Octavia.

Brother, a request you must grant.

Br. Anything, Dearest, to thee.

Oct. Sup not to-night with Cæsar.

Br. I must. Yet what’s thy reason? Thou art moved Strangely beyond the matter.

Oct. Read this paper.

Br. (reads). Britannicus, sup not to-day with Cæsar. How came you by it?

Oct. ’Tis from Fulvia, The maid that loves Seleucus; whence ’tis his.

Br. Most like; I know the turbaned mountebank Keeps an old kindness for me. Yet nay, nay— If this should now be found—nay, he’s too shrewd To put himself in writing.

Oct. He might dare With Fulvia.

Br. Nay. I cannot think ’tis his. And were it, what’s his credit? I do not trust These fellows far. They trade in mystery, And love to thicken water,—and if there be A plot to poison me, to-day’s occasion Offers no easier vantage than to-morrow’s. My safety lies elsewhere.

Oct. O do not go.

Br. Fear not, Octavia, I am very careful, And eat but sparingly of any dish, Nor aught but what goes round. To stay away Might show suspicion, and could serve no end.

Oct. Brother, be warned, go not to-night; to-morrow We may learn more. I beg...

Br. Nay, urge me not, Since with this warning I am doubly safe.

Oct. Oh, I dread Nero’s anger; ’tis most certain That ill will come of it.

Br. Nay, fear him not. Let us go sup. I will use all precaution, Thou may’st be sure, since for thy sake I do it: And while thou livest I shall have both reason And wish to live. Have care, too, for thyself; I think thy peril is no less than mine. [Exeunt.