Seneca.

Burrus was right. The more I think of it, The time has come that one or both must go; So the more dangerous first, then are we quit At once of all our mischief and disgrace. ’Tis past belief that she who plunged in crime To enthrone her son should now plot to dethrone him. There is no bridle for a wicked woman. Men may despise the venerable path Of virtue, and refuse the wholesome laws Of plain philosophy, but still they lean Towards reason, even in their wickedness. There’s an accountable consistency Found in their actions; but if once a woman Throw off, as men soon do, the first restraints Of credulous childhood; if her nature lack Tenderness, modesty, and that respect To self which sees in self a thing to guard From passion and caprice, and in the pleasure Of fitness finds a law,—if she lack that Or overpass it,—there’s no further bound: All things are mixed together; virtue, crime, Wisdom and folly. For they have a spirit Of infinite wrong genius. Rule, I say, Such women if you can; rule them with iron.

Enter Nero.