ’twas that made us, 590 Had his head turned with natural history: All excellent contrivance, but betraying Commonness and complexity. Well! well! No need of my philosophies in Scyros— War must have motive, and the men I rule Are simple and contented with their lot. None in my land would wish an atom changed: Were even Achilles here ’twould be no wonder If he had caught our temper. _Ab._ All men witness To thy good rule, O king: but in the wars 600 Fame may be won. _Lyc._ Nor do I ask for fame. Come that to whom it will; to Agamemnon, To Ajax or Ulysses or Achilles. _Ab._ To Achilles no: ’tis not in the gods’ grace To succour pigritude. To him, a lad, The prize of honour above all the Greeks Was offered: by the poor effeminacy With which he hath rejected it, he is judged Meanest of all. But since we cannot win Without him, we must have him. Little glory 610 To him, except to be Fate’s dullest tool. _Lyc._ Maybe. Now come we on. I had thought to find My daughter and her train. I’ll take thee round Another way to the palace: thither no doubt She is now returned. [_Exeunt._ _Enter Achilles from the bushes._ _Ach._ Villain, I thank the gods that sent thee hither. But thou wast near thy death. Walk off secure, Not knowing that I heard. _Effeminate! The meanest of the Greeks!_ were he the best, I’d slay him in this garment. Yet he is but 620 A tongue to troll opinion of me, a slave, Fetcher and carrier of others’ tales, and doth The drudgery honestly; for that I’ll thank him And profit by his slander. Ay, so I’ll do— Now in good time—I’ll get me a man’s dress And meet them here, ere they suspect me:—or, stay! I can outwit them better. I’ll take a boat, Cross o’er to Aulis, like good Lycomede, This very night, and there to Agamemnon Declare myself; and men shall never know 630 How I was hid, nor whence I came. _Enter Thetis._ _Th._ My son! _Ach._ My goddess mother, welcome! yet I am shamed That thou shouldst find me thus. _Th._ How art thou shamed? _Ach._ This dress. O thou canst help me: thou art ready At every need. And here hath been a man Who, thinking not I heard, spake to the king Of thy Achilles with such scorn, that I Should have leaped forth upon him in my rage, And strangled him, but that he seemed to be Another’s servant. 640 _Th._ Then thou hast seen them, son? _Ach._ Who are they? _Th._ Those I came to warn thee of; Ulysses and his friends. Knowst thou ’tis they Are come unto the isle to seek thee? _Ach._ Ay. But thou art ready to outwit their wile. As thou didst bring me hither on that night When all thy nymphs, assembling ’neath the moon Upon the Achæan shore, bore me away Across the sea, even so to Aulis now Convey me secretly, and set me there, Ere men know whence I come. _Th._ What hear I, son? 650 To Aulis? to thy foes? _Ach._ A thousand ships Moored idle in the bay wait but for me: And round the shore the captains of the Greeks Impatient in their tents but call for me. Be they my foes to speak or wish me ill, ’Tis only that I come not. I must go. _Th._ There let them tarry till the sea-worm bore Their ships to rottenness; or, sail they forth, Let them be butchered by the sword of Hector, Ere thou be snared to serve their empty pride. 660 _Ach._ But louder than their need my honour calls: Hast thou no thought of this in all thy love? _Th._ Who then is honoured more or more desired Than thou art now? but they, if once they had thee, Would slight thee, and pretend they were the men. _Ach._ But those are honoured best that hear their praise. _Th._ Is not high Zeus himself, holding aloof, Worshipped the more? Let the world say of thee, When these have perished, that they went their way Because the son of Thetis would not aid them. 670 _Ach._ But if ’twere said because he feared to die? _Th._ Fearst thou reproach of fear that fearst not death? _Ach._ I fear not, but by proof would shun reproach. _Th._ Men, son, are what they are; and thou art brave. ’Tis asked of poor and questionable spirits To prove their worth. _Ach._ I prove myself a coward. _Th._ How! when it needed heavenly prayers and tears, The force of duty and a goddess’ will To keep thee back from death! when all the joys That I have set about thee, and a love 680 More beautiful than Helen’s cannot hold thee! _Ach._ Fate, that from men hideth her pitiless face, Offered to me this kindness, that my will Should be of force in predetermined deeds: Allowing me to take which life I would Of two incomparable lots; I ever Leaned one way, the other thou; and still at heart I hold to my first choice. _Th._ O child of man, Though child of mine, wouldst thou know wisdom’s way, Learn it of me. If I had said to thee 690 Thou being a mortal shouldst love death and darkness; For in the brief date of thy heedless term ’Tis vain to strive with evil: and since the end Cometh the same, and at the latest cometh So soon, that there’s no difference to be told ’Twixt early and late, ’tis wisdom to despair: Then would thy tongue have boldly answered me, And said, Man hath his life; that it must end Condemns it not for nought. Are rivers salt Because they travel to the bitter sea? 700 Is the day dark because the gorgeous west Must fade in gloom, when the ungazeable sun Is fallen beneath the waves? Or hath the spring No charm in her pavilions, are her floors Not starred, for that we see her birth is slow Of niggard winter, and her blossoms smirched By summer’s tyranny? Hadst thou said this, And that Earth’s changeful pride, the life of man, Is exquisite in such a quality To make the high gods envious could they guess: Then had I found no answer: but when I 711 Told thee of joy, and set thee in the midst, That thou shouldst argue with me that ’tis best To die at once, and for an empty name Pass to the trivial shades; then must I fear I have as thankless and unwise a son, As disobedient.