Agrippina.

My dearest daughter, I have longed for this embrace. Where else but here Beside this sacred tomb should we have met? I should have been much with thee in thy sorrow, But am forbidden the palace.

Oct. I must thank thee Doing this grace to my unhappy brother. The gods grant thee kind messages. Farewell.

Agr. Nay, go not thus. See how I hang these garlands.

Oct. Not there, nay, not on mine; not there! thy grief Must own a lower place; mix not its show With mine. He was my brother.

Agr. Thou art right. Set them here, Fulvia. If my heart is wronged, ’Tis done unwittingly; thou canst not know.

Oct. I leave thee.

Agr. Grant one word.

Oct. Would’st thou be kind ’Twill be but one.

Agr. ’Tis this then: I am kind. In sum ’twas this I came to say.

Oct. If hither Thou didst but come to seek me, know I had chosen The hour to be alone.

Agr. My dearest child, My injured child! See, I would have thee trust My friendship. ’Twas my constant, loving wish To right thy brother’s wrongs, and now my heart Is wholly turned on thee.

Oct. Think not of me. Am I not past all help? nor do I crave The help that leads to death.

Agr. O never dream That I had hand in that accursèd deed. The terror of it rather hath possessed My purpose with the justice of revenge.

Oct. I cannot thank thee, and from thy messengers Have gathered all. There’s nought to say. Farewell.

Agr. Thou dost not know Poppæa marries Cæsar.

Oct. Ay.

Agr. Thou consentest?

Oct. Say, would my refusal Or my consent be counted?

Agr. It shall not be.

Oct. It matters not.

Agr. Thou lookest for divorce?

Oct. Can I remain his wife who killed my brother?

Agr. Thou art the last branch of the house of Claudius, And if thou wilt forget the hurt now done thee, May’st yet retrieve thy blood; but being too proud, Wilt more dishonour what thou seemest to honour. If now thou’rt brave, and wilt join hands with me...

Oct. O never, never! was it not that hand That.... O my brother, with thy trait’rous foe Make peace, and at thy tomb! Ask clemency Of him that murdered thee! O never.— Thou most dear shade, who wast too mild and kind, If death seal not thy spiritual sense To my loud sorrow, hear me! O thou my joy, By whom the bitterness of life, my lot Of horror, was quite sweetened,—cruelly, Most cruelly slain. Ay, I will all forget When he who wrought this thing can bring again Out of thy cold unmotionable ashes The well-compacted body and grace of life. Ay, if he make one smile of thine, although It last no time, I will forget: but else, I say, the thing he hath done, since so ’tis done That he cannot undo it, he must o’er-do Ere I forget.

Agr. I will be yet thy friend—

[Exit Oct. with Attendants.

There comes no help from her. Maybe her grief Is yet too fresh. Come, Fulvia, let us go. She would not speak with me. Now on all hands Thou seest I am set aside, and count for nought. Yet not for this am I a whit discouraged; I shall rise yet. Am I not Agrippina? [Exeunt.