Fla. 
   Great mother Fortune, queen of human state,
   Redress of action, arbitress of fate,
   To whom all sway, all power, all empire bows,
   Be present; and propitious to our vows!

Prae.  Favour it with your tongues.

Min.  Be present and propitious to our vows!

Omnes.  Accept our offering and be pleased, great goddess.

Ter.  See, see, the image stirs!

Sat.  And turns away!

Nat.  Fortune averts her face.

Fla. 
   Avert, you gods,
   The prodigy.  Still! still, some pious rite
   We have neglected.  Yet, heaven be appeased,
   And be all tokens false and void, that speak
   Thy present wrath!

Sej. 
   Be thou dumb, scrupulous priest: 
   And gather up thyself, with these thy wares
   Which I, in spite of thy blind mistress, or
   Thy juggling mystery, religion, throw
   Thus scorned on the earth.
                            [Overturns the statue and the altar.

                         Nay, hold thy look

Averted till I woo thee turn again
And thou shalt stand to all posterity,
The eternal game and laughter, with thy neck
Writh’d to thy tail, like a ridiculous cat. 
Avoid these fumes, these superstitious lights,
And all these cozening ceremonies:  you,
Your pure and spiced conscience!

            [Exeunt all but Sejanus, Terent., Satri., and Natta.

                                 I, the slave

And mock of fools, scorn on my worthy head! 
That have been titled and adored a god,
Yea, sacrificed unto, myself, in Rome,
No less than Jove:  and I be brought to do
A peevish giglot, rites! perhaps the thought
And shame of that, made fortune turn her face,
Knowing herself the lesser deity,
And but my servant.-Bashful queen, if so,
Sejanus thanks thy modesty.—–­Who’s that? 

          
                                                Enter Pomponius and Minutius.

Pom. 
   His fortune suffers, till he hears my news: 
   I have waited here too long.  Macro, my lord—–­

Sej.  Speak lower and withdraw. [Takes him aside.

Ter.  Are these things true?

Min.  Thousands are gazing at it in the streets.

Sej.  What’s that?

Ter. 
   Minutius tells us here, my lord,
   That a new head being set upon your statue,
   A rope is since found wreath’d about it! and,
   But now a fiery meteor in the form
   Of a great ball was seen to roll along
   The troubled air, where yet it hangs unperfect,
   The amazing wonder of the multitude!

Sej.  No more.  That Macro’s come, is more than all!

Ter.  Is Macro come?

Pom.  I saw him.

Ter.  Where? with whom?

Pom.  With Regulus.