The ninth Tragedy of Lucius Anneus Seneca called Octavia.  
Translated out of Latin into English, by T. N. Student in Cambridge.  
Imprinted at London, by Henry Denham.   

TO THE RIGHT Honourable, the Lord Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, Baron of Dinghby, of the most royal order of the Garter Knight, one of the Queen's Majesties most honourable privy Counsel, and Master of her majesties Horse. T. N. wisheth health, with increase of honour and virtue.  
AFTER THAT I had waded, right honourable, in the translating of this Tragedy called Octavia, written first in Latin by that notable and sententious Poet Seneca, & desired, as the common custom is, some Patron, that might both bring authority to this my little Book, and also, if need should be, defend it from the bitter taunts of envious tongues, I have not espied right honourable, any one, either for his bountiful goodness towards my friends (which commonly men respect) or else for his favourable, and gracious humanity toward scholars (in whose numbered I am) unto whom I might so justly give this small cumbrous trifle, and especial token of good will, as to your Lordship: whose honourable goodness or rather magnificence, both your honour's nursery of learning, and, as I can boldly say, the university of Cambridge, with my poor friends, have most abundantly tasted of: which your Lordship's most honourable curteousnesse, not to recompense in any one jot or tittle thereof (which is not in our small and slender power) but with a well meaning heart, in some part to gratify your honour, I have among all other most unmeet, presumed, both to employ my travail on this trim Tragedy, before others much better able, and also to salute your courteous Lordship, with these rude and unsavoury first fruits of my young study: most humbly beseeching your honour to accept my good will and travail.  
Your honours to commmaund.  


HONI SOIT QVI MAL Y PENSE     

To the Reader.  
IF thou (gentle Reader) hast any thing in this small Volume which may commend unto thee, the travail and pains of the Author of this English Tragedy, surely I am much the gladder: but if all do not answer thine expectation (as it must needs so bèe because, there is nothing harder than to please all men) sith that thou art not privy to all things, disclose not rashly thy foolish judgement. If the translating of Latin, or other Books of other languages, into our mother tongue, doth either profit the common wealth, or the writer at all, do not then condemn the young sprung writers, if that in all points they please not thee which may by the grace of God, through thy gentle and courteous accepting of a little toy, hereafter employ their labour to more serious and weighty matters, both to their own commodity and thy learning, and especially, to the profit of our native country. Wey therefore wisely, what thy friendly good will may do, not unto me only, which am like to do very little, but unto others, whose hearts with favour thou mayst easily win, to the undertaking of greater matters: and then willingly embrace both my good will, and travail.  
Farewell.   

¶ The Argument of the Tragedy  
Octavia daughter to prince Claudius' grace,  
To Nero espoused, whom Claudius did adopt  
(Although Syllanus first in husbands place  
She had received, whom she for Nero chopped)  
Her parents both, her Make that should have been,  
Her husband's present tyranny much more,  
Her own estate, her case that she was in,  
Her brother's death, poor wretch lamenteth sore.  
Him Seneca doth persuade his latter Love,  
Dame Poppy, Crispyne's wife that sometime was,  
And eke Octavia's maid, for to remove.  
For Senecas counsel he doth lightly pass:  
But Poppy joins to him in marriage rites.  
The people wood into his palace run,  
Her golden formed shapes which them sore spites,  
They pull to ground: this uproar now begun,  
To quench, he some to grisly death doth send.  
But her close cased up in dreadful barge,  
With her unto Campania coast to wend,  
A band of armed men, he gave in charge.  

¶ The speakers in this Tragedy.  
Octavia  
Nutrix.  
Chorus Romanorum.  
Seneca  
Nuntius.  
Agrippina  
Poppea  
Nero.  
Praefectus.    


¶ The first Scene.  Octavia. 
NOw that Aurore with glittering streams,  
The gladding stars from sky doth chase,  
Sir Phoebus pert, with spouting beams,  
From dewy nest doth mount a pace:  
And with his cheerful looks doth yield,  
Unto the world a gladsome day.  
Go to, O wretch, with ample field  
Of heavy cares, oppressed aye,  
Thy grievous wont plaints recount:  
Do not alone with sighs and howls,  
The seaysh halcyons surmount,  
But also pass the Pandion fowls:  
More irksome is thy state than theirs.  
O mother dear, whose death by fits  
I nil lament, but still shed tears,  
My ground of grief in thee it sits.  
If that in shades of darksome den,  
Perceiving sense at all remain,  
Hear out at large, O Mother, then,  
My great complaints, and grievous pain.  
O that immortal Clotho wrist,  
Had torn in twain my vital thread:  
Ere I, unto my grief, had wist  
Thy wounds, and face of sanguine red.  
