Chapter I: Part 1

POETICAL WORKS

of

ROBERT BRIDGES

Volume III

[Colophon]

London Smith, Elder & Co 15 Waterloo Place 1898

OXFORD: HORACE HART PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY

_POETICAL WORKS OF ROBERT BRIDGES_

_VOLUME THE THIRD CONTAINING_

_THE FIRST PART OF NERO_ _p._ 1

_ACHILLES IN SCYROS_ 179

_NOTES_ 261

LIST OF PREVIOUS EDITIONS

_THE FIRST PART OF NERO._

1. _NERO. An historical Tragedy of the first part of the reign of the emperor Nero. Published by Ewd. Bumpus. London, 1885. 4to._

_ACHILLES IN SCYROS._

1. _ACHILLES IN SCYROS. A drama in a mixed manner. Published by Ewd. Bumpus. London, 1890. 4to._

2. _ACHILLES IN SCYROS._ _Uniform with_ Shorter Poems (I). _George Bell & Sons, 1892._

THE FIRST PART OF THE HISTORY OF NERO

A HISTORICAL TRAGEDY

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

_NERO_.

_BRITANNICUS_ _stepson to Agrippina_.

_BURRUS_ _praetorian prefect_.

_SENECA_ _tutor to Nero_.

_LUCAN, the poet, nephew to Seneca_ }
_OTHO_ } } _friends of Nero_.
_PETRONIUS_} _gentlemen of Rome_ }

_PALLAS_ _master of the imperial household_.

_TIGELLINUS_ _successor to Pallas_.

_THRASEA, a Stoic_ } _honest senators_.
_PRISCUS_ }

_ANICETUS_ _an admiral_.

_PARIS_ _a player, favourite of Nero_.

_SELEUCUS_ _an astrologer_.

_Messengers, Servants, &c._

_AGRIPPINA AUGUSTA_ _mother to Nero_.

_OCTAVIA_ _wife to Nero, sister to Britannicus_.

_POPPÆA_ _wife to Otho, loved of Nero_.

_DOMITIA_ _sister-in-law to Agrippina_.

_FULVIA_ _attendant on Agrippina_.

_Maids, &c._

_Scene. The first four acts are laid in ROME; the fifth is at BAIÆ._

NERO

ACT · I

SCENE · 1

_On the Palatine. THRASEA & PRISCUS._

_THRASEA._

IF you ask my advice then, it is silence. You are yet new to the senate, and must learn to give your opinion with least offence.

_PRISCUS._

Can you mean this?

_Thr._ Yes—it is my serious advice.

_Pr._ Now, unless it were the silence of Brutus ...

_Thr._ Hush, hush! Were this repeated, there is no
greater peril than that word of yours.

_Pr._ But to you I know I may speak freely.

_Thr._ What know you of me? 10

_Pr._ I know Thrasea is brave, and resents his country’s wrongs; that he has insight to see that liberty was never more outraged than now.

_Thr._ Believe me, sir, this tale of things being at their worst is common to all times. Your judgment has gone astray upon a contempt for Cæsar’s follies, or a hatred of his mother’s crimes. Measure Nero but by what he has already done, and you may even find cause for congratulation. 19

_Pr._ We shall be ruled like the Britons by a Queen.

_Thr._ O nay. It is not possible that Nero will suffer Agrippina’s ambition to take such a place. ’Tis already a quarrel between them, and Seneca declares for him.

_Pr._ Then, I ask you, may there not be found in this quarrel an opportunity to bring in Britannicus? Now he is of age, he can no longer be held disqualified.

_Thr._ There is no question of qualification or of
claim. 28

_Pr._ How so? The late emperor Claudius in his will mentioned Britannicus for his successor, as being his own son....

_Thr._ May be. But then, sir, his empress made away with both him and his will; and the Roman people chose for Cæsar the son of the murderess, rather than the heir of the idiot they were glad to be rid of. Since which day Nero is as truly our Cæsar as Britannicus could ever have been. Those who swore to Nero will remain by him; as ’tis well they should, else were no stability.

_Pr._ Shall we then do nothing? 39

_Thr._ You take things by the wrong handle. Let us make the best of what we have. Our Cæsar is the pupil of a philosopher and guided in everything by his master’s counsels.

_Pr._ You are very tolerant and hopeful.

_Thr._ Try and be so too, and I shall wish to see more of you. If you will visit my house, you will indeed be most welcome and may find congenial company. Only no more of Brutus.

_Pr._ Thank you for your kindness, if it is an earnest
of your confidence—On another occasion... 50

_Thr._ O we will find many. (_Shouts heard._) What is that? (_More shouts._) It must be Cæsar: he is coming this way. Be not seen talking with me: go you that way: I will remain. Farewell.

_Pr._ Farewell, Thrasea. [_Exit._

_Thr._ Young blood, hot blood and true:
Yet is his energetic patriotism
Useless,—nay, like a weapon out of date,
Looks not to be a warlike weapon more.
I think in me it had been truer wisdom, 60
Knowing the forces of this drowning time,
To have said outright—Good, honest Priscus,
Be good no longer, let thine honesty
Rot, it can stead thee nothing; there’s no man
Will be the better for it; there’s no field
Where thou canst exercise it, not a place
In all the world where in secure possession
Thou mayst retire with it: cast it away;
For ’tis a burden far beyond thy freight.
If thou wilt swim at all, swim with the times, 70
An empty bottom on a shallow tide:
Be that thy seamanship—No; I am bold to say
Our virtue hath the topmost vaunt of honour;
Seeing we are true to it in spite of shame,
When its incompetence before the world
Gives it the lie; nor can the fawning curs,
That bask in Cæsar’s sunshine, when they mock us,
Dream that we wish them other than they are.
I give them joy. See here is folly’s king,
The hare-brained boy to whom injurious fortune 80
Has given the throne and grandeur of the world:
Now if I bow my head ’tis in thy game,
Ridiculous fate; and my soul laughs at thee.

[_Retires aside._

_Enter Nero, Otho, Lucan, Tigellinus, and Paris._

_NERO._

This is the place: enlarge it on this side
To take in all the hill. That house of Rufus
That blocks the way must down, and all the piles
On the south slope. Now say, is’t fine or no?

_LUCAN._

Magnificent.

_OTHO._

It shows the mind of Cæsar.

