Phisi.  Here, my Lord.

Petron.  Art ready?

Phisi.  I, my Lord.

Petron.  And I for thee:  Nero, my end shall mocke thy tyranny.

[Exeunt.

Finis Actus Quarti.

Actus Quintus.

    Enter Nero, Nimphidius, Tigellinus, Neophilus,
    Epaphroditus and other attendants.

Nero.  Enough is wept, Poppaea, for thy death,
Enough is bled:  so many teares of others
Wailing their losses have wipt mine away. 
Who in the common funerall of the world
Can mourne on[e] death?

Tigell.  Besides, Your Maiestie this benefit
In their diserved punishment shall reape,
From all attempts hereafter to be freed. 
Conspiracy is how for ever dasht,
Tumult supprest, rebellion out of heart;
In Pisoes death danger it selfe did die.

Nimph. Piso that thought to climbe by bowing downe,
By giving a way to thrive, and raising others
To become great himselfe, hath now by death
Given quiet to your thoughts and feare to theirs
That shall from treason their advancement plot;
Those dangerous heads that his ambition leand on;
And they by it crept up and from their meannesse
Thought in this stirre to rise aloft, are off. 
Now peace and safetie waite upon your throne;
Securitie hath wall’d your seat about;
There is no place for feare left.

Nero.  Why, I never feard them.

Nimph.  That was your fault: 
Your Maiestie might give us leave to blame
Your dangerous courage and that noble soule
To prodigall[93] of it selfe.

Nero.  A Princes mind knowes neither feare nor hope: 
The beames of royall Maiestie are such
As all eyes are with it amaz’d and weakened,
But it with nothing.  I at first contemn’d
Their weak devises and faint enterprise. 
Why, thought they against him to have prevail’d
Whose childhood was from Messalinas spight
By Dragons[94] (that the earth gave up), preserv’d? 
Such guard my cradle had, for fate had then
Pointed me out to be what now I am. 
Should all the Legions and the provinces,
In one united, against me conspire
I could disperce them with one angry eye;
My brow’s an host of men.  Come, Tigellinus,
Let turne this bloody banquet Piso meant us
Into a merry feast; weele drink and challenge
Fortune.—­Whose that Neophilus?

    Enter a Roman.

Neoph.  A Currier from beyond the Alpes, my Lord.

Nero.  Newes of some German victory, belike, Or Britton overthrow.

Neoph.  The letters come from France.

Nimph.  Why smiles your Maiestie?

Nero.  So, I smile?  I should be afraid; there’s one In Armes, Nimphidius.