Lucan.  By this we may ourselves Heavens favour promise
Because all noblenesse and worth on earth
We see’s on our side.  Here the Fabys sonne,
Here the Corvini are and take that part
There noble Fathers would, if now they liv’d. 
There’s not a soule that claimes Nobilitie,
Either by his or his forefathers merit,
But is with us; with us the gallant youth
Whom passed dangers or hote bloud makes bould;
Staid men suspect their wisdome or their faith
To whom our counsels we have not reveald;
And while (our party seeking to disgrace)
They traitors call us, each man treason praiseth
And hateth faith when Piso is a traitor.

Scevin.  And,[69] at adventure, what by stoutnesse can
Befall us worse than will by cowardise? 
If both the people and the souldier failde us
Yet shall we die at least worthy our selves,
Worthy our ancestors.  O Piso thinke,
Thinke on that day when in the Parthian fields
Thou cryedst to th’flying Legions to turne
And looke Death in the face; he was not grim
But faire and lovely when he came in armes. 
O why there di’d we not on Syrian swords? 
Were we reserv’d to prisons and to chaines? 
Behold the Galley-asses in every street;
And even now they come to clap on yrons. 
Must Pisoes head be shewed upon a pole? 
Those members torne, rather then Roman-like
And Piso-like with weapons in our hands
Fighting in throng of enemies to die? 
And that it shall not be a civill warre
Nero prevents, whose cruelty hath left
Few Citizens; we are not Romans now
But Moores, and Jewes, and utmost Spaniards,
And Asiaes refuse[70] that doe fill the Citie.

Piso.  Part of us are already tak’n; the rest
Amaz’d and seeking holes.  Our hidden ends
You see laid open; Court and Citie arm’d
And for feare ioyning to the part they feare. 
Why should we move desperate and hopelesse armes
And vainely spill that noble bloud that should
Christall Rubes[71] and the Median fields,
Not Tiber colour?  And the more your show be,
Your loves and readinesse to loose your lives,
The lother I am to adventure them. 
Yet am I proud you would for me have dy’d;
But live, and keepe your selves to worthier ends. 
No Mother but my owne shall weepe my death
Nor will I make, by overthrowing us,
Heaven guiltie of more faults yet; from the hopes
Your owne good wishes rather then the thing
Doe make you see, this comfort I receive
Of death unforst.  O friends I would not die
When I can live no longer; ’tis my glory
That free and willing I give up this breath,
Leaving such courages as yours untri’d. 
But to be long in talk of dying would
Shew a relenting and a doubtfull mind: 
By this you shall my quiet thoughts intend;
I blame not Earth nor Heaven for my end.[72]
                                     (He dies.)