’Twould nere have been so tedious, though I know
’Twas hard to judge whether his doing of it
Were more absurd then ’twas for him[37] to doe it. 
But when we once were forct to be spectators,
Compel’d to that which should have bin a pleasure,
We could no longer beare the wearisomnesse: 
No paine so irksome as a forct delight. 
Some fell down dead or seem’d at least to doe so,
Under that colour to be carried forth. 
Then death first pleasur’d men, the shape all feare
Was put on gladly; some clomb ore the walls
And so, by falling, caught in earnest that
Which th’other did dissemble.  There were women[38]
That (being not able to intreat the guard
To let them passe the gates) were brought to bed
Amidst the throngs of men, and made Lucina
Blush to see that unwonted companie.

Poppea.  If ’twere so straightly kept how got you forth?

Nimphid.  Faith, Lady, I came pretending hast
In Face and Countenance, told them I was sent
For things bith’ Prince forgot about the sceane,
Which both my credit made them to beleeve
And Nero newly whispered me before. 
Thus did I passe the gates; the danger, Ladie,
I have not yet escapt.

Poppea.  What danger meane you?

Nimphid.  The danger of his anger when he knowes
How I thus shranke away; for there stood knaves,
That put downe in their Tables all that stir’d
And markt in each there cheerefulnesse or sadnesse.

Poppea.  I warrant He excuse you; but I pray
Lett’s be a little better for your sight. 
How did our Princely husband act Orestes? 
Did he not wish againe his mother living? 
Her death would adde great life unto his part. 
But come, I pray; the storie of your sight.

Nimph.  O doe not drive me to those hatefull paines. 
Lady, I was too much in seeing vext;
Let it not be redoubled with the telling. 
I now am well and heare, my eares set free;
O be mercifull, doe not bring me backe
Unto my prison, at least free your selfe. 
It will not passe away, but stay the time;
Wracke out the houres in length.  O give me leave: 
As one that wearied with the toyle at sea
And now on wished shore hath firm’d his foote,
He lookes about and glads his thoughts and eyes
With sight oth’ greene cloath’d ground and leavy trees,
Of flowers that begge more then the looking on,
And likes these other waters narrow shores;
So let me lay my wearines in these armes,
Nothing but kisses to this mouth discourse,
My thoughts be compast in those circl’d Eyes,
Eyes on no obiect looke but on these Cheekes;
Be blest my hands with touch of those round brests
Whiter and softer than the downe of Swans. 
Let me of thee and of thy beauties glory
An[39] endless tell, but never wearying story.

[Exeunt.