_TIGELLINUS._

Splendid.

_Ner._ At least the best: we still regret
A better than the best; and I can see 90
These possibilities. Think if the hill
Were raised some hundred feet, till it o’ertopped
The Capitol—eh! lords. And so ’twere best;
But still ’twill pass for good.

_Luc._ ’Twill be a palace
For site and size the first in all the world.

_Ner._ To kill the Jews’ brag of Jerusalem?

_Oth._ I think it.

_Ner._ You, my friends, who know my scheme,
May mete and judge my general scope in this,
A sample of my temper coined and uttered 99
For the world’s model, that all men’s endeavours
May rise with mine to have all things at best,
Not only for myself but for the world;
Riches and joy and heart’s content for all.
It may be done, and who should do it but I?
See now my years at best, my youth and strength
With form and gifts agreeing, and my power,....
Know’st thou my power?—Oh! Otho, I tell thee
The Cæsars which have been have never known
What ’tis to be full Cæsar. Dost thou think?
There’s nothing good on earth but may be won 110
With power and money; and I have them both;
Ay, and the will.

_Oth._ Much may be done, no doubt.

_Ner._ Much! Why there’s nothing, man, may not be done.
The curse of life is of our own devising,
Born of man’s ignorance and selfishness.
He wounds his happiness against a cage
Of his own make, and only waits the word
For one to set his door open,—and look,
Having his liberty is he not glad
As heaven’s birds are?—Now when fate’s ordinance
Sends him a liberator, ay, and one 121
Not to cajole or preach, but, will or nill,
Who’ll force him forth and crush up his old cage,
With all who would hang back and skulk therein,
How shall he not be happy?

_Luc._ This shall be
The world’s last crown, by man with utmost power
Endowed to drive him to the good he shuns.

_Ner._ Ay. Be all human hopes summed up in mine
And reach their goal. I say there shall be peace,
There shall be plenty, pleasure, and content: 130
The god on earth shall work the good whereof
The folly of man hath baulked the gods in heaven:
And good that men desire shall be as common
As ills they now repine at. When I say
There shall be justice, see, even at my word
Injustice is no more.

_PARIS._

The house of Rufus,
Standing on justice there, will mar thy palace.

_Ner._ Fool. Why, I say to Rufus—I am Cæsar,
And need thy house.—Says he—It cost my sire
Ten million sesterces.—A trifle that, 140
Say I, and give him twenty: and down it goes.
Is not this more than justice?

_Par._ Ay, ’tis power.

_Ner._ Thou quibbling meddler, learn this point of wit,
To keep thy sphere; answer in that: last night
Sang I divinely? Wert thou envious
When I put on the lion’s skin, and did
The choice of Hercules?

_Par._ Most mighty Cæsar,
I wished that I had asses ears to hear;
Mine are not long enough.

_Ner._ Plague on thy jesting.
See static virtue stalks with folded arm 150
To set thee down. [_Thrasea comes forward._

_Thr._ Hail, Cæsar!

_Ner._ Thy opinion,
Thrasea, come, thy opinion. What dost thou think
If I extend my palace to take in
The hill whereon we stand?

_Thr._ The plan no doubt
Is worthy of the site, and for the site,
Why, ’tis the darling spot of Rome.

_Ner._ Well said.
Stay. I would ask my fellow senator
Wherefore he left the house three days ago
Without his voice or vote.

_Thr._ I judged the time 159
Unmeet to speak; and, for my vote, the senate
Was of one mind: a vote was of no count.

_Ner._ Thou show’dst a sense against us in not voting.

_Thr._ That must thou look for, Cæsar, in the senate.

_Ner._ Well, I would have thee speak. We are not full
Without thy voice: nay more, such conduct makes
The senate but a name; for times have been
When silence was well justified by fear.
Now we court criticism, ay, and look ill
On those that grudge their approbation. 169

_Thr._ Cæsar commands my service and my praise;
I shall not lack.

_Ner._ We look for much from thee.

_Thr._ Long live your majesty. [_Exit._

_Ner._ There’s something good
In that man, Otho; spite of his dry mien
And Stoic fashion.

_Oth._ Nay, I like him not.
He’s hardly flesh and blood. Old Seneca
Is stiff and prosy enough; but if you pinch him,
You find he yields, shows softness here and there.
This man is merely stone, foursquare by rule.

_Ner._ Do you despise divine philosophy?

_Oth._ Well, as I take it, all philosophy 180
Is questionable guessing, but the sense
A man grows up with bears the stamp of nature.

_Ner._ How mean you that?

_Oth._ At best this fine-spun system
Is but a part of man’s experience
Drawn out to contradiction of the rest.
’Tis a fool’s wisdom.

_Luc._ ’Tis a form of pleasure.

_Oth._ True. Though there be no theory of life
That’s worth a button, yet the search for one
Seems to content some men better than life.

_Ner._ Call him not fool, Otho!

_Oth._ Unless I wrong him,
I speak as well of him as he of me. 191
Or if he say nothing, his guarded manner
Covers, be sure, a more unkind contempt.

_Par._ (_apeing Thr._). That must thou look for, Cæsar, in the
senate.

_Tig._ Ha! ha! Excellent!

_Ner._ Paris would make a senator.

_Oth._ Well, give me life.

_Ner._ Ay, that is wisdom. Live.
Enjoy the hour; which minds me, for to-night
I have time well disposed: we sup with Actè;
She will inaugurate the new pavilion,
And after, there are masks and clubs provided. 200
Thou’lt join us, eh!

_Oth._ With all my heart.

_Ner._ (_to Tig. and Luc._). And you.
And you. And, Paris, see Petronius comes,
And Anicetus. Hence, and bid them now.

[_Exit Paris._

Good news for them I think; pleasure in store.
We’ll make a merry night. Now tell me, Otho,
You’re a good judge, have you ever seen a woman
Fit to compare with Actè?

_Oth._ I say no.

_Ner._ I mean not, man, for what our grandsires praised,
Who knew no better; I mean the perfect art 209
Which makes each moment feverous.

_Oth._ I know none.

_Ner._ ’Tis spoke as if thy judgment or thy envy
Grudged me the word.

_Oth._ Nay, Cæsar.

_Ner._ O, I know
Thou’rt a good husband, thy good wife commands thee.

_Oth._ Say, my good fortune, Cæsar.