O day, which aye doth me annoy:  
Since that time, did I more desire,  
The fearful darkness to enjoy,  
Than Phoebus' fresh with fair attire.  
I have abode the bitter hest  
Of stepdame dire, in Mother's place,  
I have abode her cruel breast,  
Her stomach stout, and fight face.  
She, she for spite unto my case,  
A doleful, and a grave Eryn,  
To bridegrooms chamber spousal space,  
The Stygian flashing flames brought in.  
And thee, alas, most piteous sire,  
With traitorous trains hath she bereft  
Of breathing soul with poisoned mire:  
To whom ere while, the world all left  
Unvanquished from the Ocean Seas,  
By martial feats did freely yield:  
And didst subdue with wondrous ease,  
The Britain brutes that fled the field:  
Whom living at their proper sway,  
No Roman power did erst invade.  
Now lo (full well lament I may)  
Thy spouse deceit thy prows hath lad:  
And now thy court, and child of yore,  
With homage serve a Tyrant's lore.   

The second Scene.  Nutrix. 
WHom so the glistering pomp of royal place,  
With sudden sight ynumd doth quite disgrace,  
Who so at courtly fleeting ebbing blaze,  
Astonished sore, himself doth much amaze:  
Lo see of late the great, and mighty stock,  
By lurking fortunes sudden forced knock,  
Of Claudius quite subvert and clean extinct:  
Tofore, who held the world in his precinct:  
The Britain Ocean coast that long was free,  
He ruled at will, and made it to agree  
Their Roman Galleys great for to embrace.  
Lo he that Tanais people first did chase,  
And Seas unknown to any Roman wight,  
With lusty shearing ships did overdight,  
And safe amid the savage freaks did fight,  
And ruffling surging Seas hath nothing dread,  
By cruel spouses guilt doth lie all dead.  
Her son likewise more fiend than Tiger fierce,  
Of natural Mother makes a funeral hearse.  
Whose Brother drenched deep, with poisoned cup  
Poor Britannic, his senseless soul gave up.  
Octavia sister, and unhappy make,  
Doth sore lament her case for Britanus sake:  
Ne can her ruthful piteous sorrow slake,  
Though Nero's wrath do sore constrain her grace.  
She nill esteems the secret closet place:  
But boiling still with equal peysde disdain,  
With mutual hate 'gainst him doth burn again.  
My true and trusty love, that I do bear,  
In vain I see doth strive to comfort her.  
Revenging greedy grief doth straight reprieve,  
T'appease her smart, the counsel that I give.  
Nor flame of worthy breast doth once relent:  
But heaps of grief, her courage do augment.  
Alas, what griefly deeds for to ensue  
My fear foreseeth: God grant it be not true.   

The third Scene.  Octavia. Nutrix. 
O Staggering state, O peerless ill:  
With ease Electra I repeat,  
And call to mind thy mourning will.  
With watered eyes, like smarting sweat,  
Thou mightst lament thy father slain,  
Still hoping that thy brother might,  
That deadly deed revenge again.  
Whom thou O tender loving wight,  
Didst safely shield from bloody foe,  
And natural love did closely keep:  
But Nero's dreaded visage lo,  
Doth fear me that I dare not weep,  
Nor wail my parents ruthful case,  
By cruel lot to slaughter caught:  
Ne suffers me this genial face,  
To dash with tears, too dearly bought  
With brother's blood: who only was  
Mine only hope in all my grief,  
And of so many mischiefs, as  
My comfort great, and sole relief.  
Now lo reserved for greater care,  
And to abide more lingering pain,  
Of noble famous lineage bare,  
A drooping shade I do remain.  Nutrix. 
My Ladies heavy voice me thought,  
Within my listening ears 'gan sound.  
And snailish age in going soft,  
Unto her thews is not ybound.  Octavia. 
O Nurse our dolours witness sure,  
By coral cheeks distilling rain,  
And heavy heart's complaint, endure.  Nut. 
Alas what day shall rid of pain,  
With care your well nigh wasted heart?  Oct. 
That sends this guiltless ghost to grave.  Nut. 
This talk good Madam set apart.  Oct. 
In rule my state the destinies have,  
And not thy prayers, O Matron just.  Nut. 
The down soft easy God shall give,  
Your troubled mind, a time, I trust,  
More sweet than ever you did live.  
With fuel fair, as one content,  
And glossed face, but only please  
Your man, and make, he will relent.  Oct. 
The Lion fierce I shall appease,  
And sooner tame the Tiger stout,  
Than mankind tyrants brutish breast.  
