Otho.

So then you are going?

Pop. Yes, I go alone, Since you will not come with me.

Oth. You are always free To have your way; but when your wish is mine, It is twice yours. This time you know ’tis not: And were I used to set constraint upon you, Could it be said Otho e’er crossed his wife With a command, it should be now: I’d say This I forbid.

Pop. And why?

Oth. I entreat you, dearest.

Pop. I am pledged to go.

Oth. Go not.

Pop. There’s now no choice.

Oth. A light excuse would serve: a sudden sickness, A cold, a headache. Do not go.

Pop. Why, look! If you are not jealous, Otho! jealous, jealous. You see not straight.

Oth. I see you smile on Cæsar.

Pop. And think you, then, I must have turned my love Where I have smiled? that I would play you false For the pleasure of it?

Oth. Why then sup with Cæsar?

Pop. A trifle hangs upon him I would wear,— The world.

Oth. So dazzled by the imperial splendour! Think: to be Cæsar’s mistress for a year Is not to rule the world.

Pop. I will be Cæsar’s wife.

Oth. Ah! look you then so high?

Pop. Who shall be called my rival?

Oth. Cæsar’s wife.

Pop. She hinders not.

Oth. Oh, thou would’st never dare it, Did’st thou not love him.

Pop. What should I not dare?

Oth. Hast thou considered well the ambiguous style Thou goest to take, and yet determined?

Pop. Ay.

Oth. ’Tis death, ’tis death. I speak now but for thee: Not for myself. The cup Octavia drinks To quit thy place thou too wilt come to taste.

Pop. That is my risk. The sport were tame without it: The game can boast a sting.

Oth. Weigh well the danger: Think of it thus; to live on a caprice Whose jealousy is death; where for the reason One seems to love thee will be ten to hate thee; Where not to be beforehand with a treachery Is to be victim.

Pop. I can steer my way.

Oth. And for this desperate venture wilt cast off My love, our love?

Pop. What is love?

Oth. Art thou Poppæa? Wer’t any else but thou that questioned thus, My answer then were ready: I should say Ask of Poppæa, ’tis the thing she knows; Ask Otho’s wife what love is, she can tell. And thou to ask! as if ’twere some strange matter Wide of experience, and to ask of me Who won thee for my teacher!

Pop. ’Tis true the impeachment I make of love is that he hath exhausted His treasure rather than denied us aught.

Oth. Exhausted love! how mean you?

Pop. See! I am made Of other stuff and passions besides love. You cannot wish that all my life should move Pent in this narrow circle, day by day Keeping the pretty game up which I learned When I was green: that I should ne’er do else Than this one thing, and that so constantly That even the habit and the practice of it Are scarce employment; that I should grow grey, And see the wide and seasonable field Of life’s exertion and excitement fallow With this one weed of love?

Oth. A weed, you say!

Pop. I have other motions in me. I’ve an itch Men call ambition, and I see a prize Looks worth the having.

Oth. ’Tis not worth the having.

Pop. Why, what were I to thee, could’st thou be Cæsar?

Oth. Even all thou art; I have no itch to rule Merely to see that game played out, and cry At the end—what is ambition?

Pop. It hath no end.

Oth. ’Tis plain love hath an end.

Pop. Nay, as I love thee, I still shall love thee. Only, Otho....

Oth. What?

Pop. I thought your eye was open to perceive The grandeur of my scheme.

Oth. Thou wert mistaken.

Pop. Upon what falls to-night, let us decide. I have no secrets from you: if I prosper, Desert me if you will, but blame me not: For dared I combat Cæsar’s inclination There were as much to lose. The thing I do Will be your safety.

Oth. Rather would I die, Ay, rather far that thou should’st die than do This baseness willingly.

Pop. Nay, speak not so. I shall do nothing base.

Oth. Thou must succeed. Only before thou goest I’ll kiss thee once. [Kisses Pop. Otho’s last kiss. Farewell.

Pop. Good night. I go. Lesbia, my cloak! I shall have news ere morn. [Exit.

Oth. Gone! With a grace As firm, as pleasant, gay and self-possessed As that with which she hath come a thousand times To meet me, kiss me, and call me hers, she goes To change her husband .. gone! and not a sign To show that leaving me was losing aught! Fool that I was! To the soul I knew her vain, Self-seeking, light, petulant at the breath Of contradiction, and yet I trusted. What, Asks she, is love. Ay, what? I love my dog; He is devoted beyond reason, pitiful In his dependence; he will scarce reproach me With some short wondering sorrow, if I strike him— I love my horse; he bears me willingly, Answering spiritedly; with all his strength Generous and gentle. But woman, if man love her,— Seeing she is less devoted than the hound, Less noble than the horse,—’tis that we deem, That being human she can gauge the worth Of our intensity, and in kind somewhat Repay it: ’tis a delusion; spite of shew, She hath not in her heart that which her eyes Fondly declare. There is no passion possible Which beauty can interpret or soft speech Express, which was not mine; ay, by that title O’er and o’er; yet I think no dog in Rome Would leave the meanest slave that fed him once, As hath this woman left the man that loved her.

[Knocking.

Enter Lucan and Petronius.