_Ner._ Now if thy boast
Be true as it is rare, thy lady’s presence
Would add much spirit to our gaieties.
I have never seen Poppæa, say that to-night
Thou bring her.

_Oth._ In this thing, for friendship’s sake,
Hold me excused.

_Ner._ Nay, no constraint; thy wish
Is all in all. Wrong me not; I would not have, 220
And least to thee, my pleasures a command;
But my commands are pleasures. Let us go.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE · 2

_A room in the palace. Enter OCTAVIA and BRITANNICUS._

_BRITANNICUS._

Why art thou weeping, dearest? Has Nero been
Again unkind?

_OCTAVIA._

Most unkind.

_Br._ Weep not so.
Octavia, weep not so.
Count but my tears as thine, so shall my pity
Comfort thy wrongs. Nay, wert thou not my sister,
How must I feel to see so base a rival
Honoured before thyself in Cæsar’s palace!
Why even his mother could not grant him that 230
Unmoved, but wept with rage: while he himself,
I saw, was touched with shame.

_Oct._ Hush, hush! nay, ’tis not that;
I mind not that: at least they tell me now
I must not mind; and since he never loved me
It matters little. ’Tis not that at all.

_Br._ Then something fresh; what more?

_Oct._ I scarce dare tell.
What hast thou said or done, Britannicus,
That so could anger him?

_Br._ Ah! is’t with me then
He is angry? Dost thou weep for me?

_Oct._ For both.

_Br._ Now tell me all, sister.

_Oct._ O, ’tis the worst. 240
Here as I sat this morning strode he in,
More fired with rage than ever I have seen him,
More like his wicked mother, when her fury
Has made me tremble. All he said I heard not,
But this, that I, his wife, had turned against him
To plot with thee, and led thee on to boast
That being of age thou wert the rightful heir,
And more: what is his meaning?

_Br._ ’Tis his spite
To seek my fault in thee.

_Oct._ Nay, that were nothing.
Brother, I fear thou wilt be sent from Rome. 250
He dare not face the truth. He cannot brook
Thy title: thou must go, ay, thou wilt go
And leave me in my prison.

_Br._ ’Twas last night
I vexed him suddenly in his cups, but thought
’Twould be as soon forgotten.

_Oct._ Say, how was it?

_Br_. It was the feast of Saturn,—and as it chanced
(Or rather, I should say, ’twas so arranged
To please him, at his own desire) he drew
The lot of king of the feast, and when the company
Were drunk he used his silly privilege 260
To have me be their fool.

_Oct._ Didst thou rebuke him?

_Br._ It happened thus. When all the guests in turn
Had answered to their forfeit, as his humour
Prescribed to each, he turned on me, and bade me
Show them a tragic scene, foreseeing how
The incongruence of time and place, the audience
Of drunken sots would turn my best to worst,
And smother passion in a sea of laughter.
But, for the wine I had been constrained to taste
Had mounted to my head, I felt at heart 270
A force to wither up their sottish jeers,
And ere I knew my purpose I was sitting
Upright upon the couch, and with full passion
Singing the old Greek song thou saidst so well
Suited our fortunes.

_Oct._ O, would I had been there!
They could not laugh at thee.

_Br._ They did not laugh.
The sadness and the sweetness of the music,
After their low hoarse songs, startled to sense
Their sodden, maudlin brains: they listened all
To the end, and then with daunted appetite 280
Sat in constraint and silence.

_Oct._ Oh! well done!
And what said Nero?

_Br._ He but smiled until
The tale tells how the poor child disinherited
Was put to death by his usurping brother;
Then his eye sank; and last, when Paris rose
At the end and praised my acting, he grew wild,
And said the feast was o’er, and bade us go.

_Oct._ Alas! ’twas done too well.

_Br._ I mind it not:
I wear no mask: and manifold occasion
Will oft surprise our closest guard, provoking 290
Unbidden motions that betray the heart:
’Twere vain to seek to quell them: they are like our shadows,
Which, if the sun shine forth, appear and show
Our form and figure. Such haps cannot be helped.

_Enter Agrippina and attendants._

_ATTENDANT._

The Augusta, your royal mother.

_AGRIPPINA._

Good day, my son.

_Br._ Good morrow, mother.

_Agr._ Octavia still here! Child, why, know you not
’Tis long past noon, and Dionysius
Waits in the library? Begone, begone!
What! crying? Here’s a picture to recover 300
A husband’s favour!—Fulvia, attend my daughter
Into my tiring-room, and treat her eyes
To hide these scalded rings: and then, Octavia,
Go to the library, talk thy full hour;
Thy Greek is shameful. The rest go.

[_Exeunt Octavia and attendants._

My son,
I’d speak with thee.

_Br._ My mother’s pleasure?

_Agr._ Thou art my pleasure, child.
Fear me no more. I can be kinder to thee
Than ever I have been to my own true son. 309

_Br._ I thank your majesty.

_Agr._ Nay, now ’tis spoilt.
Best call me mother. Thou hast need of me.
I have heard all; what happed last night at supper.
Thou hast offended Cæsar.

_Br._ He does wrong
To use the freedom of the feast to insult me,
And then resent my freedom in repelling
His right-aimed insult.

_Agr._ True; the liberty
Should cover it: but in thy veins there runs
That which outcries thy speech; which, wert thou dumb,
Would speak thee guilty, and being tongued proclaims
Thy needful sentence. ’Twas done bitterly. 320
I know thy song. Dost thou believe, Britannicus,
That I could give the tale another ending?—
—Suppose, I say, I read it in some book
Writ differently: how that the proud usurper,
Owing all to his mother—dost thou follow me?—
How, when he came to power, instead of sharing
With her who had toiled for him, and in her love
Had parted from all praise, looking to reap
In him the fuller recompense of glory,
How he, when time came he should make return,
Denied her even the common duty owed 331
By son to mother, set her will aside,
Laughed at her, added to her shames, reproached her,
Mocked her with presents taken openly
Out of her treasures,—as to say outright,
All now is mine, thou hast no claim at all;
See what I choose to give, thank me for these—
Held her as nothing, hated her, brought in
His strumpet to her chamber,—that was the sum—
And she then, when she saw her love derided, 340
I say, repented, came to the boy she had wronged....

_Br._ I know, I know.

