Lat.  I am for Caesar.

Sab.  Am I then catch’d?

Ruf.  How think you, sir? you are.

Sab. 
   Spies of this head, so white, so full of years! 
   Well, my most reverend monsters, you may live
   To see yourselves thus snared.

Ops, Away with him!

Lat.  Hale him away.

Ruf. 
   To be a spy for traitors,
   Is honourable vigilance.

Sab. 
   You do well,
   My most officious instruments of state;
   Men of all uses:  drag me hence, away. 
   The year is well begun, and I fall fit
   To be an offering to Sejanus.  Go!

Ops.  Cover him with his garments, hide his face.

Sab. 
   It shall not need.  Forbear your rude assault. 
   The fault’s not shameful, villainy makes a fault. [Exeunt.

        Sceneiv.—–­The Street before agrippina.’S House.

Enter macro and Caligula.

Mac. 
   Sir, but observe how thick your dangers meet
   In his clear drifts! your mother and your brothers,
   Now cited to the senate; their friend Gallus,
   Feasted to-day by Caesar, since committed! 
   Sabinus here we met, hurried to fetters: 
   The senators all strook with fear and silence,
   Save those whose hopes depend not on good means,
   But force their private prey from public spoil. 
   And you must know, if here you stay, your state
   Is sure to be the subject of his hate, As now the object.

Gal.  What would you advise me?

Mac. 
   To go for Capreae presently; and there
   Give up yourself entirely to your uncle. 
   Tell Caesar (since your mother is accused
   To fly for succours to Augustus’ statue,
   And to the army with your brethren) you
   Have rather chose to place your aids in him,
   Than live suspected; or in hourly fear
   To be thrust out, by bold Sejanus’ plots: 
   Which, you shall confidently urge to be
   Most full of peril to the state, and Caesar,
   As being laid to his peculiar ends,
   And not to be let run with common safety. 
   All which, upon the second, I’ll make plain,
   So both shall love and trust with Caesar gain.

Gal.  Away then, let’s prepare us for our journey. [Exeunt

Scene V.-Another part of the Street.

Enter Arruntius.

Arr. 
   Still dost thou suffer, heaven! will no flame,
   No heat of sin, make thy just wrath to boil
   In thy distemper’d bosom, and o’erflow
   The pitchy blazes of impiety,
   Kindled beneath thy throne!  Still canst thou sleep,
   Patient, while vice doth make an antick face
   At thy dread power, and blow dust and smoke
   Into thy nostrils!  Jove! will nothing wake thee? 
   Must vile Sejanus pull thee by the beard,
   Ere thou wilt open thy black-lidded eye,