—Yet when first I taught thee Thou gav’st me promise to be wise. _Ach._ But never Wilt thou then free me from my promise given? _Th._ Not to thy hurt. 720 _Ach._ See now what shame I bear! _Th._ Why make so much of shame? If thou despise The pleasure of the earth, why not the shame? _Ach._ I wrong, too, this old king. _Th._ His daughter more, If thou desert her. _Ach._ But ’twould hurt her less To lose me now than know me when disgraced. _Th._ I plead not in her name, nor charge thee, son, With loving her in my contempt. A dream Of mortal fancy or honour may becloud Thy mind awhile, but ne’er canst thou forget Thy bond to me; the care that never left thee 730 Till thou wert out of hand; the love that dared To send thee from my sight when thou wast able, And to strange lands; my secret visitings There, and revisitings; the dreams I sent thee, Warnings of ill, and ecstasies of pride; The thousand miracles I wrought to save thee, And guard thee to thy prime;—and now men say Thou art the first of the Greeks: their homaged kings The gods condemn to death if thou withhold 739 Thy single arm. Why so? What hast thou done? Where have men seen thee? Hast thou ruled like Nestor? Conquered like Agamemnon, fought like Ajax? What is thy prowess, what thy skill but this, That thou art son of Thetis? Disobey not, Nor question now my bidding. Must I kneel, Embrace thy knees, or melt before thy face In supplicating tears? O if thy birth Did cost the tenderest tears that god e’er shed, Make not those bitter drops to have flowed in vain. Whate’er fate portion thee my joy is this— 750 That thou dost love me. Dost thou cease to love, I am most miserable. _Ach._ O fear not that, Mother and goddess! Pardon me, weep not. Let all men curse me, be my name abhorred, Rather than thou be grieved. ’Twas anger moved me: I will forget this, and obey thee. Say What I must do, how best avoid these men: And how refuse their call if I be found. _Th._ Kiss me, my son. By the gods’ life, I love thee: My grief is to deny thee. But there’s need 760 Of counsel, for the day is critical And glides apace. And first if they should find thee, Then ’tis thy fate to go: I cannot stay thee. And since to bear thee hence were sure betrayal, I urge thee to be true to thy disguise. And better to escape thy foes, learn now Whom most to dread. Of all the Argives shun Ulysses; come not near him in the halls; And should he speak to thee, answer no word. Him thou wilt know by his preëminence: 770 In person he is beardless yet, and smooth Of face and tongue, alluring, gentle in voice But sturdy of body, and ’neath his helm his locks O’er a wide brow and restless eye curl forth In ruddy brown; nor less for his attire Notable is he, wearing the best of all, His linen broidered, and broad jewels to hold A robe of gray and purple. _Ach._ He shall not spy me. But if by any warning from the gods He know and call to me, how then to escape 780 The shame of this Ionian skirt? _Th._ That chance I can provide for, and shall give thee now A magic garment fitting to thy body, Which worn beneath thy robe will seem as weft Of linen thread, but if it meet the light ’Twill be a gilded armour, and serve well In proof as show. Come, I will set it on thee. [_Exeunt._ _Enter Deidamia and Chorus._ _Deid._ The ground is clear, we have deceived them mightily, Running around. _Ch._ Where is our queen? (_2_) Not here. _Deid._ I’ll call her. Pyrrha!—Call all together. _Ch._ Pyrrha! _Deid._ She will come presently.—Did ye not mark How resonant this glade is? that our voices 792 Neither return nor fly, but stay about us? It is the trunks of the trees that cage the sound; As in an open temple, where the pillars Enrich the music. In my father’s hall The echo of each note burdens the next. ’Twould be well done to cut a theatre Deep in some wooded dale. Till Pyrrha come, Alexia, sing thou here. _Ch._ What shall I sing? 800 _Deid._ There is a Lydian chant I call to mind In honour of music-makers: it beginneth With praise of the soft spring, and heavenly love— ’Twill suit our mood, if thou remember it. _Chorus._ The earth loveth the spring, Nor of her coming despaireth, Withheld by nightly sting, Snow, and icy fling, The snarl of the North: But nevertheless she prepareth 810 And setteth in order her nurselings to bring them forth, The jewels of her delight, What shall be blue, what yellow or white; What softest above the rest, The primrose, that loveth best Woodland skirts and the copses shorn. 2. And on the day of relenting she suddenly weareth Her budding crowns. O then, in the early morn, Is any song that compareth With the gaiety of birds, that thrill the gladdened air In inexhaustible chorus 821 To awake the sons of the soil With music more than in brilliant halls sonorous (—It cannot compare—) Is fed to the ears of kings From the reeds and hirèd strings? For love maketh them glad; And if a soul be sad, Or a heart oracle dumb, Here may it taste the promise of joy to come. 830 3. For the Earth knoweth the love which made her, The omnipotent one desire, Which burns at her heart like fire, And hath in gladness arrayed her. And man with the Maker shareth, Him also to rival throughout the lands, To make a work with his hands And have his children adore it: The Creator smileth on him who is wise and dareth In understanding with pride: 840 For God, where’er he hath builded, dwelleth wide,— And he careth,— To set a task to the smallest atom, The law-abiding grains, That hearken each and rejoice: For he guideth the world as a horse with reins; It obeyeth his voice, And lo! he hath set a beautiful end before it: 4. Whereto it leapeth and striveth continually, And pitieth nought, nor spareth: 850 The mother’s wail for her children slain, The stain of disease, The darts of pain, The waste of the fruits of trees, The slaughter of cattle, Unbrotherly lust, the war Of hunger, blood, and the yells of battle, It heedeth no more Than a carver regardeth the wood that he cutteth away: The grainèd shavings fall at his feet, 860 But that which his tool hath spared shall stand For men to praise the work of his hand; For he cutteth so far, and there it lay, And his work is complete. 5. But I will praise ’mong men the masters of mind In music and song, Who follow the love of God to bless their kind: And I pray they find A marriage of mirth— And a life long 870 With the gaiety of the Earth. _Ch._ There stands an old man down beneath the bank, Gazing, and beckoning to us. _Deid._ He is a stranger, That burdened with some package to the palace Hath missed his way about, and fears to intrude. Go some and show him. [_Some run out._ Meanwhile what do we? We have no sport when Pyrrha is away. Our game is broken. Come, a thought, a thought! Hath none a thought? _Ch._ We have never built the bower. _Deid._ Ye idled gathering flowers. Now ’tis too late. _Ch._ Let us play ball. _Deid._ The sun is still so high. 881 I shall go feed my doves. (_Re-enter one of Chorus._) _Ch._ The old man saith That he is a pedlar, and hath wares to sell If he may show them. Shall he come? _Deid._ Now Hermes, The father of device and jugglery, Be thanked for this; ’tis he hath sent him.