Old English Plays, Vol. I | Page 7

have heard, our ancestors were crown'd For other Victories.
2 Rom. None of our ancestors were ere like him.
_Within: Nero, Apollo, Nero, Hercules_![4]
1 Rom. Harke how th'applauding shouts doe cleave the ayre,[5] This idle talke will make me loose the sight.
Two Romans more to them.
3 Rom. Whither goe you? alls done i'th Capytall, And _Nero_, having there his tables hung And Garlands up, is to the Pallace gone. 'Twas beyond wonder; I shall never see, Nay, I never looke to see the like againe: Eighteen hundred and eight Crownes For severall victories, and the place set downe Where, and in what, and whom he overcame.
4 Rom. That was set down ith' tables that were borne Upon the Souldiers speares.
1 Rom. O made, and sometimes use[d] for other Ends!
2 Rom. But did he winne them all with singing?
3 Rom. Faith, all with singing and with stage-playing.
1 Rom. So many Crowns got with a song!
4 Rom. But did you marke the Greek Musitians Behind his Chariot, hanging downe their heads, Sham'd and overcome in their professions? O Rome was never honour'd so before.
3 Rom. But what was he that rode ith' Chariot with him?
4 Rom. That was Diodorus the Mynstrill that he favours.
3 Rom. Was there ever such a Prince!
2 Rom. O _Nero Augustus_, the true _Augustus!_
3 Rom. Nay, had you seen him as he rode along With an Olimpicke Crowne upon his head And with a Pythian on his arme, you would have thought, Looking on one, he had Apollo seem'd, On th'other, Hercules.
2 Rom. I have heard my father oft repeat the Triumphs Which in Augustus Caesars tymes were showne Upon his Victorie ore the _Illirians_; But it seemes it was not like to this.
3 & 4 Rom. Push,[6] it could not be like this.
2, 3 & 4 Rom. O _Nero, Appollo, Nero, Hercules!
[Exeunt 2, 3 & 4 Rom.
Manet Primus_.
1 Rom. Whether Augustus Triumph greater was I cannot tell; his Triumphs cause, I know, Was greater farre and farre more Honourable. What are wee People, or our flattering voyces That always shame and foolish things applaud, Having no sparke of Soule? All eares and eyes, Pleased with vaine showes, deluded by our sences, Still enemies to wisedome and to goodnesse. [Exit.

(SCENE 3.)
Enter _Nero, Poppea, Nimphidius, Epaphroditus, Neophilus_ and others.
Nero. Now, fayre _Poppea_, see thy Nero shine In bright Achaias spoyles and Rome in him. The Capitall hath other Trophies seene Then it was wont; not spoyles with blood bedew'd Or the unhappy obsequies of Death, But such as Caesars cunning, not his force, Hath wrung from Greece too bragging of her art.
Tigell. And in this strife the glories all your owne, Your tribunes cannot share this prayse with you; Here your Centurions hath no part at all, Bootless your Armies and your Eagles were; No Navies helpt to bring away this conquest.
Nimph. Even Fortunes selfe, Fortune the Queene of Kingdomes, That Warrs grim valour graceth with her deeds, Will claime no portion in this Victorie.
Nero. Not _Bacchus_[7] drawn from Nisa downe with Tigers, Curbing with viny rains their wilful heads Whilst some doe gape upon his Ivy Thirse, Some on the dangling grapes that crowne his head, All praise his beautie and continuing youth; So strooke amased India with wonder As Neroes glories did the Greekish townes, Elis and Pisa and the rich _Micenae, Junonian Argos_ and yet Corinth proud Of her two Seas; all which ore-come did yeeld To me their praise and prises of their games.
Poppea. Yet in your Greekish iourney, we do heare, Sparta and _Athens_, the two eyes of _Greece_, Neither beheld your person or your skill; Whether because they did afford no games Or for their too much gravitie.
Nero. Why, what Should I have seene in them? but in the one Hunger, black pottage and men hot to die Thereby to rid themselves of misery: And what in th'other? but short Capes, long Beards; Much wrangling in things needlesse to be knowne, Wisedome in words and onely austere faces. I will not be Aieceleaus nor Solon. Nero was there where he might honour win; And honour hath he wonn and brought from Greece Those spoyles which never Roman could obtaine, Spoyles won by witt and Tropheis of his skill.
Nimph. What a thing he makes it to be a Minstrill!
Poppea. I prayse your witt, my Lord, that choose such safe Honors, safe spoyles, won without dust or blood.
Nero. What, mock ye me, _Poppea_?
Poppea. Nay, in good faith, my Lord, I speake in earnest: I hate that headie and adventurous crew That goe to loose their owne to purchase but The breath of others and the common voyce; Them that will loose their hearing for a sound, That by death onely seeke to get a living, Make skarrs there beautie and count losse of Limmes The commendation of