He spites the noble razed rout,  
Contemns high powers, dysdaynes the least:  
Ne can well use that princely weed,  
Which venomous parent wrapped him in  
By huge unspeakable grisly deed.  
Although that wight unthankful, grin  
In Kingly throne, that he doth reign,  
Through cruel cursed mother's aid:  
Although he pay with death again  
So great a gift, it shall be said,  
And after fates in long spent age,  
That woman wight shall have always,  
This eloge yet, and saying sage,  
That he by her doth bear the sway.  Nut. 
Let not your ragious mind so walk,  
But do compress your moody talk.   

The fourth Scene.  Octavia. Nutrix. 
THough much I bear the boiling breast do beat,  
And tolerably take devorcements threat,  
deaths only deadly dart, I see an end,  
Of all my broil & pinching pain can send.  
What pleasant light to me, O wretch is left,  
My natural Mother slain, and Sire bereft,  
Of breathing life, by treason, and by gilt:  
Of Brother eke deprived: with miseries spilled:  
And wailing overcome: kept down with care,  
Envied of Make, which I dare not declare.  
To maiden subject now, and now defied:  
What pleasant light can me, O wretch, abide  
With fearful heart suspecting always aught:  
Because I would, no wicked deed were wrought:  
Not that I fear deaths grisly girning face,  
God grant I do not so revenge my case?  
A better deed to die: for, to behold  
The tyrants visage grim, with brows uprolde,  
And with soft tender lips, my foe to kiss,  
And stand in awe of becks, and nods of his,  
Whose will to please, my grief with cares yfired,  
Since brother's death by wicked wile conspired,  
Can never once vouchsafe for to sustain,  
Less grief to die, than thus to live in pain.  
His Empire Nero rules, and joys in blood:  
The cause and ground of death that tyrant wood.  
How oft alas, doth fancy fond fain,  
When slumber sweet in pensive parts doth reign,  
And sleep in eyes, all tired, with tears doth rest,  
I apprehend dear Britain's lively breast?  
Ere while me thinks, his feeble shivering hands  
He fenceth sure, with deadly blazing brands,  
And fiercely on his brother Nero's face,  
With sturdy stinging strokes, he flies apace.  
Ere while thilk wretch recoileth back again,  
And to my thews for aid retires amain:  
Him foaming foe pursues with haste to have:  
And while my brother I desire to save,  
And in my clasped arms to shield him free,  
His gory bloudyed falchion keen, I see  
The boisterous romping fiend to tug, and hale  
Through out my shivering limbs, as ashes pale.  
Forthwith a mighty trembling chattering quake,  
From weary limbs, all supple sleep doth shake,  
And makes me, woeful wretch, for to recount,  
My wailing sobbing sorrows that surmount.  
Hereto, put to that gorgeous stately mouse,  
All glistering bright, with spoils of Claudius' house.  
His parent dear in bubbling boat did douse.  
That wicked son, this fisking dame to please.  
Whom yet escaping dangers great of Seas,  
He fiercer freak than waves that scantly rest,  
With bloody blade her bowels did unbreast.  
What hope of health, can me, O wretch, abide,  
That after them thilk way I should not ride?  
My special foe, triumphant wise doth weight,  
With naked nates to press, by lovers sleight,  
Our spousal, pure, and clean unspotted bed:  
'Gainst whom, she burns, with deadly food blood red.  
And, for a meed of filthy strumpet's sport,  
She causeth Make from spouse for to divort.  
O ancient Sire, step forth from Limbo lake,  
Thy daughters heavy troublous cares to slake:  
Or your twi-gated hellish porch unfold,  
That down through gaping ground I may be rolled.  Nutrix. 
O piteous wretch, in vain, alas in vain  
Thou call'st upon thy father's senseless spirit:  
In whom, God wot, there doth no care remain  
Of mortal brood, that here doth take delight.  
Shall he, think you, assuage your sorry cheer,  
Or shape you forth some sleight, t'appall your pain,  
That could prefer, before his Briton dear,  
T'imperiall throne, a strange begotten swain?  
And with incestial love benumbed quite  
His brother Germanicuses daughter that could plight,  
And join to him in solemn marriage rites,  
With woeful, and unlucky lovers lights?  
Here sprang the role of great,  
Here beastly venomous slaughter 'gan to sweat,  
Here wily treasons trains appeared first,  
Here rules desire, and brutish bloody thirst.  
silanus first Prince Claudius son in law,  
A bloody mangled offering fall we saw,  
That in your grace's Hymenaeal bed,  
Y matched with you, he might not couch his head.  
O monstrous slaughter, worthy endless blame:  
In stead of gift unto that wanton dame,  
A Carcase cold poor soul, and cureless corpse,  
Sillane was given against his will perforce.  