—Call him. His tales may be good hearing, tho’ his pack Repay not search. But be advised: beware, Lest he bear off more than he bring: these fellows Have fingers to unclasp a brooch or pin 890 While the eye winks that watches. There was one Who as he ran a race would steal the shoes Of any that ran with him. The prince of all Was merry Autolycus. _Enter, with those who had gone out, Ulysses as a pedlar._ Good day, old man. Come, let us see thy wares. _Ul._ I have no breath left, Wherewith to thank you, ladies; the little hill Has ta’en it from me. _Deid._ Rest awhile, and tell us Whence thou art come. _Ul._ In a Greek ship this morn. I pray you, that I lack not courtesy, Art thou the princess of this isle? _Deid._ I am. 900 _Ul._ My true and humble service to your highness. _Deid._ In turn say who art thou, and whence thy ship. _Ul._ Fair, honoured daughter of a famous king, I have no story worthy of thine ear, Being but a poor artificer of Smyrna, Where many years I wrought, and ye shall see Not without skill, in silver and in gold. But happiness hath wrecked me, and I say ’Tis ill to marry young; for from that joy I gat a son, who as the time went on, 910 Grew to be old and gray and wise as I; And bettering much the art which I had taught him Longed to be master in my place, for which He grew unkind, and his sons hated me: And when one day he wished me dead, I feared Lest I should kill myself; and so that night I made me up a pack of little things He should not grieve for, and took ship for Greece. There have I trafficked, lady, a year and more, And kept myself alive hawking small ware 920 From place to place, and on occasion found A market for my jewels, and be come here Making the round of the isles in any ship That chances: and this last I came aboard At Andros, where I was: but whence she hailed I have even forgot. May it please thee see my wares? _Deid._ Thy tale is very sad. I am sorry for thee. Why would thy son, being as thou sayst so skilled, Not ply his trade apart? _Ul._ My house in Smyrna Was head of all the goldsmiths: ’twas for that, 930 Lady, he envied me. See now my wares. _Deid._ What beauteous work! I’m glad thou’rt come. I’ll buy A trinket for myself, and let my maids Choose each what she may fancy. Hear ye, girls? I’ll make a gift to each. _Ch._ O thanks.—To all?— And may we choose? _Deid._ Yes. _Ch._ Anything we please? _Deid._ Why, that is choosing. _Ch._ O we thank thee. _Ul._ Now I see, princess, thou’rt of a bounteous blood, To make all round thee happy. _Deid._ What is this brooch? _Ul._ If for thyself thou fancy a brooch, I’ll show thee The best jewel in my box, and not be shamed 941 To say I have no better. _Ch._ See, oh, see! What lovely things!—A rare old man! _Ul._ Here ’tis. What thinkest thou? _Deid._ Is’t not a ruby? _Ul._ And fine! _Deid._ I think thy son will have missed this. _Ul._ Nay, lady: I had it of a sailor, who, poor fool, Knew not its worth; and thou mayst buy it of me For half its value. _Deid._ May I take these two To view them nearly? _Ul._ All take as ye will. Ye do me honour, ladies. _Deid._ Hear ye, girls, 950 Make each her choice. I will o’erlook your taste When all is done. _Ul._ Come, buy my wares: come buy. Come, come buy; I’ve wares for all, Were ye each and all princesses. Clasps and brooches, large and small, Handy for holding your flowing dresses. _Ch._ What is this little box for? _Ul._ Open it. _Ch._ What is this vial? _Ul._ Smell it. Buy, come buy! Charms for lovers, charms to break, Charms to bind them to you wholly. 960 Medicines fit for every ache, Fever and fanciful melancholy. _Ch._ O smell this scent.—Here be fine pins.—See this! _Ul._ (_aside_). I spy none here to match my notion yet. _Ch._ I have found amber beads.—What is it is tied In little packets? _Ul._ Toilet secrets those, Perfumes, and rare cosmetics ’gainst decay. _Deid._ (_to one apart_). Alexia, see. I will buy this for Pyrrha. ’Tis pity she is not here. What thinkest thou of it? He said it was his best. This other one 970 I’ll give to thee if thou find nothing better. Go see. I will seek Pyrrha. [_Exit._ _Ul._ Buy, come buy! Tassels, fringes, silken strings, Girdles, ties, and Asian pockets, Armlets, necklaces and rings, Images, amulets, lovers’ lockets. _Ch._ Pray, what are these, good man? _Ul._ Of soft doe-skin These gilded thongs are made for dancers’ wear, To tie their sandals. _Ch._ And is this a pin, This golden grasshopper? _Ul._ Ay, for the hair. 980 The Athenian ladies use nought else. See here This little cup. _Ch._ Didst thou make that? _Ul._ Nay, ladies. _Ch._ Show us some work of thine which thou didst make Thy very self. _Ul._ See then this silver snake. Fear not. Come near and mark him well: my trade is, Or was, I should say, in such nice devices. ’Twill coil and curl, uncoil, dart and recoil. [_Showing._ _The Chorus crowd about him, when enter unperceived by him Achilles and Deidamia._ _Deid._ Come, come, there never hath been one like him here. Hark! see the girls: they crowd and chatter round As greedily as birds being fed. I bade them choose Each one a present, but I took the best, 991 This ruby brooch. Look at it: ’tis for thee. Let me now put it on thee. I’ll unclasp Thy robe and set it in the place of the other. _Ach._ Nay, Deidamia, unfasten not my robe! _Deid._ Why, ’twould not matter if he looked this way. _Ach._ Nay, prithee.— _Deid._ Well, thou must take my gift. _Ach._ Then must I give thee somewhat in return. _Deid._ But ’tis my will to-day to give to all. _Ach._ Then let me take my choice, some smaller thing. 1000 _Deid._ Come then ere all is ransacked. _Ach._ (_aside_). I scarce escaped The uncovering of my magic coat.—[_They go to Ulysses._ _Ul._ Come buy, Needles for your broideries rare, Dainty bodkins silver-hafted. Pins to fix your plaited hair, Ivory-headed and golden-shafted. _Ach._ What hast thou in thy pack for me, old man? _Ul._ There’s nought but trifles left me, lady, now, As dice and dolls; the very dregs of the box. _Deid._ Athenian owls. And who’s this red-baked lady Clothed in a net? _Ul._ Princess, ’tis Britomartis, 1011 The Cretan goddess worshipped at Ægina. _Deid._ This little serpent too? _Ul._ Nothing to thee: But the Erechtheidæ use to fasten such About their children’s necks. Nay, not a babe Is born but they must don him one of these, Or ever he be swaddled or have suck. _Deid._ This blinking pygmy here, with a man’s body And a dog’s head, squatting upon a button... What’s he? _Ul._ ’Tis an Egyptian charm, to ban 1020 The evil spirits bred of Nilus’ slime. _Deid._ And this? _Ul._ That. See, ’tis a Medusa, lady, Cut in an oyster-shell, with flaming snakes. _Deid._ These are all nothings. Thou must have the brooch. See, now ’tis thine; thou hast it. (_Pins it upon Achilles’ robe._) (_To Ul._) What is its price? (_To Ach._) Nay, be content. _Ul._ To thee I’ll sell it, lady, For a tenfold weight of gold. _Ach._ Oh! ’tis too much. Spend not such store on me. And for the ruby, ’Tis dark and small. _Ul._ The purple is its merit: Were it three times the size and half the tint, 1030 ’Twere of slight cost. _Ach._ So might I like it better. And that—what’s that, which thou dost put aside? Is that a toy? _Ul._ Nay, lady; that is no toy. ’Tis a sharp sword. But I will show it thee For its strange quality: the which methinks Might pass for magic, were’t not that an Arian, Late come to Sardis, knows the art to make it. Tho’ wrought of iron, look ye, ’tis blue as