Acte.

Act. Cæsar sent for me.

Ner. My sweetest, dearest girl: my only pleasure. I have ill news for thee.

Act. Nought can seem ill Told me by Nero.

Ner. Acte, thy noble Cæsar Is sometimes sad.

Act. Ah, ’tis the fire: thou’rt sorry For thy poor folk. Would I had strength to cheer thee, If thou didst send for this.

Ner. No: but to see thee Doth comfort me. It comforts me to tell thee I am not happy.

Act. Let the happiness Which thy love gives me, turn to thee again.

Ner. Acte, I think, I know, Acte, that thou Art the only one in the world that truly loves me.

Act. I wish it were no crime to wish I were. Yet I would have all love thee, since I know None can as I.

Ner. And none hath loved so long: Thou wert my first delight.

Act. Did Cæsar send To tell me this bad news?

Ner. Nay, but I love to tell it: Now for the bad. Hark: thou must leave the palace: Poppæa is jealous, and the day draws near When she and I must solemnize our nuptials: Rome needs an heir.

Act. I am not jealous óf her, If Cæsar love me; for I know that Cæsar Cannot be bound like other men.

Ner. ’Tis true: And I can send thee too where they will love thee; To Silia’s house; thou wilt be happier there.

Act. I think so.

Ner. This is not dismissal.

Act. Nay.

Ner. ’Tis needful for thy sake.

Act. I know that Nero Will not love Acte less, when she is away From his dislikes.

Ner. Ah, pretty sweet, thou know’st My secretest heart. Come, I will write a letter For thee to take to Silia. Come! (The fire brightens.)

Act. (turning). O, Nero, The fire, the fire! I am frightened.

Ner. Hide thine eyes And think not of it.

Act. Nay, but I can hear it, And smell the smoke.

Ner. It shall not hurt thee, darling: And Silia’s house lies down beyond the Tiber, Far from the flames. Come, sweetest, thou shalt sit Beside me while I write the letter. Come! I treasure thee ’bove all I have. Fear not!

[Exeunt Nero and Acte. Poppæa comes out from where she was hid. The fire rages.

Pop. Accursed wretch! I knew it: she is thy wife. And I thy harlot. Yet I can dissemble— I can dissemble too—I, sanctified By long devotion to the Queen of heaven, Shelter too well thy godless head. I live To reign when thou art dead. Vain, hideous fool! Whose heart not murder scathes nor fire can scare, Proof by self-evil against all outer evil: There is one mischief that thou’rt not a match for, The hate of thy bed-fellow. I shall be avenged.

(There is at the end of this act such a tableau of fire as the stage machinery will allow of. The fire is first seen thro’ the windows when Tigellinus sends Nero to the window at line 986. At Acte’s speech, ‘Nero, the fire!’ it is very bright: and its climax is during Poppæa’s last speech.)