And falsely then attached of traitors crime  
As one conspiring death in Claudius' time,  
With loathsome streaks spewed out upon the wall,  
He all bedashed your father's princely hall.  
Eft stepped into servile Palace stroke,  
To filthy vices lore, one easily broke.  
Of devilish wicked wit this Princocks proud:  
By stepdame's wile prince Claudius' Son avoude.  
Whom deadly dam did bloody match ylight:  
And thee, against thy will, for fear did plight.  
Through which success this Dame of courage fine,  
Durst venture, mighty jove to undermine.  
Who can so many cursed kinds report  
Of wicked hopes, and acts, in any sort,  
Or such a woman's glossed guiles can name,  
That romps at rule, by all degrees of shame?  
Then holy sacred zeal put out of grace,  
Her staggering steps, directed forth apace.  
And stern Erinys in with deadly steps,  
To Claudius Court, all desert left yleps.  
And with her dreary drakes of Stygian fort,  
Hath quite distained the sacred princely port.  
And raging riven in twain both nature's lore,  
And right to wrongs misseshapen form hath tore.  
That haughty minded dame first gave her make,  
A deadly poisoned cup, his thirst to slake.  
Strait ways again through vile unkindly touch,  
Her Nero caused with him in hell to couch.  
And thee, unhappy Britt, in all that broil,  
Till that of breath, and life he did despoil,  
Thilk greedy bloody tyrant never stint:  
Whose doleful death, for aye we may lament.  
Ere while, unto the world the star that shone,  
And was the stay of princely court alone,  
Now lo, light ashes easily puffed aforne,  
And grisly ghost to grave with Torch yborn.  
Whom blessed Babe, thy stepdame did lament:  
Nor from her gushing tears, did scarce relent,  
When as she gave each trim appointed part,  
And goodly portrayed limbs with nature's art,  
Of flaming stack to be devoured quite,  
And saw the scorching fervent fire in sight  
Thy naked joints to ravin up a pace  
And like the flittering God thy comely face.  Oct. 
Dispatch he me least with this hand he fall.  Nut. 
That power you, nature granted not at all.  Oct. 
But wondrous dolour, great and wrathful ire,  
And miseries will it grant without desire.  Nut. 
Nay rather cause your angry moody make,  
With supple cheer his fury for to slake.  Oct. 
What, that he will by guylte once slain before,  
Alive again my brother me restore?  Nut. 
Nay, safe that you may live and issue bear:  
Your father's ancient court for to repair.  Oct. 
That court doth wait another brood they say.  
And poor Britt's death tugs me another way.  Nut. 
Yet let the cities love unto your grace,  
Your troubled mind confirm but for a space.  Oct. 
Their minds so priest to pleasure me, I know  
Great comfort bring: but do not slake my woe.  Nut. 
Of mighty power the people have been aye.  Oct. 
But prince's force doth bear the greater sway.  Nut. 
He will respect his lawful wedded wife.  Oct. 
His minion brave can not so lead her life.  Nut. 
Of no man she esteemed.  Oct. 
But dear to make.  Nut. 
She can not truly yet of wyfehoode crack.  Oct. 
Ere long she shall a mother eke be made.  
So far therein I dare most boldly wade.  Nut. 
His youthful heat at first in filthy love,  
With lusty, crusty pangs doth boil above:  
Thilk courage quickly cooled in lust apace  
As vapour soon extinct in flame, gives place.  
But holy, loving, chaste unspotted spouse,  
Her love endureth aye with sacred vows.  
That wanton first that there durst couch her head,  
And tumbling stained quite your spousal bed,  
And being but your maid hath ruled long,  
Her sovereign Lord, with beauty's grace bestung,  
That pranked Paramour pert shall crouch with pain,  
When she your grace shall see preferred again.  
For Poppy subject is, and meek of sprite,  
And now gins her ghostly tombs to dight:  
Whereby she closely granting doth bewray,  
Her secret hidden fear each other day.  
That swift, unconstant, double winged lad,  
With clout, before his blinded eyes, clad,  
That fickle brained God, th'unhappy boy,  
Shall leave her in the midst of all her joy:  
Although for beauty bright the bell she bear,  
And goodly glistering garments new she wear,  
And now do vaunt herself in gorgeous gear,  
She shall not long enjoy this gladsome cheer.  
Be not dismayed, Madam, for such like pain,  
The queen of Gods was forced to sustain,  
When to each pleasant shape the heavenly guide,  
And sire of Gods yturnde, from skies did glide.  
The swans white wings, to see how they could fadge  
He did on him, and cuckolds bullish badge.  
That God shone bright in golden rainy shower,  
To Danae's breast through top of fortred tower.  