flint, And if I bend it, it springs back like a bow: ’Tis sharper too than flint; but the edge is straight, And will not chip. Nay, touch it not; have care! _Ach._ Pray, let me see it, and take it in my hand. [_Takes it and comes to front._ _Ul._ (_aside_). This should be he. _Ach._ (_aside_). My arm writhes at the touch. _Ul._ There is a hunter, with his game, a lion, Inlaid upon it: and on the other side 1045 Two men that fight to death. _Ach._ ’Tis light in the hand. _Deid._ (_to Ach._). Canst thou imagine any use for this? _Ach._ (_to Deid._). Not when thy father dies? _Ul._ Ladies, have care. For if the sword should wound you, I were blamed. _Ach._ Why, thinkest thou ’tis only bearded men Can wield a sword? The queen of the Amazons Could teach thee something maugre thy white hair. _Ul._ (_aside_). The game hath run into the snare; He is mine. _Ach._ See, Deidamia, here’s my choice; buy this If thou wilt give me something; thou dost like 1055 The ruby; if thou wilt let me give thee that, Thou in return buy me this little sword. _Deid._ Such presents are ill-omened, and ’tis said Will shrewdly cut in twain the love they pledge. _Ach._ But we may make a bond of this divider. _Deid._ Wilt thou in earnest take it for thy choice? _Ach._ If thou wert late in earnest, thou couldst do No better than arm all thy girls with these. The weapon wins the battle, and I think With such advantage women might be feared. (_To Ul._) Old man, I like thy blade; and I will have it. I see ’twould thrust well: tell me if ’tis mettle To give a stroke. Suppose I were thy foe, And standing o’er thee thus to cut thee down Should choose to cleave thy pate. Would this sword do it? 1070 _Ul._ (_aside_). He knows me! [_Pulling off his beard and head-dress and leaping up._ Achilles! _Deid. and Ch._ Help! help! treachery! [_They fly._ _Diomede comes out of bushes where he stands unseen by Achilles._ _Ach._ Beardless—and smooth of face as tongue: In voice Gentle, but sturdy of body: ruddy locks, And restless eye .. Ulysses! _Ul._ Thou hast it. _Ach._ I knew that thou wert here, but looked to meet thee1075 Without disguises, as an honest man. _Ul._ Thou needest a mirror, lady, for thyself. _Ach._ (_suddenly casts off his long robe and appears in shining armour, still holding the sword_). Behold!.... Be thou my mirror! _Ul._ If I be not, ’Tis shame to thee, the cause of my disguise. _Ach._ I own thee not. I knew thee for a prince, But seeing thee so vilely disfigured... _Ul._ Stay! 1081 We both have used disguise: I call for judgment Upon the motive. Mine I donned for valour, And care for thy renown; thine was for fear. _Ach._ Fear! By the gods: take up thy beard again, And thy mock dotage shield thee. _Ul._ Nay, Achilles; If I spake wrong I will recall the word. _Ach._ Thou didst unutterably lie. Recall it. _Ul._ Wilt thou then sail to Aulis in my ship? _Ach._ I can sail thither and not sail with thee. _Ul._ But wilt thou come? _Ach._ I answer not to thee Because thou questionest me: but since I know What will be, and hear thee in ignorance Slander fair names, I tell thee that Achilles Will come to Aulis. _Ul._ Wherefore now so long 1095 Hast thou denied thyself to thy renown? _Ach._ Thou saidst for fear; nor hast recalled the word. _Ul._ ’Twas first thy taunt which drew my mind from me: But, if it wrong thee, I recall the word. _Ach._ I think thou hast judged me by thyself, Ulysses. When thou wast summoned to the war,—who wert Not free to choose as I, but bound by oath To Menelaus to help him,—what didst thou? Why thou didst feign; and looking for disguise Thy wit persuaded thee that they who knew thee Would never deem that thou wouldst willingly Make mock of that: so thou didst put on madness, Babbling and scrabbling even before thy friends: And hadst been slavering on thy native rocks Unto this day, had not one fellow there 1110 Lightly unravelled thee, and in the furrow, Which thou with dumb delusion, morn and eve, Didst plough in the sea sand (that was thy trick), He placed thy new-born babe. That thou brok’st down Then in thine acting, that thou drav’st not on The share thro’ thine own flesh, is the best praise I have to give thee. _Ul._ Distinguish! if I feigned, ’Twas that I had a child and wife, whose ties Of tenderness I am not ashamed to own. _Ach._ I say thou wentest not unto this war 1120 But by compulsion, thou, that chargest me With fear. ’Tis thou that art the stay-at-home, Not I; my heart was ever for the war, And ’gainst my will I have been withheld: that thou Mistakest in this my duty for my leaning, Is more impeachment of thy boasted wits, Than was thy empty husbandry. Are not The Argive chiefs more subject, one and all, To this reproach of fear? Why need they me A boy of sixteen years to lead them on? 1130 Did they lack ships or men, what are my people In number? who am I in strength? what rank Have I in Hellas? Where’s the burly Ajax? Where is the son of Herakles? and Nestor The aged? Teucer and Idomeneus? Menestheus, Menelaus? and not least Where’s Diomede? _Dio._ (_coming forward_). By chance he’s here. _Ach._ Ah! now I hear a soldier’s voice. Brave Diomede, I give thee welcome, tho’ thou comest behind. _Dio._ Hail, son of Thetis, champion of the Greeks! _Ach._ Anon, anon. What dost thou here? Wert thou 1141 Sat in an ambush or arrived by chance, As thou didst say? _Dio._ By heaven I cannot tell. I serve Ulysses, and he serves the gods: If thou’rt displeased with them, gibe not at me. _Ach._ I see the plan—The pedlar here in front, The lion behind. And so ye thought to seize me. _Ul._ Have we not done it? _Ach._ Nay. _Ul._ Thou canst not scape. _Ach._ I give that back to thee. _Ul._ What wilt thou now? _Ach._ Diomede and I have swords: thou mayst stand by 1150 Until ’tis time thou show me how to escape. I’ll drive you to your ship. _Ul._ (_aside to Dio._). Answer him not. He cannot leave the isle: When the king learns of our discovery He must deliver him up. Let’s to the palace. _Dio._ (_to Ul._). Nay, I must speak— _Ul._ Thou wilt but anger him. He will yield better if we cross him not. _Dio._ (_to Ach._). Brave son of Thetis, I’d not yield to thee In any trial of strength, tho’ thou be clad In heavenly armour; but I came not here 1160 To fight, and least with thee: put up thy sword. And since I heard thee say thou wilt to Aulis, Our mission is accomplished, nought remains But to renounce our acting, and atone For what we have ventured. First I speak thee free To follow thine own way. Unless the king Or other here be in thy secrecy, None know but we, nor shall know: be it thy will, My lips are sealed, and in whatever else Thou wilt command me, I shall be glad to obey. _Ach._ Thank thee, good Diomede. What saith Ulysses? 