discover’d, rear
   Their forces, like seen snakes, that else would lie
   Roll’d in their circles, close:  nought is more high,
   Daring, or desperate, than offenders found;
   Where guilt is, rage and courage both abound. 
   The course must be, to let them still swell up,
   Riot, and surfeit on blind fortune’s cup;
   Give them more place, more dignities, more style,
   Call them to court, to senate; in the while,
   Take from their strength some one or twain, or more,
   Of the main factors, (it will fright the store,)
   And, by some by-occasion.  Thus, with slight
   You shall disarm them first; and they, in night
   Of their ambition, not perceive the train,
   Till in the engine they are caught and slain.

Tib. 
   We would not kill, if we knew how to save;
   Yet, than a throne, ’tis cheaper give a grave. 
   Is there no way to bind them by deserts?

Sej. 
   Sir, wolves do change their hair, but not their hearts. 
   While thus your thought unto a mean is tied,
   You neither dare enough, nor do provide. 
   All modesty is fond:  and chiefly where
   The subject is no less compell’d to bear,
   Than praise his sovereign’s acts.

Tib. 
   We can no longer
   Keep on our mask to thee, our dear Sejanus;
   Thy thoughts are ours, in all, and we but proved
   Their voice, in our designs, which by assenting
   Hath more confirm’d us, than if beart’ning Jove
   Had, from his hundred statues, bid us strike,
   And at the stroke click’d all his marble thumbs. 
   But who shall first be struck?

Sej. 
   First Caius Silius;
   He is the most of mark, and most of danger: 
   In power and reputation equal strong,
   Having commanded an imperial army
   Seven years together, vanquish’d Sacrovir
   In Germany, and thence obtain’d to wear
   The ornaments triumphal.  His steep fall,
   By how much it doth give the weightier crack,
   Will send more wounding terror to the rest,
   Command them stand aloof, and give more way
   To our surprising of the principal.

Tib.  But what, Sabinus?

Sej. 
   Let him grow a while,
   His fate is not yet ripe:  we must not pluck
   At all together, lest we catch ourselves. 
   And there’s Arruntius too, he only talks. 
   But Sosia, Silius’ wife, would be wound in
   Now, for she hath a fury in her breast,
   More than hell ever knew; and would be sent
   Thither in time.  Then is there one Cremutius
   Cordus, a writing fellow, they have got
   To gather notes of the precedent times,
   And make them into Annals; a most tart
   And bitter spirit, I hear; who, under colour
   Of praising those, doth tax the present state,
   Censures the men, the actions, leaves no trick,
   No practice unexamined, parallels
   The times, the governments; a profest champion
   For the old liberty-