_Agr._ Then, if thou knowest, say;
What said he, when she told him she would turn
Her love on him, would set him in the place
Whence she had thrust him out? What said he?

_Br._ Nothing.

_Agr._ Nothing!

_Br._ Nay, I remember he said thus:
Wronged have I been by all, and none can right me;
All hath been false to me save sorrow only;
Justice and truth forsworn: There is no word 349
That I dare speak; yet if thou stoop to insult me
My tongue will show my wrongs are not forgotten.

_Agr._ My dearest boy, believe me.

_Br._ The last time
Thou call’dst me thus ’twas when my father died.
I thought then ’twas in kindness, afterwards
I found the meaning.

_Agr._ Yea, I confess I wronged thee;
That is my meaning now: had I not wronged thee,
My speech would have no sense at all: ’tis this
I come to urge: in this thou must believe me.
Canst thou not see, had I no pity in me,
No true remorseful pangs, yet still my wrongs 360
Would move me thus? Though thou trust not my love,
Read in these tears of anger and despair
The depth of my set purpose, my revenge.

_Br._ I partly do believe thee.

_Agr._ Believe me wholly,
And my revenge is thine.

_Br._ Nay, think not so.
There’s blood in thy revenge; I’ll none of it.
What are my private wrongs to Rome? If Cæsar
Stablish the empire, where’s the citizen
Will take exception that he hath wronged his brother?
Since were I Cæsar I would vail my rights 370
To theirs, I still will act as I were Cæsar.

_Agr._ O could’st thou see this offer as thy last
And only safety thou would’st not refuse me.

_Br._ I rather hope to be forgiven the thing
I never thought, than win by doing it.

_Agr._ Thou wilt not join with me?

_Br._ There’s nought to join,
Save to thy will to right me I might join
A hope of justice, to vain will vain hope.

_Agr._ Think for thy sister, boy. She cannot long
Be Cæsar’s wife. Then, were her brother Cæsar,
She might be matched with any excellence. 381
Octavia’s happiness lies on thy word.

_Br._ Octavia, dear Octavia—Now if thou’rt true
There is a way. This matter’s full presentment
Hath not been strange to me, though I have barred the thought
And held no purpose in it; there’s one way:
Those that have wronged can right. If thou would’st speak
With Burrus, he is plain and honourable,
And if he think there’s gain in the exchange,
And his heart goes with it, he has the guards,—my name, 390
The sense of right, the promise of a largess,
Will win them to a man. The senate follows:
In a day, an hour, without a drop of blood
My wrongs are righted. Wilt thou speak with Burrus?

_Agr._ I dare not.

_Br._ Then do nothing. Or if thou canst,
Assure thy son that from my helpless state
And suffering spirit he has nought to fear.

_Agr._ Nay, thou wert right: and though ’tis difficult,
I’ll speak with Burrus. ’Tis a most bold stroke,
But I can dare it. Good Burrus owes me much. [_Exit._

_Br._ Strange, strange indeed. I have heard it said that murder 401
Falls on itself: that in the guilty breast
The implacable crime ploughs up with rooting tusk
The bleeding strings of nature: and in this woman
Of no remorse hath fated vengeance stirred
Her heart to hate her son. O, I did wrong
Yielding a little. Yet, since Burrus loves me,
That he should rule my fate is my best safety.
For her, if she’s my foe, he may work on her.—
These days have brought much change and food for fear. 410

ACT · II

SCENE · I

_A room in Seneca’s house, SENECA and BURRUS._

_SENECA._

The Armenian papers came through me last evening;
I sent them on at once.

_BURRUS (refusing a seat)._

Nay, thank ye, Seneca:
I have been two hours in the saddle.

_Sen._ ’Tis a matter
Of heavy import.

_Bur._ I demanded audience.

_Sen._ Well?

_Bur._ All is settled.

_Sen._ And who has the commission
To undertake the Parthian?

_Bur._ Corbulo.

_Sen._ ’Tis good. I like the choice. And what said Nero?

_Bur._ He told me well and wisely what to do,
When I had shown him all that must be done.

_Sen._ I wish his judgment were as tractable 420
With me. Took he your word?

_Bur._ The affair went pat.
What luck for Corbulo!

_Sen._ Pray sit, good Burrus,
And let us talk: my thought is most at ease
When I am sitting.

_Bur._ I pray you then be seated.

_Sen._ (_sitting_). Burrus, my difficulties day by day
Increase. The cares of empire are as nothing
To managing an emperor.

_Bur._ Why, what’s the matter?

_Sen._ Give but attention to me.

_Bur._ I attend.

_Sen._ Do so most carefully: ’tis not a business
That may be brushed aside.

_Bur._ I am all attention. 430

_Sen._ Nero has broken with Britannicus:
Heard you of that?

_Bur._ Heard of it? I was there.

_Sen._ Well, that has brought to head the jealous difference
’Twixt Cæsar and his mother. Since he first,
At our advice, as was most fit, denied her
A place in power, she has striven to force a title
Out of her power for mischief: this you have seen:
But now to hear how she hath edged her practice;
She overskins her old accustomed hate
Of young Britannicus, speaks kindly of him, 440
Hints of his right; nay, even hath dared upbraid
Cæsar with usurpation. This was matched
With words from him, which she no sooner heard
Than in her rage disordered flew she hither
To win me to her part; when seeing that I
Stood firm, she fled in furious passion, saying
That I should learn what temper she was of.

_Bur._ I would that all the gods and goddesses
Might burn them up to cinders.

_Sen._ Peace, I say.
Cannot you sit? I need your best advice. 450

_Bur._ Except the lad.—Advice concerning what?

_Sen_. Why this new phase of court affairs. See you,

[_Takes a paper._

’Twas my just counterpoise of warring forces
Ensured stability. Here Agrippina,
Saved from her own ambition in the splendour
Of her son’s estate, serves in his interest
To guard Britannicus, whom else he had feared.
The boy, in favour of his sister’s title,
Sinks his own right. Then Nero’s youthful passions,
Growing to hatred of Octavia’s bed, 460
Are stayed at equilibrium, as my judgment
And knowledge of the world enables me;
And all goes well, when an important factor,
The empress, rounds, and plays me false to her motive,
As here assumed, and vitiates with that flaw
The nice adjustment of each several item.—
I go to expound you this; you scarce attend,
Or answer with an oath.