1171 _Ul._ I’ll do whate’er will knit thee to our cause. (_Aside._) Yet shall men hear I found thee. _Ach._ Return then to your ship; and when Ulysses Is there restored proceed ye to the court. But what in the surprise and consequence Of my discovery to the king, as well As to some others may arise, I know not; Nor can instruct your good behaviours further. Time grants me but short counsel for myself. 1180 _Ul._ We too should study how to meet the king. _Ach._ Stay yet, Ulysses. Thou hast parted here With goods appraised to them that meant to buy. I have a full purse with me. Be content, Take it. I’d give as much for the little sword. Now let me do this favour to the ladies. _Ul._ (_taking_). ’Tis fit, and fairly done. I did not think To go off robbed. The sword is worth the gold. We part in honest dealing. Fare thee well. 1189 _Dio._ (_aside_). Thrashed like a witless cur! (_To Ach._) Farewell, Achilles. An hour hence we will meet thee at the palace. [_Exeunt Ul. and Dio._ _Ach._ In spite of warning taken in a silly trap, By the common plotter! Thus to be known Achilles— To have my wish forced on me against my will Hath rudely cleared my sight. Where lies the gain? The dancing ship on which I sailed is wrecked On an unlovely shore, and I must climb Out of the wreck upon a loveless shore, Saving what best I love. ’Tis so. I see I shall command these men, and in their service Find little solace. I have a harder task 1201 Than chieftainship, and how to wear my arms With as much nature as yon girlish robe: To pass from that to this without reproach Of honour, and beneath my breastplate keep With the high generalship of all the Greeks My tenderest love. ’Tis now to unmask that, And hold uninjured. I’ll make no excuse To the old king but my necessity, And boldly appease him. Here by chance he comes. _Enter hurriedly Lycomedes and Abas._ _Lyc._ Was it not here, they said? 1211 An insolent ruffian: Let me come across him! By heav’n, still here! And armed from head to foot! (_To Ach._) Young man,—as now thou’lt not deny to be— Thou’st done—ay, tho’ thou seem of princely make— Dishonour and offence to me the king In venturing here to parley with the princess In mock disguise, for whatsoever cause, Strangely put on and suddenly cast off, I am amazed to think. I bid thee tell me 1220 What was thy purpose hither. _Ach._ O honoured king, Tho’ I came here disguised I am not he Thou thinkest. _Lyc._ Nay I think not who thou art. All wonders that I have seen are lost in thee. _Ach._ Thou takest me for Ulysses. _Lyc._ Nay, not I. _Ach._ I am Achilles, sire, the son of Thetis. _Lyc._ Achilles! Ah! Thou sayst at least a name That fits thy starlike presence, my rebuke Not knowing who thou wert. But now I see thee I need no witness, and forget my wonder 1230 Wherefore the Argives tarry on the shore And the gods speak thy praise. Welcome then hither, Achilles, son of Thetis; welcome hither! And be I first to honour thee, who was Most blamèd in thine absence. _Ach._ Gracious sire, Thy welcome is all kingly, if it bear Forgiveness of offence. _Lyc._ To speak of that, Another might have wronged me, but not thou. Tho’ much I crave to learn both how and why 1239 Thou camest hither. Was’t in the Argive ship? _Ach._ Nay, king, I came not in the Argive ship: Nor am I that false trespasser thou seekest. _Lyc._ Whether then hast thou mounted from the deep, Where the sea nymphs till now have loved and held thee From men’s desire; or whether from the sky Hath some god wrapt thee in a morning cloud, And laid thee with the sunlight on this isle, Where they that seek should find thee? _Ach._ A god it was Brought me, but not to-day: seven times the moon Hath lost her lamp with loitering, since the night She shone upon my passage; and so long 1251 I have served thee in disguise, and won thy love. _Lyc._ So long hast thou been here! And I unknowing Have pledged my kingly oath—The gods forbid— _Ach._ Yet was I here because a goddess bade. _Lyc._ Have I then ever seen thee? _Ach._ Every hour Thou hast seen me, and sheltered me beneath thy roof. But since thou knewest me not, thy royal word Was hurt not by denial. _Lyc._ Who wert thou? Say. _Ach._ I was called Pyrrha. 1260 _Lyc._ O shame. _Ach._ Yet hearken, sire! _Lyc._ Wast thou the close attendant of my daughter, Her favoured comrade, and she held it hid ’Neath a familiar countenance before me, So false unto her modesty and me? Alas! alas! _Ach._ O sire, she hath known me but as thou, and loved Not knowing whom. _Lyc._ Thou sayst she hath not known? _Ach._ For ’twas a goddess framed me this disguise. _Lyc._ And never guessed? _Ach._ Nay, sire. Nor blame the goddess Whom I obeyed: nor where I have done no wrong, Make my necessity a crime against thee. 1271 _Lyc._ Can I believe? _Ach._ ’Tis true I have loved her, sire: And by strange wooing if I have won her love, And now in the discovery can but offer A soldier’s lot,—she is free to choose: but thee First I implore, be gracious to my suit, Nor scorn me for thy son. _Lyc._ My son! Achilles! This day shall be the feast-day of my year, Tho’ I be made to all men a rebuke For being thy shelter, when I swore to all 1280 Thou wert not here. Now I rejoice thou wert. Come to my palace as thyself: be now My guest in earnest: we will seal at once This happy contract. _Ach._ Let me first be known Unto the princess and bespeak her will. _Lyc._ She is thine, I say she is thine. Stay yet; that pedlar, Was he Ulysses? _Ach._ So he stole upon us; And when I bought this sword he marked me out. _Lyc._ I cannot brook his mastery in deceit. Where is he now? _Ach._ I sent him to the ship, 1290 To find a fit apparel for thy sight. _Lyc._ Would I had caught him in his mean disguise! _Ach._ So mayst thou yet. Come with me the short way And we will intercept him. _Lyc._ Abas, follow. Thou too hast played a part I cannot like. _Ab._ My liege, I have but unwittingly obeyed. I have no higher trust. _Lyc._ Now obey me. [_Exeunt._ _Enter Deidamia and Chorus._ _Deid._ Pyrrha, where art thou, Pyrrha? _Ch._ She turned not back.— They are not here.—She would not fly.— _Deid._ Pyrrha, Pyrrha! 1300 _Ch._ She hath driven the ugly pedlar and his pack Home to his ship—would we had all been by! Would we had joined the chase! _Deid._ He was no pedlar: I could see his face When he pulled off his beard. _Ch._ There as she stood, Waving the sword, I feared To see a mortal stroke— He hath fled into the wood— Had he no sword too, did none spy, 1310 Beneath his ragged cloke? _Deid._ Alas, alas! _Ch._ What hast thou found? _Deid._ Woe, woe! alas, alas! Pyrrha’s robe torn, and trampled on the ground. See! see! O misery! _Ch._ ’Tis hers—’tis true—we see. _Deid._ Misery, misery! help who can. _Ch._ I have no help to give.