Seneca.  Petronius, you were at the Theater?

Petron. Seneca, I was, and saw your Kingly Pupyll
In Mynstrills habit stand before the Iudges
Bowing those hands which the worlds Scepter hold,
And with great awe and reverence beseeching
Indifferent hearing and an equall doome. 
Then Caesar doubted first to be oreborne;
And so he ioyn’d himselfe to th’other singers
And straightly all other Lawes oth’ Stage observ’d,
As not (though weary) to sit downe, not spit,
Not wipe his sweat off but with what he wore.[44]
Meane time how would he eye his adversaries,
How he would seeke t’have all they did disgract;
Traduce them privily, openly raile at them;
And them he could not conquer so he would
Corrupt with money to doe worse then he. 
This was his singing part:  his acting now.

Seneca.  Nay, even end here, for I have heard enough;
I[45] have a Fidler heard him, let me not
See him a Player, nor the fearefull voyce
Of Romes great Monarch now command in Iest—­
Our Prince be Agamemnon[46] in a Play!

Petron.  Why,[47] Seneca, ’Tis better in [a] Play
Be Agamemnon than himselfe indeed. 
How oft, with danger of the field beset
Or with home mutineys, would he unbee
Himselfe; or, over cruel alters weeping,
Wish that with putting off a vizard hee
Might his true inward sorrow lay aside. 
The showes of things are better then themselves. 
How doth it stirre this ayery part of us
To heare our Poets tell imagin’d fights
And the strange blowes that fained courage gives! 
When I[48] Achilles heare upon the Stage
Speake Honour and the greatnesse of his soule,
Me thinkes I too could on a Phrygian Speare
Runne boldly and make tales for after times;
But when we come to act it in the deed
Death mars this bravery, and the ugly feares
Of th’other world sit on the proudest browe,
And boasting Valour looseth his red cheeke.

    A Romane to them.

Rom.  Fire, fire! helpe, we burne!

2 Rom.  Fire, water, fire, helpe, fire!

Seneca.  Fire?  Where?

Petron.  Where?  What fire?

Rom.  O round about, here, there, on every side The girdling flame doth with unkind embraces Compasse the Citie.

Petron.  How came this fire? by whom?

Seneca.  Wast chance or purpose?

Petron.  Why is’t not quencht?

Rom.  Alas, there are a many there with weapons, And whether it be for pray or by command They hinder, nay, they throwe on fire-brands.[49]

    Enter Antonius to them.