Arr. 
   He is our monster:  forfeited to vice
   So far, as no rack’d virtue can redeem him. 
   His loathed person fouler than all crimes: 
   An emperor, only in his lusts.  Retired,
   From all regard of his own fame, or Rome’s,
   Into an obscure island; where he lives
   Acting his tragedies with a comic face,
   Amidst his route of Chaldees:  spending hours,
   Days, weeks, and months, in the unkind abuse
   Of grave astrology, to the bane of men,
   Casting the scope of men’s nativities,
   And having found aught worthy in their fortune,
   Kill, or precipitate them in the sea,
   And boast, he can mock fate.  Nay, muse not:  these
   Are far from ends of evil, scarce degrees. 
   He hath his slaughter-house at Capreae;
   Where he doth study murder, as an art;
   And they are dearest in his grace, that can
   Devise the deepest tortures.  Thither, too,
   He hath his boys, and beauteous girls ta’en up
   Out of our noblest houses, the best form’d,
   Best nurtured, and most modest; what’s their good,
   Serves to provoke his bad.  Some are allured,
   Some threaten’d; others, by their friends detained,
   Are ravish’d hence, like captives, and, in sight
   Of their most grieved parents, dealt away
   Unto his spintries, sellaries, and slaves,
   Masters of strange and new commented lusts,
   For which wise nature hath not left a name. 
   To this (what most strikes us, and bleeding Rome)
   He is, with all his craft, become the ward
   To his own vassal, a stale catamite: 
   Whom he, upon our low and suffering necks,
   Hath raised from excrement to side the gods,
   And have his proper sacrifice in Rome: 
   Which Jove beholds, and yet will sooner rive
   A senseless oak with thunder than his trunk!—–­

                      Re-enter Laco with Pomponius and Minutius. 
Lac. 
   These letters make men doubtful what t’ expect,
   Whether his coming, or his death.

Pom. 
   Troth, both: 
   And which comes soonest, thank the gods for.

Arr. 
   List! 
   Their talk is Caesar; I would hear all voices.

                             [Arrunt. and Lepidus stand aside
Min. 
   One day, he’s well; and will return to Rome;
   The next day, sick; and knows not when to hope it.

Lac. 
   True; and to-day, one of Sejanus’ friends
   Honour’d by special writ; and on the morrow
   Another punish’d—–­

Pom.  By more special writ.

Min. 
   This man receives his praises of Sejanus,
   A second but slight mention, a third none,
   A fourth rebukes:  and thus he leaves the senate
   Divided and suspended, all uncertain.

Lac. 
   These forked tricks, I understand them not: 
   Would he would tell us whom he loves or hates,
   That we might follow, without fear or doubt.