The twinkling stars, the twins of Leda bright,  
Whom Pollux some, and Castor call aright,  
In large and ample space of starry scope,  
With crystal glimmering faces shine wide ope.  
An Semele's son, whom Bacchus we do call,  
In heavenly birthright doth himself install.  
And, Hercules that puissant champion stout,  
His sturdy brawns his Hebe winds about.  
Nor once regards how goddess juno fare:  
Whose lowering stepdame now she is yframed,  
That while on earth his prows he did declare,  
Against that marriage, aye, was sore inflamed.  
Yet lo her wise, and closely couched grief,  
Debonair face, obeisance to her lief,  
Caused him, at length his mind for to remove,  
Through mortal fears estraungde from junos' love.  
And now that mighty heavenly goddess great,  
No more dreaded of mortal strumpet's feat,  
Aloft alone in cloudy bower contents  
The thundering Lord which now to her relents.  
Nor now with earthly ladies beauty bright  
in fired, leaves his starry specked right.  
Now Madam, sith on earth your power is pight,  
And have on earth queen junos' princely place,  
And sister are, and wife to Nero's grace,  
Your wondrous restless dolours great appease.  Oct. 
Nay, sooner shall the roaring frothy seas,  
And mounting, flashing flaws match the sky,  
And smoking, stifling parching fire dry,  
With danckish pools agree, and watery fen.  
And griefly Pluto's filthy filtered den,  
With starbright heaven shall sooner coupled be,  
And shining light, with gloomy shades agree,  
And with the clear dry day, the dewy night,  
Than unto servile lore of husband wight,  
That brutishwise in blood takes his delight,  
My heavy woeful mind can I address,  
While brother's death my heart doth still possess.  
O that of heavenly powers the prince, and sire,  
That shogs & shakes the earth, with thundering fire  
And, with his wondrous fearful, cursed cracks,  
And strange misseshapen monsters which he makes,  
Our fearful musing minds doth sore amaze,  
Would coin some cureless burning wyldefyre blaze,  
To pelt, and pash with thumpping fire bright,  
That devilish pate, that cruel cursed wight.  
We saw from heaven, with beams forthshooting far,  
Doubtless a dreadful hairy, blazing star:  
That spouted forth a mortal fiery flake,  
Whose force a prince's blood can only slake:  
Even where that hating carman slow Boot  
With chilling cold all stark, of frozen pole,  
Doth guide aright Charles whirling running rote,  
In stead of night that never away doth role.  
Lo, now the open air in every street,  
With doggish tyrants breath, is poisoned quite,  
And dreadful stars soon sudden death doth threat.  
To people, ruled by wicked Nero's spirit.  
So stern a freak, or mankind tyrant stout,  
Not Tellus with the Gods displeased brought out,  
When mighty jove neglected, she uphurled,  
Huge, ugly, monstrous Typhon to the world.  
A sorer plague, a cleaner scouring scourge,  
With bloody paws that cities bounds doth purge,  
Is Nero dire, this cruel, cursed wight,  
That doth himself 'gainst God, and man ydight:  
And thrusts from sacred shrines, their quiet port,  
And goodly temples gay, the sancted sort:  
That cities dwellers puts from country's fort:  
That hath bereft his brother of his life,  
And launched his mother's sides with gory knife:  
Yet doth this present lightsome day enjoy,  
And leads his life, that doth us sore annoy.  
O father of heaven, in vain why dost thou throw  
Thy great unvanquished rattling thunder blow  
Upon the whistling woods, and ample seas,  
With force of princely power thy wrath t'appease?  
On such an hurtful, and pernicious freak,  
Thy due and just conceived ire to wreak.  
Why stay thy mighty puissant brawns so long,  
Ere thou fling down, thy rattling cracking throng?  
O Lord that Nero once might pay the price,  
Of all his devilish deeds, and every vice,  
Th'whole wide world's tyrant stern, where he a stroke  
Doth bear: which he ouerlades with burdenous yoke:  
Of princely sire yborn, but doth defame,  
With beastly manners vile his princely name:  Oct. 
Unworth he is, your spousal chamber place:  
But yet your destiny's force, you must embrace:  
And well, abide your fortunes crooked race:  
Nor move unkindly Nero's gauly ire.  
One day perchance, there will, as I desire,  
Some God revenge your lamentable case:  
And once, I trust, a gladsome day shall be,  
When you shall joy a fresh in wont place.  Oct. 
Ah, no, now, long this court alas, we see  
With heavy wrath of Gods displeased ire  
Hath overcharged been: which Venus dire  
With Messalina's monstrous, ramping lust,  
She first hath brought adown into the dust.  
