Dramatis personae
    Augustus Caesar.  Hermogenes Tigellius. 
    MACAENUES.  Demetrius Fannius. 
    Marc.  Ovid.  Albius. 
    COR.  Gallus.  Minos. 
    Sex.  Propertius.  Histrio. 
    Fus.  Aristius.  Aesop. 
    Pub.  Ovid.  Pyrgi. 
    Virgil.  Lictors, Equitis, etc. 
    Horace. 
    Trebatius.  Julia. 
    Asinius Lupus.  Cytheris. 
    Pantilius Tucca.  Plautia. 
    Luscus.  Chloe. 
    Ruf.  Lab.  Crispinus.  Maids.

Scene,-Rome

After the second sounding. 
Envy arises in the midst of the stage.

Light, I salute thee, but with wounded nerves,
Wishing the golden splendor pitchy darkness. 
What’s here?  The arraignment! ay; this, this is it,
That our sunk eyes have waked for all this while: 
Here will be subject for my snakes and me. 
Cling to my neck and wrists, my loving worms,
And cast you round in soft and amorous folds,
Till I do bid uncurl; then, break your knots,
Shoot out yourselves at length, as your forced stings
Would hide themselves within his maliced sides,
To whom I shall apply you.  Stay! the shine
Of this assembly here offends my sight;
I’ll darken that first, and outface their grace. 
Wonder not, if I stare:  these fifteen weeks,
So long as since the plot was but an embrion,
Have I, with burning lights mixt vigilant thoughts,
In expectation of this hated play,
To which at last I am arrived as Prologue. 
Nor would I you should look for other looks,
Gesture, or compliment from me, than what
The infected bulk of Envy can afford: 
For I am risse here with a covetous hope,
To blast your pleasures and destroy your sports,
With wrestings, comments, applications,
Spy-like suggestions, privy whisperings,
And thousand such promoting sleights as these. 
Mark how I will begin:  The scene is, ha! 
Rome?  Rome? and Rome?  Crack, eye-strings, and your balls
Drop into earth; let me be ever blind. 
I am prevented; all my hopes are crost,
Check’d, and abated; fie, a freezing sweat
Flows forth at all my pores, my entrails burn: 
What should I do?  Rome!  Rome!  O my vext soul,
How might I force this to the present state? 
Are there no players here? no poet apes,
That come with basilisk’ s eyes, whose forked tongues
Are steeped in venom, as their hearts in gall?