Agrippina.

Be not surprised that I so soon return: I have repented. Ha! the general here! Thou seest me, Burrus, on a woman’s errand. Nay, no apology; thou hast o’erheard My merit, not my fault.

Bur. I thank your majesty. I will withdraw.

Agr. Nay, I desire thee stay. I came not here to find thee; but thy presence Mends my intention. Let us hold a council. ’Tis not the first time our triumvirate, Secretly gathered in the nick of time, Hath preordained the changes which should fall Upon the earth like fate. To-day’s decree, If we combine, will be as big with action As any we have uttered.

Bur. I fear I stand In ignorance of the question.

Sen. I will explain.

Agr. Listen to me. We three who here are met Stand in such place, that, if we but unite, There’s none can say us nay. I do not ask Who raised thee, Burrus, or thee, Seneca, To where ye are: nay, if I asked you that I’d look for no more answer than if asking What two and two make; ’tis self-evident, Unquestioned; it was I; and if you owe Allegiance to another, ’tis to one Whom I made more than I made you; ay, one Who has nothing but what was mine, and is mine: His body mine, his life and being mine, His power, his place, his honour mine, my son, My Nero, who, when my husband late deceased, The honest Claudius, passed to join the gods, Was raised and set by me under your guidance, To share with me the empire of the world. Now what it may be that hath warped his heart Is from the matter: enough that so it is. I might blame one of you, sure not myself, Who have ever held in love and kindness towards him The same intention; nay, and from my kindness I swerve not now, though for a wholesome end I mask that kindness in severity. There’s but this choice, I must withdraw my favour, Or suffer my disgrace: ay, and for you, Burrus and Seneca, be sure, the same. If I fall, ye will fall. Therefore being one In interest with me, I look to find you ready To stand by me in any scheme of action Which may preserve our station, while we may.

Sen. Your majesty says well. We have hitherto All held one purpose, and if now we are foiled Or thwarted, none is thwarted more than I. And since it is my pride, in the high place Whereto your judgment called me, to exceed The measure which might justify your choice, I shall not fail. In these new difficulties I would make no display of fresh resource; Full means there will be, yet what means it is I am not ripe to say.

Agr. What say’st thou, Burrus? The matter Seneca avoids is this: Shall I be driven to exile, or will ye Join with me to forbid it?

Bur. Hath your majesty, In urging opposition, any scheme That might give life to policy?

Agr. Ay, something. I would protect Britannicus: his claim And popularity being pressed, must drive Nero upon my side.

Bur. Such act were merely The boy’s destruction, were’t not done in earnest And backed by force.

Agr. Then, since the case demands All earnestness, and since we lack not force.....

Bur. Between your son’s rule and your stepson’s claim There lies no middle way.

Agr. I never held That a stout purpose chose a middle way.

Sen. What, what! Consider, madam, what you urge Is to dethrone your son.

Agr. I am desperate.

Sen. Indeed, indeed!

Agr. What say’st thou, Burrus? Hast thou not a hope The rightful heir might prove the better Cæsar?

Bur. Were this in earnest, yet my oath to Cæsar Forbids me even to think the thing you say.

Agr. Thy oath to him! Rather to me ’twas sworn; Who raised thee up to swear, and made the Cæsar For thee to swear to? I can dispense your oaths: Or rather, since they were unjustly sworn, Justice dispenses them. ’Twould be a deed Truer than oaths to break the oaths ye swore.

Bur. Justice is still against you. ’Twas unjust To burn the will of Claudius; ’twas unjust To hide Britannicus, and to bring forth Your own son in his place: these things were wrongs, And these old wrongs would you redub with new. For when upon your wrongs Rome set her seal, Her choice made right of wrong, and we that swore, Swore not to Nero or Britannicus, But unto Rome and to her chosen Cæsar.

Agr. Nay, Seneca, I think, will scarce say thus.

Sen. Burrus is right; and were he wrong, your scheme But complicates the mischief.

Agr. Then ye desert me?

Sen. Nay, nay, in other ways I may do much. I may win Nero back.

Agr. The thought is folly; We fight against him.

Sen. Oh! ’tis open treason.

Agr. Eh! Why, I think my son’s ingratitude Is nought to this; he had the right to expect My favours: but for you, whom I chose out And set above the rest because I chose, Made you my friends because I chose, for you There is no excuse. Had ye no motive, yet To see a woman in distress like mine, Wronged by her son, and injured as no woman Has ever been, should rouse a manly spirit, Ay, make a coward burn to do me right. But ye stand there aloof, and not a word. O good Seneca, Rememberest thou thy days in Corsica? The stoic letters of thine exile, writ With Naso’s pang, and that exuberant page To me, at the first tidings of recall. I have it still, the letter, superscribed Your most devoted slave. Was not that felt? Had’st thou not cause? Now is the opportunity Of my distress, now I stand to lose all, All that those hard times strove for, all they won. The faith thou owest me, still may make all mine; Wilt thou deny it me?

Sen. Alas, good lady!

Agr. Alas! Is this the vein? Think you I come to hear Your lamentations? Ah! ye dare, I see, Pity me while ye wrong me: but the truth Ye dare not say. Ye dare not say, Lo, we, Raised by your clemency, sworn to your service, Seeing your fair wind is changed, and there’s no hope Left to your following, do as all knaves do, Leave you to perish. Ah, all’s lost, all’s lost! [Weeps.

Bur. (to Sen.). Business attending me at home, I go. [Going.

Agr. Thou goest! Then go, thou wooden counterfeit. Nay, I’ll be with thee yet. (Exit Bur.) Pooh! let him go, An ugly, one-armed, upstart, sneaking knave: A title seeker, a subservient villain. And thou, Philosopher! come, teach me thy philosophy. Tell me how I may be a dauntless Stoic And a most pitiful ass. Show me thy method Of magnanimity and self-denial, Which makes of slaves the richest men in Rome. Philosopher! Ay, thou that teachest youth Dishonesty, and coinest honied speeches To gloss iniquity, sand without lime. Out, out upon thee! Thou miserable, painful, hackney-themed Botcher of tragedies, that deem’st thyself A new Euripides, a second Cato: A pedant rather, pander and murderer. I’ll let Rome know how pumpkin Claudius died; I’ll not be ashamed to say, ’twas I that spiced His fatal mushroom. Honest Seneca Stood by and smiled. True, true! I’ll be true yet; I’ll right Britannicus. I’ll tell the soldiers What they should look for. Hear’st thou not their shouts? Seneca to the Tiber! the philosopher, The murderer to the Tiber! Fulvia, Fulvia!— Fulvia, I go. Come, I will leave; lead on. [Exit.

Sen. And I to train the cub of such a dam! [Exit.