— I have no word to say. 1320 _Deid._ Gods! do I live To see this woe? The man Like some wild beast hath dragged her body away, And left her robe. Ah, see the gift she spurned, My ruby jewel to my hand returned; When forcing my accord She chose the fatal sword. The fool hath quite mistook her play. _Ch._ He will have harmed her, if she be not slain. Ah, Pyrrha, Pyrrha! 1330 Why ran we away? _Deid._ Why stand we here? To the rescue: follow me. _Ch._ Whither—our cries are vain. Maybe she lieth now close by And hears but cannot make reply. ’Tis told how men have bound The mouths of them they bore away, Lest by their cry They should be found.— 1340 Spread our company into the woods around, And shouting as we go keep within hail.— Or banding in parties search the paths about: If many together shout The sound is of more avail. Once more, together call her name once more. (_Calling._) Pyrrha—Pyrrha! _Thetis_ (_within_). Ha! _Deid._ An answer. Heard ye not? _Ch._ ’Twas but the nymph, that from her hidden grot Mocks men with the repeated syllables 1350 Of their own voice, and nothing tells. Such sound the answer bore. _Deid._ Nay, nay. Hark, for if ’twere but echo as ye say ’Twill answer if I call again. (_Calls._) Pyrrha, come! Pyrrha, come! _Thetis_ (_within_). I come, I come. _Deid._ Heard ye not then? _Ch._ I heard the selfsame sound. _Deid._ ’Twas Pyrrha. Why she is found. I know her voice. I hear her footing stir. 1360 _Ch._ True, some one comes. _Deid._ ’Tis she. _Enter Thetis._ Pyrrha! O joy. _Th._ Why call ye her? _Deid._ Pyrrha! Nay. And yet so like. Alas, beseech thee, lady Or goddess, for I think that such thou art, Who answering from the wood our sorrowing call Now to our sight appearest,—hast thou regard For her, whom thou so much resemblest, speak And tell us of thy pity if yet she lives 1368 Safe and unhurt, whom we have lost and mourn. _Th._ ’Tis vain to weep her, as ’twere vain to seek. Whom think ye that ye have lost? _Deid._ Pyrrha, my Pyrrha. As late we all fled frighted by a man, Who stole on us disguised, she stayed behind: For when we were got safe, she was not with us. So we returned to seek her; but alas! Our fear is turned to terror. Lady, see! This is her garment trampled on the ground. _Th._ And so ye have found her. There was never more Of her ye have callèd Pyrrha than that robe. The golden-headed maiden, the enchantress, 1380 And laughter-loving idol of your hearts Had in your empty thought her only being. When ye have played with her, chosen her for queen, And leader of your games, or when ye have sat Rapt by the music of her voice, that sang Heroic songs and histories of the gods, Or at brisk morn, or long-delaying eve, Have paced the shores of sunlight hand in hand, ’Twas but a robe ye held: ye were deceived; There was no Pyrrha. 1390 _Ch._ What strange speech is this? Was there no Pyrrha? What shall we believe! _Deid._ Lady, thy speech troubles mine ear in vain. _Th._ ’Tis then thine ear is vain; and not my speech. _Deid._ My ears and eyes and hands have I believed, But not thy words. A moment since I held her. What wilt thou say? _Th._ That eyes and hands and ears Deceived thy trust, but now thou hearest truth. _Deid._ Have we then dreamed, deluded by a shade Fashioned of air or cloud, and as it seems Made in thy likeness, or hath some god chosen To dwell awhile with us in privity 1401 And mutual share of all our petty deeds? Say what thy dark words hint and who thou art. _Th._ I Thetis am, daughter of that old god, Whose wisdom buried in the deep hath made The unfathomed water solemn, and I rule The ocean-nymphs, who for their pastime play In the blue glooms, and darting here and there Checquer the dark and widespread melancholy With everlasting laughter and bright smiles. 1410 Of me thou hast heard, and of my son Achilles, By prescient fame renowned first of the Greeks: He is on this island: for ’twas here I set him To hide him from his foes, and he was safe Till thou betray’dst him—for unwittingly That hast thou done to-day. The seeming pedlar, To whom thou leddest Pyrrha, was Ulysses, Who spied to find Achilles, and thro’ thee Found him, alas! Thy Pyrrha was Achilles. _Chorus._ O daughter of Nereus old, 1420 Queen of the nymphs that swim By day in gleams of gold, By night in the silver dim, Forgive in pity, we pray, Forgive the ill we have done. Why didst thou hide this thing from us? For if we had known thy son We had guarded him well to-day, Nor ever betrayed him thus. For though we may not ride 1430 Thy tall sea-horses nor play In the rainbow-tinted spray, Nor dive down under the tide To the secret caves of the main, Among thy laughing train; Yet had we served thee well as they, Had we thy secret shared: Nor ever had lost from garden and hall Pyrrha the golden-haired, Pyrrha beloved of all. 1440 _Th._ (_to Deid._). Dost thou say nought? _Deid._ Alas, alas! my Pyrrha. _Th._ Art thou lamenting still to have lost thy maid? _Deid._ I need no tongue to cry my shame; and yet Thy mockery doth not grieve me like my loss. _Th._ I came not here to mock thee, and forbid Thy grief, that doth dishonour to my son. _Deid._ Nay, nay, that word is mine: speak it no more. _Th._ Weepest thou at comfort? Is deceit so dear To mortals, that to know good cannot match The joy of a delusion whatsoe’er? 1450 _Deid._ What joy was mine shame must forbid to tell. _Th._ Gods count it shame to be deceived: but men Are shamed not by delusion of the gods. _Deid._ Then ye know nothing or do not respect. _Th._ Why what is this thou makest? the more ye have loved The more have ye delighted, and the joy I never grudged thee; tho’ there was not one In all my company of sea-born nymphs, Who did not daily pray me, with white arms Raised in the blue, to let her guard my son. 1460 And for his birthright he might well have taken The service of their sportive train, and lived On some fair desert isle away from men Like a young god in worship and gay love. But since he is mortal, for his mortal mate I chose out thee; to whom now were he lost, I would not blame thy well-deservèd tears: But lo, I am come to give thee joy, to call Thee daughter, and prepare thee for the sight Of such a lover, as no lady yet 1470 Hath sat to await in chamber or in bower On any wallèd hill or isle of Greece; Nor yet in Asian cities, whose dark queens Look from the latticed casements over seas Of hanging gardens; nor doth all the world Hold a memorial; not where Ægypt mirrors The great smile of her kings and sunsmit fanes In timeless silence: none hath been like him; And all the giant stones, which men have piled Upon the illustrious dead, shall crumble and join The desert dust, ere his high dirging Muse 1481 Be dispossessèd of the throne of song. Await him here. While I thy willing maids Will lead apart, that they may learn what share To take in thy rejoicing. Follow me! _Ch._ Come, come—we follow—we obey thee gladly— We long to learn, goddess, what thou canst teach. [_Exeunt Th. and Chor._ _Deid._ Rejoice, she bids me. Ah me, tho’ all heaven spake, I should weep bitterly. My tears, my shame Will never leave me. Never now, nevermore 1490 Can I find credit of grace, nor as a rock Stand ’twixt my maids and evil; even not deserving My father’s smile. Why honour we the gods, Who reck not of our honour? How hath she, Self-styled a goddess, mocked me, not respecting Maidenly modesty; but in the path Of grace, wherein I thought to walk enstated High as my rank without reproach, she hath set A snare for every step; that day by day, From morn to night, I might do nothing well; 1500 But by most innocent seeming be betrayed To what most wounds a shamefast life, yielding To a man’s unfeignèd feigning; nay nor stayed Until I had given,—alas, how oft!