rear’d with themselves,
   Above the poor low flats of common men;
   And who will search the reasons of their acts,
   Must stand on equal bases.  Lead, away: 
   Our loves unto the senate.
          [Exeunt Tib., Sejan., Natta, Hat., Lat., Officers, etc.

Arr.  Caesar!

Sab.  Peace.

Cor. 
   Great Pompey’s theatre was never ruin’d
   Till now, that proud Sejanus hath a statue
   Rear’d on his ashes.

Arr. 
   Place the shame of soldiers,
   Above the best of generals? crack the world,
   And bruise the name of Romans into dust,
   Ere we behold it!

Sil.  Check your passion; Lord Drusus tarries.

Dru. 
   Is my father mad,
   Weary of life, and rule, lords? thus to heave
   An idol up with praise! make him his mate,
   His rival in the empire!

Arr.  O, good prince.

Dru. 
   Allow him statues, titles, honours, such
   As he himself refuseth!

Arr.  Brave, brave Drusus!

Dru. 
   The first ascents to sovereignty are hard;
   But, entered once, there never wants or means,
   Or ministers, to help the aspirer on.

Arr.  True, gallant Drusus.

Dru. 
   We must shortly pray
   To Modesty, that he will rest contented—–­

Arr. 
   Ay, where he is, and not write emperor.

Re-enter Sejanus, SATBIUS, Latiaris, Clients, etc. 
Sej. 
There is your bill, and yours; bring you your man.
[To Satrius. 
I have moved for you, too, Latiaris.

Dru. 
   What! 
   Is your vast greatness grown so blindly bold,
   That you will over us?

Sej.  Why then give way.

Dru. 
   Give way, Colossus! do you lift? advance you? 
   Take that! [Strikes him.

Arr.  Good! brave! excellent, brave prince!

Dru.  Nay, come, approach. [Draws his sword. 
                          What, stand you off? at gaze? 
   It looks too full of death for thy cold spirits. 
   Avoid mine eye, dull camel, or my sword
   Shall make thy bravery fitter for a grave,
   Than for a triumph.  I’ll advance a statue
   O’ your own bulk; but ’t shall be on the cross;
   Where I will nail your pride at breadth and length,
   And crack those sinews, which are yet but stretch’d
   With your swoln fortune’s rage.

Arr.  A noble prince!

All.  A Castor, a Castor, a Castor, a Castor!
                                        [Exeunt all but Sejanus. 
Sej. 
   He that, with such wrong moved, can bear it through
   With patience, and an even mind, knows how
   To turn it back.  Wrath cover’d carries fate: 
   Revenge is lost, if I profess my hate. 
   What was my practice late, I’ll now pursue,
   As my fell justice:  this hath styled it new. [Exit.