Lucan.

I claim The first place for it, and I say ’tis proved Nobler than any plastic art in this; It needs not tools nor gross material, And hath twin doors to the mind, both eye and ear. Nay, even of drama Aristotle held, Though a good play must act well, that ’tis perfect Without the stage: which shows that poetry Stains not her excellence by being kind To those encumbrances, which, in my judgment, Are pushed to fetter fancy.—Then hath our art Such strong and universal mastery O’er heart and mind, that here ’tis only music Competes, and she is second far in scope, Directness, and distinction.

Ner. You think that?

Luc. Ay, Cæsar.

Ner. Do you! you who have ever been More gracious to my voice than to my pen! Am I a better singer then than poet, Think you?

Luc. Nay, Cæsar; but....

Ner. Ha! then you are envious. You would not have me write because, forsooth, You write yourself. Now, by the god, I swear Thou shalt not publish nor recite a verse Within my empire till I give thee leave. One man to keep the muses to himself! Monstrous!

Pop. And serve him right.

Luc. (aside). Monstrous indeed!

Ner. (to servants). Heat me some wine. Come, lords, ye drink not. Eh! what have we here?

Servant. Cherubim, Cæsar.

Ner. What is Cherubim?

Petr. The gods of the Jews.

Ner. Hoo! let us eat their gods. They are much like pheasants.

Servt. ’Tis a pheasant, Cæsar, And stuffed with woodcock.

Petr. Cæsar, there’s one art Has not been mentioned; though I think at table It should not be passed o’er.

Ner. What art is that?

Petr. I shall contend it is the first of all.

Ner. Name it.

Petr. It hath no name. It scarce exists. I think the goddess never walked the earth.

Par. Ranks she with poetry?

Petr. I avouch above.

Par. Cæsar, if this be proved, thou must rescind Thy poet’s sentence.

Ner. Let him prove it first.

Petr. I see in other arts some wit or fancy Extrinsical to nature. I can find No ground of need in any, save maybe In architecture,—which ranks not so well As to be mentioned by you.—Now, if I Show you an art whose matter every day Is life’s necessity, which gives more scope To skill than any other, which delights Among the senses one which the other arts Wholly neglect, would you not say this art Hath the first claim? See, I could live without The joys of harmony, colour, or form, But without this it were impossible To outlast the week.

Par. Oh! Cookery.

Several. Cookery, cookery!

Petr. There’s the mistake I gird at. None of you But thinks this art I speak of, which includes Pleasures of entertainment, ease and elegance, The mind’s best recreation, the satisfaction Of the body’s nearest needs, the preservation Of health, and with all this, the gratifying Of that one sense, which above all the senses Is subtle, difficult, discerning, ticklish, And most importunate,—that this great art Is a cook’s province.

Ner. True, Petronius, true; There’s room for bettering these things.

Petr. Why, wine— Just think of wine. A hundred vintages Lie in my cellar; by my taste I tell Each one; are eye or ear so delicate?

Par. Here’s half a case already.

Petr. Then again, Look on this side. You bid your friends to supper: That is a promise; and hath all your life An hour more suitable for skilful kindness? They come perturbed, fatigued, hungry and thirsty; Nature exhausts them for you, drains them empty To take all kinds of pleasure; their grated nerves Ask music, their wearied limbs soft cushioned couches, Their harassed mind wise cheerful conversation, Their body’s appetites fawn at the word Of food and wine: and yet we see these things, Which should be studied, ordered, suited, measured, All jumbled in confusion, till a feast, Instead of relaxation and renewal, Becomes, I say, for body and for mind The worst discomfort and the stiffest trial That life can show.

Par. Bravo! bravo!

Ner. For one, I am converted. Thou shalt be henceforth Arbiter of my table.

Br. (to servt.) ’Tis boiling hot; Taste it.

Ner. (to Petron.) Accept you the office?

Petr. This would make me A Cæsar above Cæsar.

Ner. In the province Of imperial æsthetics.

Servt. to Brit. Pardon, your highness, I will add water to it: ’tis yet unmixed.

[They pour in the poison.

Petr. ’Twill be a tyranny. For look, I hold Man’s stomach is not to be trifled with. Not only should your table give delight Even to the ravishment of every palate, But since the end and final cause of food Is not to breed diseases in the flesh, Nor heat the spirits more than they can bear, But rather to build up and comfort health, I’d order first that there be served at table Nothing but what is wholesome.

Br. (after drinking nubile Petr. speaks). Ah!

[Falls back.

Oct. The wine, the wine!

Br. Ah! [Dies.

Oct. He is dead. O dead! O dead!

Lucan, Petronius and Paris go to Britannicus. Domitia follows.—All rising.

Agr. What is this?

Ner. He hath a fit.

Petr. He doth not breathe.

Oct. (has come round to front). Alas, alas! my brother; he is dead.

Ner. Nay, sit you down; look not aghast, I say. He hath the falling sickness, and will oft Faint on a sudden, as ye see. He lies An hour as dead, and then awakes again With nought amiss. Best take him out in quiet. (To servants.) Carry him from the room.

Luc. Lift you his feet, Petronius. We two will take him.

Ner. Let him be, I say. His servants will attend him. Return to table: We cannot spare you.

Par. (to Oct.) Honoured lady, be hopeful: For hath your noble brother e’er been taken Like this, he may recover.

Oct. (to Par.) Never— Never! O never! he is dead! I knew it! [Going.

Ner. (to Oct.) Heh, sit you down. What could you do, I pray? He will come round.

Oct. Oh! I will follow him.

[Exit with servants who are carrying Brit.

Petr. (to Par.) How happened it?

Par. (to Petr.) He drank a draught of wine Fresh mixed, and then fell back just as you saw. What think you?

Petr. (to Par.) Think you ’twas aught?

Par. (to Luc.) What think you?

Luc. Impossible.

Dom. (aside). He is poisoned. Yet my sister Was nothing privy to it. She is pale.

Ner. Come, sit you down, aunt: come, Petronius, Lucan, be seated. Let not the horrid sight Unwhet your appetites.

Petr. (to Luc.) That was no fit. [To Par. He is dead. What if ’twere poison? Where’s the drink?

Par. ’Twas hurried out.

Luc. O God!

Ner. (to servts.) Serve out the wine. We all must need a bumper; ’tis most natural. I have known the mere revulsion to provoke In a strong man a seizure similar To that which frighted him.

Par. (aside). ’Twould not amaze me, Had he such drink to cheer him. [All refuse drink.

Pop. (to Nero). I will not drink.

Ner. From my cup.

Pop. Well, from thine. [Drinks.

Luc. (aside). He is self-betrayed.

Ner. Where were we?

Petr. At the point where Cæsar made me Arbiter of his table. I shall ask To inaugurate my office.

Ner. Do so, Petronius.

Petr. Then know you are all dismissed. Let all go home, And for the prince’s safety offer up [All rise. What vows ye may unto the gods. Myself, I set the example, and go first. Come, Lucan. [Going.

Ner. Eh! eh! yet thus ’tis best. Good night, Petronius, 1691 Thou hast spoken well; may the gods hear thy prayers. I wish you all good night.

In disorder of going curtain falls.