Scevin.  I, and anger too.  Had you but seene him in his Chariot ryde, That Chariot in which Augustus late His Triumphs ore so many Nations shew’d, And with him in the same a Minstrell plac’d The whil’st the people, running by his side, ‘Hayle thou Olimpick Conqueror’ did cry, ‘O haile thou Pithian!’ and did fill the sky With shame and voices Heaven would not have heard.

Seneca.  I saw’t, but turn’d away my eyes and eares,
Angry they should be privie to such sights. 
Why do I stand relating of the storie
Which in the doing had enough to grieve me? 
Tell on and end the tale, you whom it pleaseth;
Mee mine own sorrow stops from further speaking.
Nero, my love doth make thy fault and my griefe greater.
          
                                          [Ex.  Sen.

Scevin.  I doe commend in Seneca this passion; And yet me thinkes our Countries miserie Doth at our hands crave somewhat more then teares.

Lucan.  Pittie, though’t doth a kind affection show, If it end there, our weaknesse makes us know.

Flav.  Let children weepe and men seeke remedie.

Scevin.  Stoutly, and like a soldier, Flavius; Yet to seeke remedie to a Princes ill Seldome but it doth the Phisitian kill.

Flav.  And if it doe, Scevinus, it shall take
But a devoted soule from Flavius,
Which to my Countrey and the Gods of Rome
Alreadie sacred is and given away. 
Deathe is no stranger unto me, I have
The doubtfull hazard in twelve Battailes throwne;
My chaunce was life.

Lucan.  Why doe we go to fight in Brittanie
And end our lives under another Sunne? 
Seeke causelesse dangers out?  The German might
Enioy his Woods and his owne Allis drinke,
Yet we walke safely in the streets of Rome;
Bonduca hinders not but we might live,
Whom we do hurt.  Them we call enemies,
And those our Lords that spoyle and murder us.

Scevin.  Nothing is hard to them that dare to die. 
This nobler resolution in you, Lords,
Heartens me to disclose some thoughts that I—­
The matter is of waight and dangerous.

Lucan.  I see you feare us Scaevinus.[11]

Scevin.  Nay, nay, although the thing be full of feare.

Flav.  Tell it to faithfull Eares what eare it bee.

Scevin.  Faith, let it goe, it will but trouble us, Be hurtfull to the speaker and the hearer.

Lucan.  If our long friendship or the opinion—­

Scevin.  Why should I feare to tell them? 
Why, is he not a Parricide a Player? 
Nay, Lucan, is he not thine Enemie? 
Hate not the Heavens as well as men to see
That condemn’d head?  And you, O righteous Gods,
Whither so ere you now are fled and will
No more looke downe upon th’oppressed Earth;
O severe anger of the highest Gods
And thou, sterne power to whom the Greekes assigne
Scourges and swords to punish proud mens wrongs,
If you be more then names found out to awe us
And that we doe not vainely build you alters,
Aid that iust arme that’s bent to execute
What you should doe.