Who madly married to prince Claudius' grace,  
But little mindful then of that same case,  
And not regarding much th'appointed pain,  
With cursed cressets married once again.  
To which unlucky ' incestual bridal bed,  
That drosel dire that furious slut Erin,  
With hanging hair about her hellish head,  
And girt with snakes with deadly step went in.  
And flaming broandes from spousal chamber caught,  
In both their bloods ybathde, hath quenched clean:  
And hath incensed prince Claudius' burning thought,  
In bloody thrattling stroke to pass all mean.  
My mother first of wretches all the most,  
With stripe of deadly sword gave up her ghost.  
And now extinguished quite left me forlorn,  
With dolours pining pangs and mourning worn.  
And after her in hellish team doth hail,  
Unto the senseless souls of Pluto's jail  
Her make, and Britannic her son that way:  
And first this ruinous court did she betray.  Nut. 
Let be, Madame, with tears your face to dight:  
Ne so renew your bitter wailing just:  
Cease troubling now, your parents piteous sprite,  
That paid hath the price of raging lust.   

The fift Scene.  Chorus. 
GOd grant the talk we heard of late,  
To rashly trusted every where,  
And blown abroad through each estate,  
No badge of truth, that it may bear.  
And that no fresh espoused dame,  
Our prince's thews do enter in,  
But that Octavia keep the same.  
And that the seed of Claudius' kin,  
May once bring forth some pledge of peace:  
That to the world rest may redound,  
And wrangling strife may easily cease,  
And Rome retain her great renown.  
The peerless princess juno hight,  
Her brother's wedlock yoke retains:  
Why is Augustus sister bright,  
Where like betrothed league remains,  
From stately pomp of court reject?  
What doth devoutness her avail?  
To sainted sire, who hath respect?  
What doth her Virgin's life prevail?  
And, Claudius now in ground ylaid,  
Even we to much unmindful be:  
Whose worthy stem we have betrayed  
Through fear, that made us to agree.  
In breast our elders did embrace,  
The perfect Roman puissance,  
The true unstained worthy race,  
And blood of Mars they did advance.  
The proud, and lofty stomached train  
Of lusty haughty minded kings,  
They could not suffer to remain  
Within this noble City's wings.  
And justly they revenged thy death,  
O virgin chaste, Virginia pure,  
Depryude by sire of vital breath,  
That bondage thou mightest not endure.  
And that his shameless brutish lust,  
So good a meed might not enjoy:  
Although by filthy force unjust  
Thy chastity he would annoy.  
Thee likewise whom thine own right hand,  
With sword did pierce Lucretia true,  
Who tyrants rape couldst not withstand,  
Did bloody broils and wars ensue.  
And with thy proud disdainful make  
Lord Tarquin imp of cursed seed,  
Correction due doth Tullia take  
For her unkindly shameless deed.  
Who on her father's mangled corpse,  
To mischief bend, and wicked bane,  
The carman she to drive did force,  
His cruel bruising wombling wane.  
And quite against all nature's law,  
Even from her own dismembered sire,  
The sacred rites she did withdraw,  
Denaying wont burial fire.  
This grief or woeful age doth feel,  
Through monstrous act against all kind,  
When as in deadly crafty keel,  
To Tyrrhen seas, and wrestling wind,  
The proud presuming prince did put,  
His mother trapped in subtle sort.  
The mariners appointed cut,  
The swelling seas from pleasant port.  
The clash resounds with stroke of oars,  
The ship, out launched, a pace doth spin,  
In surging froth aloof from shores,  
And ample course of seas doth win.  
Which gliding forth with loosened planks,  
In pressed streams with peised weight,  
The rifts do open closed cranks,  
That hidden were, with secret sleight:  
And gulpeth up the leaking wave:  
The woeful, roaring noise, and cry,  
With woman's shryks themselves to save,  
Do reach, and beat the starry sky.  
Then grisly present death doth dance  
Before their eyes with pining cheeks:  
Whose deadly stroke and heavy chance  
For to avoid, than each man seeks:  
On ryvened ribs some naked lie,  
And cut the beating waves in twain:  
And some their skilful swimming try,  
To get unto the shore again.  
The greatest part that sailed there,  
By destiny's dire to men prefixed,  
In whirling swallows drowned were,  
The brinks of seas and ground betwixt.  
Queen Agryppine her garments rends,  
She tears her ruffled locks of hear,  
Abundant blubbering tears she spends,  
Through deep distress of fainting fear.  
Who, when no hope of health she spies,  
Inflame with wrath, which woos appeased,  
O son, for so great gifts, she cries,  
Hast thou with such reward me pleased?  
This keel I have deserved sure,  
That bare and brought thee first to light:  
Who empire witless did procure,  
And Caesar's title for thy right.  