_Bur._ A pious prayer
To extricate you from a world of trouble.

_Sen._ O, I can do it, Burrus, trust to me. 470
I place them all as chessmen, and I find
Delight in difficulty: but ’tis hard,
When one has chosen, strengthened a position,
To change the value of a piece. I think
Much of your judgment, and I ask you now
What you would do. I must decide to-day.

_Bur._ Why must?

_Sen._ As if you knew not.

_Bur._ If your art
Be to adapt yourself to every change....

_Sen._ You know ’tis not. I say, should Nero now
Banish his mother?

_Bur._ Hark ye, Seneca, 480
If you remember, I foresaw this trouble.
I know no remedy, nor is’t my office
To arrange the affairs of the palace, gods be praised.
But this is clear to me, that our three friends
Will never live together: what I urge
Is, separate them: if you cannot that,
We must not stick in balance when they break.
Whene’er that happens, our pre-eminent duty
Lies in our oath to Cæsar, and our second 489
May be his mother’s pleasure, to whose schemes
We owe our place. [_Knocking heard._

_Sen._ Who’s there? come in.

_Enter Servant._

_SERVANT._

The Augusta
Has come in private, and desires an audience.

_Sen._ Again, you see, the Augusta.

_Bur._ Eh! I’ll be off.

_Sen._ One moment, pray. (_To Servt._) Beg her be
pleased to enter. [_Exit Servt._

Burrus, I adjure you not to go, your presence
May moderate her passion: or, if not,
’Twere best you saw it.

_Bur._ Well, all’s one to me.

_Enter Agrippina._

_AGRIPPINA._

Be not surprised that I so soon return:
I have repented. Ha! the general here!
Thou seest me, Burrus, on a woman’s errand. 500
Nay, no apology; thou hast o’erheard
My merit, not my fault.

_Bur._ I thank your majesty.
I will withdraw.

_Agr._ Nay, I desire thee stay.
I came not here to find thee; but thy presence
Mends my intention. Let us hold a council.
’Tis not the first time our triumvirate,
Secretly gathered in the nick of time,
Hath preordained the changes which should fall
Upon the earth like fate. To-day’s decree,
If we combine, will be as big with action 510
As any we have uttered.

_Bur._ I fear I stand
In ignorance of the question.

_Sen._ I will explain.

_Agr._ Listen to me. We three who here are met
Stand in such place, that, if we but unite,
There’s none can say us nay. I do not ask
Who raised thee, Burrus, or thee, Seneca,
To where ye are: nay, if I asked you that
I’d look for no more answer than if asking
What two and two make; ’tis self-evident,
Unquestioned; it was I; and if you owe 520
Allegiance to another, ’tis to one
Whom I made more than I made you; ay, one
Who has nothing but what was mine, and is mine:
His body mine, his life and being mine,
His power, his place, his honour mine, my son,
My Nero, who, when my husband late deceased,
The honest Claudius, passed to join the gods,
Was raised and set by me under your guidance,
To share with me the empire of the world.
Now what it may be that hath warped his heart 530
Is from the matter: enough that so it is.
I might blame one of you, sure not myself,
Who have ever held in love and kindness towards him
The same intention; nay, and from my kindness
I swerve not now, though for a wholesome end
I mask that kindness in severity.
There’s but this choice, I must withdraw my favour,
Or suffer my disgrace: ay, and for you,
Burrus and Seneca, be sure, the same.
If I fall, ye will fall. Therefore being one 540
In interest with me, I look to find you ready
To stand by me in any scheme of action
Which may preserve our station, while we may.

_Sen._ Your majesty says well. We have hitherto
All held one purpose, and if now we are foiled
Or thwarted, none is thwarted more than I.
And since it is my pride, in the high place
Whereto your judgment called me, to exceed
The measure which might justify your choice,
I shall not fail. In these new difficulties 550
I would make no display of fresh resource;
Full means there will be, yet what means it is
I am not ripe to say.

_Agr._ What say’st thou, Burrus?
The matter Seneca avoids is this:
Shall I be driven to exile, or will ye
Join with me to forbid it?

_Bur._ Hath your majesty,
In urging opposition, any scheme
That might give life to policy?

_Agr._ Ay, something.
I would protect Britannicus: his claim
And popularity being pressed, must drive 560
Nero upon my side.

_Bur._ Such act were merely
The boy’s destruction, were’t not done in earnest
And backed by force.

_Agr._ Then, since the case demands
All earnestness, and since we lack not force.....

_Bur._ Between your son’s rule and your stepson’s claim
There lies no middle way.

_Agr._ I never held
That a stout purpose chose a middle way.

_Sen._ What, what! Consider, madam, what you urge
Is to dethrone your son.

_Agr._ I am desperate.

_Sen._ Indeed, indeed! 570

_Agr._ What say’st thou, Burrus? Hast thou not a hope
The rightful heir might prove the better Cæsar?

_Bur._ Were this in earnest, yet my oath to Cæsar
Forbids me even to think the thing you say.

_Agr._ Thy oath to him! Rather to me ’twas sworn;
Who raised thee up to swear, and made the Cæsar
For thee to swear to? I can dispense your oaths:
Or rather, since they were unjustly sworn,
Justice dispenses them. ’Twould be a deed
Truer than oaths to break the oaths ye swore. 580

_Bur._ Justice is still against you. ’Twas unjust
To burn the will of Claudius; ’twas unjust
To hide Britannicus, and to bring forth
Your own son in his place: these things were wrongs,
And these old wrongs would you redub with new.
For when upon your wrongs Rome set her seal,
Her choice made right of wrong, and we that swore,
Swore not to Nero or Britannicus,
But unto Rome and to her chosen Cæsar. 589

_Agr._ Nay, Seneca, I think, will scarce say thus.

_Sen._ Burrus is right; and were he wrong, your scheme
But complicates the mischief.

_Agr._ Then ye desert me?

_Sen._ Nay, nay, in other ways I may do much.
I may win Nero back.

_Agr._ The thought is folly;
We fight against him.

_Sen._ Oh! ’tis open treason.

