Petronius.

What will they go to do?

Bur. ’Tis thus: the Admiral Has gone to kill the Augusta.

Petr. Gods forbid! His orders?

Bur. Humph!

Petr. Why, men, what thing ye do! He is shamed for ever.

Bur. Ay, and were’t not done Were shamed no less.

Sen. Alas! ’tis true, ’tis true. And thou wert right, Burrus; but dost thou well Permitting this?

Bur. I see ’tis necessary, And am not shamed to say I think the thing Itself is good. As for the motives, Seneca, Ay, and the manner of it, to defend them I shall not meddle.

Petr. (to Sen.) And thou wilt take thy share?

Sen. ’Tis not my counsel.

Petr. ’Twill be held as thine, And rightly, seeing that thou let it not. I could have stayed it.

Bur. Nay, be not so sure. And if thou could’st have let it, could’st thou too Prevent the consequences?

Petr. But remember, She is his mother. Oh, I thought him better. Is it too late now think you, if I ran...

Bur. They are there by now. Believe ’tis for the best. If she should live but till to-morrow morn, ’Tis civil war. Consider what a party Would stir upon the tale of Claudius’ death, Or to revenge Britannicus. I say There’s nought to gain.

Petr. Why, ’tis his mother, Burrus, His mother. I’ll be sworn he had not dared Thus to commit himself had I been by. He that should be a model to the world, The mirror of good manners, to offend Thus against taste!

Bur. If ’twere no worse...

Petr. Why, see, There are a hundred subtle ways by which, Had Cæsar done the thing, he had not been blamed. This vulgar butchery displays to all The motive, which so hurts your sense of right That ye neglect the manner. Why, I say, A just attention to the circumstance Would hide the doing; but thus done, the doing Proclaims the deed. And is’t not plain that ye Must share the guilt? Seneca, look for that.

Sen. ’Tis very well for you, Petronius, To take upon yourself the criticism And ordering of appearances, and say ’If aught goes ill, blame me.’ You lay your hand On any object you mislike, remove it, Replace it as you will, can please yourself: Nay, you can blame their taste who are not pleased. But he who deals with men, and seeks to mould A character to that high rule of right Which so few can attain, he works, I say, With different matter, nor can he be blamed By any measure of his ill success. His best endeavours are like little dams Built ’gainst the ocean, on a sinking shore. Nature asserts her force—and the wise man Blames not himself for his defeat. For me, Much as my soul is grieved, ay, and my pride Wounded—tho’ yet, I thank philosophy, I can be glad for that,—my hopes—for this I mourn—my hopes blasted; yet, hear me say, I take unto myself no self-reproach, Nay, not a tittle of the part of mischief A vulgar mind might credit to my score. I have done my best, and that’s the utmost good A man can do; and if a better man Had in my place done more, ’tis perverse Fortune That placed me ill. Thus far I argue with you, Who look on me askance, and think my heart Is tainted; as if I would in such case Do such thing, as—poison my brother at table, Contrive to kill my mother: ’Tis so far From possible, that to my ears the words Carry no sense: nay, and I think such crimes May seem more horrible to other men, Whose passions make them fear them, than to me Who cannot think them mine. As for the rest, I stand with you, and never from this hour Shall mix with Cæsar more with any hope Of good. Indeed I have hoped too long, and yet The end has come too soon.

Re-enter Anicetus, Tigellinus, and Paris.

Tig. ’Tis done, ’tis done.

Ani. Where is Cæsar?

Bur. Within.

[Anicetus and Tigellinus hurry within.

Petr. Paris, is it true?

Par. The Augusta lives no longer, Most brutally and miserably slain: Yet died she bravely.

Petr. And why wentest thou To soil thy hand?

Par. I went not to take part: But Fortune holding nature’s ruffians up, I took their pattern.

Sen. Say, who did the deed?

Par. I’ll tell thee what I saw. As forth we went, The coward Tigellinus, pale as death, In needless haste foremost where was no danger, Hurried us on so fast, that thro’ the street We scarce kept pace, but when he reached the wall Of the garden, and saw there the soldiers placed By Anicetus, knowing not their purpose, He shrank behind. These men being bidden seized The servants; then we entered, and with us Came the centurion. Within the room Sat Agrippina with a single maid, Who seeing the Admiral’s sword fled past us out: At which the Augusta called to her, ’Dost thou, Fulvia, desert me too?’ Then to the Admiral She spoke. ’If here thou comest to enquire From Cæsar of my health, know I am well, Recovered from my shock, and little hurt. But if, as your men’s looks would mean, ye are come Deeming that Cæsar wills that I should suffer The like I late escaped, know you mistake. ’Twas not of his contrivance, and my foe In this is his.’ None answered, and awhile Was such delay as makes the indivisible And smallest point of time various and broad; For Agrippina, when she saw her lie Fail of its aim, ventured no more, as knowing There was no wiser plea; but let her eyes Indifferently wander round her foes, Counting their strength. Then looked I to have seen Her spring, for her cheek swelled, and ’neath her robe Her foot moved; ay, and had she been but armed, One would have fallen. But if she had the thought She set it by, choosing to take her death With dignity. Then Anicetus raised His sword, and I fled out beyond the door To see no more. First Tigellinus’ voice, ’To death, thou wretch!’ then blows, but not a groan; Only she showed her spirit to the last, And made some choice of death, offering her body, ’That bare the monster,’ crying with that curse, ’Strike here, strike here!’

Sen. Alas, poor lady, Was that the end of thy unscrupulous, Towering ambition? Thou didst win indeed The best and worst of Fortune.

Bur. Give her her due, Such courage as deserved the best, such crimes As make her death seem gentler than deserved.

Enter Nero between Anicetus and Tigellinus.

Ner. My lords, ’tis done. Nay, look not grieved. There’s none Suffers as much as I; all share the good. And think not that to keep the world at peace I grudge this sacrifice: the general care I set before my own, and therefore bid There be no public mourning, nay, to-morrow We shall attend the spectacles and games, Appear as usual before the people: Ay, and I partly look, my lords, to you That I be well received. Good night to all!