Show forth thy fearful spritish face,  
O Claudius now from Limbo lake,  
And of thy wife in wretched case,  
Revenge and due correction take.  
Thy death I causeless did conspire,  
Which now I rue with woeful heart:  
I dressed eke a funeral fire,  
Into thy son by deadly smart.  
Lo, now as I deserved have,  
Untomde go to thy guiltless ghost,  
Enclosed in seas in stead of grave,  
And wrestling waves of Roman coast.  
The flashing flaws do flap her face,  
And on her speaking mouth do beat,  
Anon she sinks a certain space,  
Depressed down with surges great:  
Anon she fleets on weltering brim,  
And pats them off with tender hands:  
Through fainting fear then taught to swim,  
Approaching death, and fates withstands.  
At length on troubled seas displayed,  
She giving over working vain,  
And tired with streams is weary laid,  
Not able toiling strength to strain.  
In close, and secret silent breasts  
Of mates with hirto sea that yode,  
In whom no fear of death there rests,  
True faith unto their queen abode.  
Their lady's weather heaten limbs  
To help some freely venture dare,  
Some in the coombrous waters swims,  
And desperate danger do not spare.  
With cheerful voice they comfort her,  
Though drawling draggling limbs she drew,  
To life her up with help they stir,  
And numbed corpse to strength renew.  
What boots it thee the death to shun  
Of roaring raging ravening waves,  
From deadly sword of wicked son,  
Alas poor wretch thee nothing saves?  
Whose huge and heinous cursed rage,  
Against all course of nature's lore,  
Our after slow believing age,  
Will scarce believe it done before.  
The devilish man repined with grief  
When he his mother saved saw,  
From swallowing seas have safe relief  
And that she vital breath did draw,  
He grudged with grief: and in his heat,  
He huger mischief heaps to this:  
He doth not once delay his feat,  
But headlong rashly carried is  
Upon her death. A soldier sent,  
Dispatcheth that he had in charge,  
His lady's breast his blade doth rend:  
She yielding up her soul at large,  
From wretched corpse for to entomb  
Her slaughter man, she then besought,  
That bloody blade within her womb,  
That first this woe to her had brought,  
This, this accursed breast (ꝙ she)  
Which this unkindly monster bare,  
From pinching pain may not be free:  
Dig, slash the same, no mischief spare.  
When this with faltering tongue was said,  
At last her sad and trembling ghost,  
With latter sobbing sighs, unstaid,  
Through gored wounds leaves vital coast.    

The second Act.  

The first Scene.  Seneca. 
IN me with like consent, why didst thou smile,  
With glossed looks deluding me a while,  
O fortune much of might & princely power?  
To lift aloft to noble royal bower?  
To th'end that I to honours court extolleth  
From stately seat might have the greater fall,  
And round about in every place behold,  
Such dreadful, threating dangers to us all?  
I safer lay aloof from envies knocks,  
Removed among the craggy corsic rocks:  
Where as my mind there free at proper sway,  
With leisure did repeat my studies aye.  
A gladsome joy alone it was to view,  
And earnestly to mark the heavens so blue:  
And sacred Phoebus' double whéeled wain:  
And eke the worlds swift whirling motion main.  
The Sun so even his second course to keep:  
And Phebes gliding globe so swiftly sweep:  
Whom wondrous starting stars encompass round.  
And to behold, that shines in every stound,  
The glistering beauty bright of welkin wide:  
Than which in all the world, nothing beside,  
Of all this huge and endless work, the guide,  
More wondrous, nature, framed that I espied.  
For all the bumping bigness it doth bear,  
Yet waxing old is like again to wear,  
And to be changed to an unwyldie lump.  
Now priest at hand this worlds last day doth jump,  
With boisterous fall, and tumbling rush of sky,  
To squeeze, and make this cursed kind abye.  
That springing once again, it may yield out,  
another strange renewed virtuous rout.  
As once before, it did, new sprung again,  
What time Saturnus held his golden reign.  
That blameless, chaste, unspotted virgin clear,  
A goddess much of might, cleped justice here,  
With sacred sooth sent down from heavenly space,  
At ease on earth did rule the mortal race.  
That people plain knew not of warlike feats,  
Nor trembling trumpets tune, that rends, & beats,  
The soldiers ears: nor chasshing armour bright,  
That warring wights defend in field, and fight.  
Nor wonted was with walls to raumpire round,  
Their open Cities set in any stound.  
To each man passage free lay opened than:  
Nothing there private was to any man.  
And then the ground itself, and fertile soil,  
Her fruitful bosom baarde all void of toil,  
Into such bounden barus, a Matron good,  
And peaceable unto so just a brood.  