_Agr._ Eh! Why, I think my son’s ingratitude
Is nought to this; he had the right to expect
My favours: but for you, whom I chose out
And set above the rest because I chose,
Made you my friends because I chose, for you 600
There is no excuse. Had ye no motive, yet
To see a woman in distress like mine,
Wronged by her son, and injured as no woman
Has ever been, should rouse a manly spirit,
Ay, make a coward burn to do me right.
But ye stand there aloof, and not a word.
O good Seneca,
Rememberest thou thy days in Corsica?
The stoic letters of thine exile, writ
With Naso’s pang, and that exuberant page 610
To me, at the first tidings of recall.
I have it still, the letter, superscribed
_Your most devoted slave._ Was not that felt?
Had’st thou not cause? Now is the opportunity
Of my distress, now I stand to lose all,
All that those hard times strove for, all they won.
The faith thou owest me, still may make all mine;
Wilt thou deny it me?

_Sen._ Alas, good lady!

_Agr._ Alas!
Is this the vein? Think you I come to hear
Your lamentations? Ah! ye dare, I see, 620
Pity me while ye wrong me: but the truth
Ye dare not say. Ye dare not say, Lo, we,
Raised by your clemency, sworn to your service,
Seeing your fair wind is changed, and there’s no hope
Left to your following, do as all knaves do,
Leave you to perish. Ah, all’s lost, all’s lost! [_Weeps._

_Bur._ (_to Sen._). Business attending me at home, I go. [_Going._

_Agr._ Thou goest! Then go, thou wooden counterfeit.
Nay, I’ll be with thee yet. (_Exit Bur._) Pooh! let him go,
An ugly, one-armed, upstart, sneaking knave: 630
A title seeker, a subservient villain.
And thou,
Philosopher! come, teach me thy philosophy.
Tell me how I may be a dauntless Stoic
And a most pitiful ass. Show me thy method
Of magnanimity and self-denial,
Which makes of slaves the richest men in Rome.
Philosopher! Ay, thou that teachest youth
Dishonesty, and coinest honied speeches
To gloss iniquity, sand without lime. 640
Out, out upon thee!
Thou miserable, painful, hackney-themed
Botcher of tragedies, that deem’st thyself
A new Euripides, a second Cato:
A pedant rather, pander and murderer.
I’ll let Rome know how pumpkin Claudius died;
I’ll not be ashamed to say, ’twas I that spiced
His fatal mushroom. Honest Seneca
Stood by and smiled. True, true! I’ll be true yet;
I’ll right Britannicus. I’ll tell the soldiers 650
What they should look for. Hear’st thou not their shouts?
Seneca to the Tiber! the philosopher,
The murderer to the Tiber! Fulvia, Fulvia!—
Fulvia, I go. Come, I will leave; lead on. [_Exit._

_Sen._ And I to train the cub of such a dam! [_Exit._

SCENE · 2

_Room in Domitia’s house. Enter DOMITIA
and SELEUCUS._

_DOMITIA._

’Tis a most shrewd surmise, but nothing more;
I cannot listen to it. Though I hate
My sister, and would take some risk to crush her,
Yet must I set my foot on surer ground.
My better engine is Poppæa’s dream, 660
Of which thou’st told me: I can build on that.
Thou should’st be there, I think, to-night.

_SELEUCUS._

Ay, madam.
I go at once.

_Dom._ Speak nothing waveringly.

_Sel._ Nay, madam.

_Dom._ ’Tis her fate to marry Cæsar.

_Sel._ My art needs no instruction.

_Dom._ It must be so.

_Sel._ It is so, madam.

_Dom._ See, thy prophecy
Is that which should determine it. Go now. [_To door._
Her purse will satisfy thee well.

_Sel._ Yet once
Ere I be gone, madam, I’ll make a stand
To win thy credit. 670

_Dom._ Thou must show me cause.
Thou say’st the Augusta plots against her son,
Supports Britannicus, tampers with Burrus.
How know’st thou this?

_Sel._ Why should I lie?

_Dom._ I think
There may be some who make it worth thy while.

_Sel._ I would not meddle in this thing for money.

_Dom._ Why tell me then at all?

_Sel._ To win thy help.

_Dom._ To what?

_Sel._ To save the prince.

_Dom._ If thou’rt in earnest,
Where is thy confidence? Assure me first,
At least, of what thou say’st. Whence know’st thou this? 680

_Sel._ Fulvia, thy sister’s maid, rewards my love
With many trifles: what she overhears
I piece together.

_Dom._ What of this was heard,
And how much pieced?

_Sel._ The Augusta sent all out,
And spake long time in private with the prince.
What passed I guess from this; that ere she left,
Being risen to go, as Fulvia at the door
Stood just without, she heard her voice most plainly
Angrily entreating, saying, that though he doubted,
Yet she would still with him regain her power: 690
If he held off yet he so far was right,
As that ’twas best to speak with Burrus first.

_Dom._ And has she since seen Burrus?

_Sel._ I think she hath.
He lately came from Seneca’s, and there
The Augusta must have met with him.

_Dom._ What passed?

_Sel._ I know not yet. Fulvia will know and tell me.

_Dom._ But can’st thou trust her?

_Sel._ Ay, she hath no purpose.
Whate’er she hears is mine.

_Dom._ Then make this thine.
Her tampering with Britannicus is nought:
But if she speak with Burrus, there is matter 700
That I can work on. Ay, if that should be—
Make sure of that, and bring me word at once.
To-night thou hast thy business; go and do it.
Poppæa marries Cæsar.

_Sel._ Madam, I go. [_Exit._

_Dom._ Now, my good sister, if this tale is true,
Thy fortune turns: I trample on thee now.
Ay, if she have spoke with Burrus, then one word
To Nero, and she is doomed. Patience and time
Bring us all opportunities: we need
But watch and wait. The way I least expected 710
She runs within the reach of my revenge. [_Exit._

SCENE · 3

_Room in Otho’s house. Enter POPPÆA._

_POPPÆA._

My dream was strange: but why of all strange dreams
Stands forth this dream, to say it hath a meaning?
There lies the mystery: the dream were nothing.
’Tis such a dream as I have prayed to dream.
’Tis such a dream as an astrologer
Must love to interpret. Nay, there’s but one way
Seleucus can explain it.

_Enter Seleucus._

I looked for thee
An hour ago: thou’rt late.

_SELEUCUS._

The seasons, lady, 720
Of divination are determinate
By stars and special omens: ’tis our skill
To observe their presage. The hour is favourable.
Thy dream ...

_Pop._ Is’t good?

_Sel._ Beyond thy hope.

