Paris.

Nay, if this is all.

Tig. This much were all: and yet this caravan Is but the least of six; His monstrous Grace Brings up the rear.

Par. ’Tis nobly done of Cæsar.

Tig. ’Tis noble, say you, that the thief go quit With all his plunder from the house he plundered?

Par. Hark how the weasel can upbraid the fox! Good Tigellinus, there’s no need to grudge Pallas his scrapings; the sea is full of fish: Rather thou should’st rejoice because thou seest Thy probable hap. Pray that as many mules, Litters and bags and bales, women and slaves May comfort thee.

Enter Nero with Domitia.