— My cheek to his lips, my body to his arms; And thinking him a maid as I myself, Have loved, kissed, and embraced him as a maid. O wretched, not to have seen what was so plain! Here on this bank no later than this morn Was I beguiled. There is no cure, no cure. 1510 I’ll close my eyes for ever, nor see again The things I have seen, nor be what I have been. [_Covers her face weeping._ _Enter Achilles._ _Ach._ The voices that were here have ceased. Ah, there! Not gone. ’Tis she, and by my cast-off robe Sitting alone. I must speak comfort to her, Whoe’er I seem. O Deidamia, see! Pyrrha is found. Weep not for her. I tell thee Thy Pyrrha is safe. Despair not. Nay, look up. Dost thou not know my voice? ’Tis I myself. 1519 Look up, I am Pyrrha.—Ah, now what prayer or plea Made on my knees can aid me—If thou knowst all And wilt not look on me? Yet if thou hearest Thou wilt forgive. Nay, if thou lovedst me not, Or if I had wronged thee, thou wouldst scorn me now. Thou dost not look. I am not changed. I loved thee As like a maiden as I knew: if more Was that a fault? Now as I am Achilles Revealed to-day to lead the Greeks to Troy, I count that nothing and bow down to thee Who hast made me fear,— 1530 Let me unveil thy eyes: tho’ thou wouldst hide me, Hide not thyself from me. If gentle force Should show me that ’tis love that thou wouldst hide ... And love I see. Look on me. _Deid._ (_embracing_). Ah Pyrrha, Pyrrha! _Ach._ Thou dost forgive. _Deid._ I never dreamed the truth. _Ach._ And wilt not now look on me! _Deid._ I dare not look. _Ach._ What dost thou fear? A monster! I am not changed Save but my dress, and that an Amazon Might wear. _Deid._ O, I see all. _Ach._ But who hath told thee? _Deid._ There came one here much like thee when we called,1540 Who said she was a goddess and thy mother. _Ach._ ’Twas she that hid me in my strange disguise, Fearing the oracle. _Deid._ She praised thee well, And said that thou wouldst come... _Ach._ What didst thou fear, Hiding thine eyes? _Deid._ I cannot speak the name. Be Pyrrha still. _Ach._ Be that my name with thee. Yet hath thy father called me son Achilles. _Deid._ He knows? _Ach._ There’s nought to hide: but let us hence. He is coming hither, and with him my foe. Let them not find us thus, and thee in tears. 1550 [_Exeunt._ _Enter Lycomedes, Ulysses, Diomede, and Abas._ _Lyc._ It may be so, or it may not be so: You have done me an honest service ’gainst your will, And must not wrest it to a false conclusion. I bid you be my guests, and with your presence Honour the marriage, which ye have brought about. Ye need not tarry long. _Ul._ Each hour is long Which holds the Argive ships chained to the shore. This is no time for marriage. _Lyc._ There’s time for all; A time for wooing and a time for warring: And such a feast of joy as offers now 1560 Ye shall not often see. Scyros shall show you What memory may delight in ’twixt the frays Of bloody battle. _Dio._ I am not made for feasts. I join the cry to arms. But make your bridal To-night, and I’ll abide it. _Lyc._ I’ll have’t to-night. So shall Achilles’ finding and his wedding Be on one day. And hark! there’s music tells me That others guess my mind. _Enter Chorus with Ach. and Deid. following._ _Chorus._ Now the glorious sun is sunk in the west, And night with shadowy step advances: 1570 As we,—to the newly betrothed our song addrest, With musical verse and dances, In the order of them who established rites of old For maidens to sing this song,— Pray the gifts of heaven to gifts of gold, Joy and a life long. _Ach._ Good king and father, see thy daughter come To hear thee call me son. _Lyc._ Son if I call thee, I understand not yet, and scarce believe 1579 The wonders of this day. And thou, my daughter, Ever my pride and prayer, hast far outrun My hope of thy good fortune. Blessed be ye both: The gods have made your marriage; let the feast Be solemnized to-night; our good guests here Whose zeal hath caused our joy, I have bid to share it. _Chorus._ We live well-ruled by an honoured king, Beloved of the gods, in a happy isle; Where merry winds of the gay sea bring No foe to our shore, and the heavens smile On a peaceful folk secure from fear, 1590 Who gather the fruits of the earth at will, And hymn their thanks to the gods, and rear Their laughing babes unmindful of ill. And ever we keep a feast of delight, The betrothal of hearts, when spirits unite, Creating an offspring of joy, a treasure Unknown to the bad, for whom The gods foredoom The glitter of pleasure, And a dark tomb. 1600 Blessèd therefore O newly betrothed are ye, Tho’ happy to-day ye be, Your happier times ye yet shall see. We make our prayer to the gods. The sun shall prosper the seasons’ yield With fuller crops for the wains to bear, And feed our flocks in fold and field With wholesome water and sweetest air. Plenty shall empty her golden horn, And grace shall dwell on the brows of youth, And love shall come as the joy of morn, 1611 To waken the eyes of pride and truth. Blessèd therefore thy happy folk are we. Tho’ happy to-day we be, Our happier times are yet to see. We render praise to the gods; But chiefest of all in the highest height To Love that sitteth in timeless might, That tameth evil, and sorrow ceaseth. And now we wish you again, 1620 Again and again, His joy that encreaseth, And a long reign. _Ach._ Stay, stay! and thou, good king, and all here, hear me. I would be measured by my best desire, And that’s for peace and love, and the delights Your song hath augured: but to all men fate Apportions a mixed lot, and ’twas for me Foreshown that peace and honour lay apart, Wherever pleasure: and to-day’s event 1630 Questions your hope. I was for this revealed, To lead the Argive battle against Troy: Thither I go; whence to return or not Is out of sight, but yet my marriage-making Enters with better promise on my life Thus hand in hand with glorious enterprise. After some days among you I must away, Tho’ ’tis not far. _Ul._ Well said! So art thou bound. _Dio._ The war that hung so long will now begin. _Lye._ I ask one month, Achilles: grant one moon: They that could wait so long may longer wait. 1641 _Chorus._ 1. Go not, go not, Achilles; is all in vain? Is this the fulfilment of long delight, The promise of favouring heaven, The praise of our song, The choice of Thetis for thee, Thy merry disguise, And happy betrothal? We pray thee, O we beseech thee, all, Son of Thetis, we counsel well, 1650 Do not thy bride this wrong. 