_Pop._ Then tell it.

_Sel._ Two thousand sesterces....

_Pop._ I have it here.
See! I was ready for thee. [_Gives him a purse._

_Sel._ I thank thee, lady.

_Pop._ Now for thy message.

_Sel._ I have sought out thy dream
By every means our art....

_Pop._ Mind not the means.

_Sel._ There is one interpretation clear throughout....

_Pop._ And that? 730

_Sel._ Thou shalt be wife unto two Cæsars.

_Pop._ Two! Now be Isis praised. Two! O, Seleucus,
Thou’rt an astrologer. Two! this is life,
Seleucus; this is life as well as fortune.
What are the names?

_Sel._ There ends my message, lady.

_Pop._ ’Tis good so far, but stays unkindly. Search,
I must know more. Above all things, the affair
Is secret. (_Knocking heard._) I will send my servant to thee.
Thou must be gone: our business will not suffer
My husband stumbling on thee here. This way.

[_Exit Seleucus, being put out._

My dream was true: my hopes and schemes inspired
Of heaven; yet this is far beyond them all. 741
Wife to two Cæsars; maybe, mother of Cæsars.

[_Noise at door._

To sit upon their rare, successive thrones,
A manifold Augusta! Here’s my husband.
What would he say? Two Cæsars, ay, two Cæsars!

[_Laughing heard without._

_Enter Otho._

_OTHO._

Good evening, love.

_Pop._ Who laughed with thee without?

_Oth._ Lucan. He walked with me from Cæsar’s supper.

_Pop._ Was Cæsar riotous?

_Oth._ Beyond all bounds.

_Pop._ See what you husbands are. You go abroad
For pleasure, and when met among yourselves 750
Push all to excess, and never think how patiently
Your wives must mope at home, and wait your coming.
And when you do return, up to the door
You bring your merriment; but at the door
’Tis left, and in you come, in solemn glumness,
To vent the sour reaction of your revels
Upon your housekeeper.

_Oth._ Enough, Poppæa;
I would be cheered.

_Pop._ Then I will cheer thee, love.
But what’s the matter?

_Oth._ Listen. Thou hast reproached me
With going forth alone. What else could be? 760
Would’st thou consent to sit there at my side,
Where I, a man, am oft ashamed to sit?
Would’st thou, could’st thou be one among the women
Of Cæsar’s fancy?

_Pop._ I spake not seriously.

_Oth._ See, but I do. I tell thee, love, this night
Thou wert invited.

_Pop._ I!

_Oth._ He would have pressed it.

_Pop._ Who would have pressed it?

_Oth._ Cæsar.

_Pop._ What dost thou say?

(_Aside._) He treads on prophecy.

_Oth._ Knowing thy mind,
And mine, I begged him for our friendship’s sake
Urge me no further.

_Pop._ Thou did’st well, and he? 770

_Oth._ Again to-night he asked for thee. ’Twas this
Which made me sad and thoughtful.

_Pop._ Why be sad?

_Oth._ The meaning, love, the meaning: thou must guess it.

_Pop._ The very reason, Otho, which thou urgest
Against my going, is in truth the reason
Why such as I should go. As Cæsar’s friend,
Thou would’st do well to save him from the slough
He daily sinks in.

_Oth._ Nay, but such a stake
For such a flimsy hope.

_Pop._ I see a hope
In the invitation. Otho, let us see 780
What may be done among his friends.

_Oth._ Poppæa,
’Tis generously thought, but ’tis a thing
Must not be thought. Trust to my judgment, love.
’Tis Cæsar’s love of power that threats us here;
He would have nought held from him. Thee I hold,
And most because I know thou would’st be mine.

_Pop._ Then thou must trust me, Otho.

_Oth._ And so I do.

_Pop._ Why, I were well his match. Let us go in.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE · 4

_Room in the Palace. Enter AGRIPPINA and
PALLAS._

_AGRIPPINA._

Pallas, thy date is out: thou art dismissed;
Thou goest from the court: yet what thou takest 790
May soften thy regrets. Thy shiny days
Were not misspent, and thou may’st live like Cæsar.
Farewell, we still are friends: the debt I owe
I shall remember: ’twas thy power that first
Gave root to mine: for thee, I think my favours
Were once thy pleasure. If those days are gone,
We can look time in the face; we have not wasted
The days that flew: ’tis now with what remain
Still to be careful. Friends and firm allies.

_Pal._ Ay, firm as ever.

_Agr._ Nay, though thou goest first,
That is not much: even that I cannot save thee 801
Is sign that I am fallen ere thou could’st fall:
A deeper, deadlier fall, unless indeed
My wit can save me still.

_Pal._ Alas, dear queen,
Fear makes this parting sad. But if there’s hope,
’Tis this, to gain thy son.

_Agr._ Ay, till our schemes be ripe;
And even though Seneca betray me,—and that
Is sure,—I fear not him. I know my son
Better than he, and I shall win him yet.
My plan is now to seem resigned to all: 810
I will pretend my purpose is to leave him,
And fly from Rome to voluntary exile.
’Twill work upon his fear and duty both,
To cut himself quite off from me, and all
That goes with me. He will entreat me stay;
And if I stay—

_Pal._ Ay, if this storm go by,
The turns of time may offer us reprisals.
At present use all means to gain thy son.

_Agr._ I shall. Farewell.

_Pal._ Be bold. The gods protect you.
Farewell. 820

_Agr._ Farewell. [_Exeunt severally._

_Enter Tigellinus and Paris._

_TIGELLINUS._

Look from the window: thou wilt see ’tis true;
He takes all with him.

_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: 830
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._

_NERO._

Paris, what do you here?

_Par._ I comfort Tigellinus on the fate
Of his predecessor.

Ner._ (_at window_). Gods! see what a train
_Drags out the very bowels of the palace.
No wonder my good mother’s man resigns
With resignation.

_Tig._ Ha! ha!

_Ner._ I seek the Augusta.
She late was here; go find her; say I wait her. 840

[_Exeunt Tigellinus and Paris._

_DOMITIA._

Through my discovery, Nero, thy good fortune
Lifts thee a corner of the veil whereunder
Thy mother plots. Be not thou now deceived
To further trust. She is bent upon thy ruin.

_Ner._ Though it be true she urged Britannicus
Even in those words, we lack the surety yet
She spoke them in good faith.

