(SCENE 2.)

    Enter Nero, Epaphroditus, Neophilus.

Nero.  Come Sirs, I faith, how did you like my acting?  What? wast not as you lookt for?

Epaphr.  Yes, my Lord, and much beyond.

Nero.  Did I not doe it to the life?

Epaphr.  The very doing never was so lively As was this counterfeyting.

Nero.  And when I came Toth’ point of Agripp[40]—­Clytemnestras death, Did it not move the feeling auditory?

Epaphr.  They had beene stones whom that could not have mov’d.

Nero.  Did not my voice hold out well to the end, And serv’d me afterwards afresh to sing with?

Neoph.  We know Appollo cannot match your voice.

Epaphr.  By Jove!  I thinke you are the God himselfe Come from above to shew your hidden arts And fill us men with wonder of your skill.

Nero.  Nay, faith, speake truely, doe not flatter me; I know you need not; flattery’s but where Desert is meane.

Epaphr.  I sweare by thee, O Caesar, Then whom no power of heaven I honour more, No mortall Voice can passe or equall thine.

Nero.  They tell of Orpheus, when he tooke his Lute And moov’d the noble Ivory with his touch, Hebrus stood still, Pangea bow’d his head, Ossa then first shooke off his snowe and came To listen to the moovings of his song; The gentle Popler tooke the baye along, And call’d the Pyne downe from his Mountaine seate; The Virgine Bay, although the Arts she hates Oth’ Delphick God, was with his voice orecome; He his twice-lost Euridice bewailes And Proserpines vaine gifts, and makes the shores And hollow caves of forrests now untreed Beare his griefe company, and all things teacheth His lost loves name; Then water, ayre, and ground Euridice, Euridice resound.  These are bould tales, of which the Greeks have store; But if he could from Hell once more returne And would compare his hand and voice with mine, I, though himselfe were iudge, he then should see How much the Latine staines the Thracian lyar.  I oft have walkt by Tibers flowing bankes And heard the Swan sing her own epitaph:  When she heard me she held her peace and died.  Let others raise from earthly things their praise; Heaven hath stood still to hear my happy ayres And ceast th’eternall Musicke of the Spheares To marke my voyce and mend their tunes by mine.

Neoph.  O divine voice!

Epaphr.  Happy are they that heare it!

    Enter Tigellinus to them.

Nero.  But here comes Tigellinus; come, thy bill.  Are there so many?  I see I have enemies.

Epaphr.  Have you put Caius in?  I saw him frowne.