2. For if to-day thou goest, thou wilt go far, Alas, from us thy comrades away, To a camp of revengeful men, The accursed war By warning fate forbidden, To angry disdain, A death unworthy. We pray thee, O we beseech thee, all, Son of Peleus, we counsel well, 1660 This doom the oracle told. _Lyc._ What said the oracle? _Ach._ It darkly boded That glory should be death. _Lyc._ And so may be: Nay, very like. Yet men who would live well, Weigh not these riddles, but unfold their life From day to day. Do thou as seemeth best, Nor fear mysterious warnings of the powers. But, if my voice can reckon with thee at all, I’ll tell thee what myself I have grown to think: That the best life is oft inglorious. 1670 Since the perfecting of ourselves, which seems Our noblest task, may closelier be pursued Away from camps and cities and the mart Of men, where fame, as it is called, is won, By strife, ambition, competition, fashion, Ay, and the prattle of wit, the deadliest foe To sober holiness, which, as I think, Loves quiet homes, where nature laps us round With musical silence and the happy sights That never fret; and day by day the spirit 1680 Pastures in liberty, with a wide range Of peaceful meditation, undisturbed. All which can Scyros offer if thou wilt.— _Ul._ This speech is idle, thou art bound to me. _Ach._ I hear you all: and lest it should be said I once was harsh and heedless, where such wrong Were worse than cowardice, I now recall Whate’er I have said. I will not forth to Troy: I will abide in Scyros, and o’erlook The farms and vineyards, and be lessoned well 1690 In government of arts, and spend my life In love and ease, and whatsoever else Our good king here hath praised—I will do this If my bride bid me. Let her choose for me; Her word shall rule me. If she set our pleasure Above my honour, I will call that duty, And make it honourable, and so do well. But, as I know her, if she bid me go Where fate and danger call, then I will go, And so do better: and very sure it is, 1700 Pleasure is not for him who pleasure serves. _Deid._ Achilles, son of Thetis! As I love thee, I say, go forth to Troy. _Ach._ Praised be the Gods, Who have made my long desire my love’s command! _Ch._ Alas! We have no further plea. Alas! Her ever-venturous spirit forecasts no ill. _Lyc._ Go, win thy fame, my son; I would not stay thee. Thou art a soldier born. But circumstance Demands delay, which thou wilt grant. _Ach._ And thus To-night may be the feast. To-morrow morn 1710 Do thou, Ulysses, sail to Aulis, there Prepare them for my coming. If, Diomede, Thou wilt to Achaia to collect my men, The time thou usest I can fitly spend, And for some days banish the thought of war. _Dio._ I will go for thee, prince. _Lyc._ ’Tis settled so. Stand we no longer here: night falls apace. Come to the palace, we will end this day, As it deserves, never to be forgot. NOTES THE FIRST PART OF NERO This play was not intended for the stage, as the rest of my plays are. It was written as an exercise in dramatic qualities other than scenic; and had its publication been contemplated, I should have been more careful not to deserve censure in one or two places: these however I have not thought it worth while to erase or correct. Owing to its inordinate length I have found it necessary, so that the volumes of this series might be of uniform size, to couple with it the shortest of the other plays. Hence ACHILLES IN SCYROS is here out of order. Instead of standing second it should come fifth, that is after _The Christian Captives_. The following note is taken from the first edition. _Note to_ Achilles in Scyros.—After I had begun this play I came by chance on _Calderon’s_ play on the same subject, _El Monstruo de los Jardines_. The monster is _Achilles_; the gardens the same. Excepting an expression or two I found nothing that it suited me to use, and I should not have recorded the circumstance, if it were not that _Calderon’s_ play seemed to me to contain strong evidence that he had read _The Tempest_. This observation cannot be new, but I have never met with it; so I offer it to my readers, thinking it will interest them as it did me. _El Monstruo de los Jardines_ opens with a storm at sea, and shipwreck of royal persons, similar as it is inferior to _Shakespeare’s_ (but compare also the Devil’s shipwreck in the second act of _El magicio prodigioso_, which may be read in _Shelley’s_ translation). _Stephano_ has his counterpart, _Un cofrade de Baco, que ha salido, Por no hacerle traicion, del mar á nado Pues el no beber agua le ha escapado,_ and the whole play is then on a supposed desert island, which turns out to be strangely peopled. There is the monster _Achilles_, who in many respects remembers _Caliban_, and is even addressed as _Señor monstruo_: ’_Monsieur Monster_.’ There is _Thetis_, who is to her nymphs as _Prospero_ to his spirits; with musical enchantments, and voices in the air, and even a _fantastico bajél_. _Calderon_ has moreover hit upon the same device of imitative fancy as tempted _Dryden_ in like sad case, and pictured a man who had never seen a woman. The island is wandered on by the prince and his suite, and one of them says of it _Republica es entera_, &c. A curious reader might find more than I have here noticed: but _Calderon_ is as far from sympathy with _Shakespeare_, as he is from the Greek story, with his drums and trumpets and _El gran Sofí_. There is a passage in my _Achilles_ (_l. 518 and foll._) which is copied from _Calderon_: but this is after _Muley’s_ well-known speech in the _Principe Constante_ (see note to _The Christian Captives_); which is quoted in most books on _Calderon_. In my short play, which runs on without change of scene or necessary pause, I have had the act and scene divisions indicated by greater and lesser spaces in the printing.[A] R. B., 1890. [A] Not followed in this edition. 1901. * * * * * Transcriber’s Notes Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. All other spelling and punctuation remains unchanged. Italics are represented thus _italic_. Line 1374/5 of The First Part of Nero “Now may some god of mischief Dare set me in the roll of puny spirits.” Roll could be a misprint for role but has not been changed. The varied ellipses remain unchanged. The titles have various decorative borders. These have not been shown. 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