_Dom._ O, there’s no doubt.

_Ner._ My mother is very deep, and often looks
Far from her meaning. She will use this way
To worm a confidence. 850

_Dom._ She did not then.

Ner. Yet must the boy have thought so, for you said
That what she urged he took not all in kindness.

_Dom._ He bade her speak with Burrus.

_Ner._ The villainous brat!

_Dom._ Drive not the fault on him. Did Burrus waver,
Nothing could save thee. And it seems thy mother
Had hope to win him. She comes; now be thou firm.
I will be gone. _[Exit._

_Ner._ (_solus_). Now she cannot deceive me.

_Enter Agrippina._

_Agr._ My son, thy mother comes at thy command.

_Ner._ O excellent mother!

_Agr._ What would’st thou with me, son?
I come to hear, and yet I scarce am fit 860
For banter or abuse. I am ill to-day.

_Ner._ No wonder; ’tis you do too much. ’Twere better
You spared yourself. Go rest; my business
Will not cure headaches.

_Agr._ Speak whate’er it be.

_Ner._ Nay, if you’re ill—

_Agr._ My sickness will not pass.
To-morrow I shall leave thee; that last grief
Will soon engulph the rest: speak while thou may’st.

_Ner._ What’s this! leave me to-morrow?

_Agr._ I would spare thee
That worst disgrace of sending me away.
I go of myself. 870

_Ner._ What now?

_Agr._ ’Tis well resolved.
I have been foolish; ’twas a mother’s fault,
A tender fault: forget it, and hereafter
Know my love better. If my presence bred
Dislike, thy kinder mind may yet return
When I am gone.

_Ner._ Why, what has happed, I pray?

_Agr._ Nothing. I have only come to see my error.
I thought, ’twas I that gave him all....

_Ner._ Tut! tut!
’Tis the old story told a thousand times.

_Agr._ Ay, and forgot as oft. Thy constant wrongs,
I think, have dug my grave. Dost thou remember
What answer once I made the sorcerer 881
Who prophesied thy fortune? Thy son, he said,
Shall reign, and kill his mother. Let him kill me,
So that he reign, I cried. He spake the truth,
But ’tis by grief thou slay’st me.

_Ner._ That old rubbish
Were best forgotten.

_Agr._ Indeed, I had forgot it:
But yesternight I dreamed it all again;
A frightful dream: plain as I see thee now
Stood’st thou before me thus, with angry words

[_She acts._

Mocking, until I wept for shame; but thou 890
Did’st only laugh the more. Then ran I to thee,
And bared my breast, and cried, Kill me, O son!
And thou fastened’st thy snaky eyes upon me,
So that I could not see what thy hand did.
But, oh! I knew. I heard thy weapon grate
Leaving the scabbard, and a fiery pang
Pierced through my heart. Ah!

_Ner._ (_aside_). Heavens, is she mad?—
Mother, good mother, mother! 899

_Agr._ ’Twas nothing. Nay, where am I? I was come
To hear thy speech. What is’t thou hast to say?

_Ner._ (_aside_). If this were trickery? Let the fact try.—
’Twas this: what speech you held the other morning
With young Britannicus.

_Agr._ (_aside_). Ah! knows he that?—
Thy spies are most alert. This time, at least,
I praise their zeal: though thou art slow to thank me
For my kind service done to thee and him.

_Ner._ Whether is it kinder, say you, to him to urge him
To embrace the desperate plot, of which already
He stood suspected, or more kind to me 910
To water this rebellion with the tears
Of your insidious passion?

_Agr._ Your man’s a fool: I heard
Your quarrel, and took pains to sound the boy.

_Ner._ Next you saw Burrus.

_Agr._ Well, and what said he?

_Ner._ Nay, that’s for you to tell.

_Agr._ ’Twas this: Britannicus
Most truly said that nought could help his claim,
Except the guards and Burrus: at which word
I flew to Burrus, offered him the bait;
And when he showed the scruple of his oath,
Three words from me confirmed him. 920

_Ner._ If this were true!

_Agr._ How much you need me, Nero, will be plain
When I am gone. Who has deceived you now?
Who works this madness in you, to conceive
That your disaster could be gain to me?
Have you believed what angry words I spoke
Were born of purpose, that my threats against you
Were aught but passion? You count not the tears,
The bitter, secret tears, for every pang
Your wrongs have wrought in me; and bitterer far,
The sharp remorse for each retaliation 930
Of speech provoked in anger. Let it end;
’Tis best I go.

_Ner._ See! if you had gone before
We had never quarrelled; now there’s nought to lose
By going, ’tis a quarrel that you go.

_Agr._ No quarrel, nay. ’Tis only this: I thought
That in your love I held perpetual office.
’Tis not so. Now my time is out: I go
As Pallas goes.

_Ner._ The sleek, extortionate Pallas,
Dost thou defend the despicable Pallas?

_Agr._ I would be kind to friends; none will stand by you, 940
If you cast off those to whom most you owe.
’Twas first through him I came to seize the power
That made you Cæsar. Look! you have lost a friend.
Be wiser when I am gone.

_Ner._ I have good friends,
Burrus and Seneca: I trust them both.

_Agr._ Cannot you read the cause why still they urge you
To cast me off?

_Ner._ ’Tis the disgrace they feel
To see the empire managed by a woman.

_Agr._ ’Tis the constraint they feel in all their actions
Being overruled by me. Do you not see 950
They are my ministers, and you are ruled
By them in all they counsel? Rid of me,
They rule the world. Think you, when they have cast
What was above them underneath their feet,
They will have care to exalt what was below?

_Ner._ They both are honest men; you chose them well.

_Agr._ You are too trustful, Nero. As you love
Your life, I say, be jealous of these men;
These men that now would rule thee but to take
The empire from thy hands. They may speak ill 960
Of me,—believe that if thou list,—but oh!
If once they seem to encroach, delay not then;
Hear no excuse nor explanation; strike,
Kill them, I say, before they murder thee.

_Ner._ But, mother, Seneca loves me.

_Agr._ As a master
Will love a pupil while he takes instruction.
He’ll love you while you let him reign. Alas!
I scarce dare leave you to him. You are too kind;
Will shrink to use the sword as it is needful
For one who rules to wield.

_Ner._ You cannot think 970
These men would serve me so.