But then, an other second race arose,  
perceived not to be so meek as those.  
A third more wise, and witty sort up starts,  
Of nature forged fit t'inventinvent new arts:  
As yet unspotted quite with filthy vice.  
Soon after tho, they raundge with new device,  
That boldly venture dare in scudding race,  
Unwieldy beasts for to pursue apace.  
And mighty weighing, struggling fishes great,  
With watery coats clad, with fisher's feat,  
With net in window wise draw forth: and streak  
With craft of quill, the nibbling fishes cheek.  
And silly birds beguiled with pining train:  
And light foot dear, for life that fling amain  
In tangling gins entrapped, that safely hold.  
And sturdy scowling visaged bulls controlled,  
On fleshy fillet necks, make wear the yoke:  
And earth ere that ungrubbed up that broke:  
Which then turned up, with ploughman's shining share,  
In sacred bosom deep, her fruits kept there.  
But now this age much worse than all the rest,  
Hath leapt into her mother's broken breast:  
And rusty lumpish iron, and massy gold,  
Hath digged out, that was quite hid with mould.  
And fight fists have armed without delay:  
And drawing forth their bonds for rule to stay,  
Have certain several jolly kingdoms made,  
And cities new have raside now ruled with blade,  
And fenceth, either with their proper force  
Strange stounds, or them assaults, the which is worse.  
The starry specked virgin flower of skies,  
Which justice hight, that guilty folk descries,  
Now lightly esteem e of mortal people here,  
Each earthly stound is fled, and comes not near  
The savage manuerd rout, and beastly rude,  
With dabbed wrists in gory blood imbrued.  
The great desire of griefly war is sprung:  
And raping thirst of gold, it is not young.  
Throughout the world, a mighty monstrous vice,  
Fowl, filthy, monstrous just hath got the price,  
A pleasant tickling plague: whom longer space,  
And error deep have fostered up a pace.  
The heaps of vice, ●…akte up in years long passed,  
Abounding flow in these out days at last.  
And this same troublous time, and cumbrous age,  
Oppresseth all men sore, both young and sage.  
Wherein those wicked ways that be, do reign,  
And cruel, romping woodness boils again.  
Lust strong in filthy touch, doth bear a sway:  
And princes, riot, now doth catch away  
With greedy paws, to bring it to decay,  
Th'whole world's uncredible wealth, without delay,  
But lo, which staggering steps where Nero flings,  
And visage grim, I fear what news he brings.   

The second Scene, of the second Act.  Nero. Prefectus. Seneca. 
DIspatch with speed, that we commanded have:  
Go, send forthwith some one, or other slave,  
That Plautius cropped scalp, & Silla's eke,  
May bring before our face: go some man seek.  Prefectus. 
I nill protract your noble grace's hest:  
But to their camps to go am ready priest.  Seneca. 
'Gainst lineage, nought should rashly pointed be.  Nero. 
A light thing 'tis for to be just, I see  
For him, whose heart is void of shrinking fear.  Se. 
A sovereign salve for fear, is for to bear,  
Yourself debonair to your subjects all.  Ne. 
Our foes to slay, a chefetaines virtue call.  Se. 
A worthier virtue 'tis, in country's sire,  
His people to defend with sword, and fire.  Ne. 
It well beseems such aged wights, to teach,  
Unbrideled springolls young, and not to preach,  
Both to a man, and prince of riper years.  Se. 
Nay rather frolic youthful blood appears,  
To have more need of counsel wise, and grave.  Ne. 
(This age sufficient reason ought to have.)  Se. 
That heavenly powers your doings may allow.  Ne. 
A madness 't were to Gods for me to bow,  
When I myself can make such Gods to be:  
As Claudius now ycounted is we se.  Se. 
So much the more, because so much you may.  Nc. 
Our power permits us all without denay.  Se. 
Give slender trust to fortune's flattering face:  
She topste turvy turns her wheel a pace.  Ne. 
A patch he is that knoweth not what he may.  Se. 
A princes praise I counted have always,  
To do that same which with his honour stood,  
Not that which frantic fancy counteth good.  Ne. 
If that I were a mecock, or a slouch,  
Each stubborn, clubbish daw would make me couch.  Se. 
And whom they hate with force they overquell.  Ne. 
Then, dint of sword the prince defendeth well.  Se. 
But faith more sure defence doth seem to me.  Ne. 
Full meet it is that Caesar dreaded be.  Se. 
More meet of subjects for to be beloved.  Ne. 
From subjects minds fear must not be removed.  Se. 
What so by force of arms you do wring out,  
A grievous work it is to bring about.  Ne. 
Well hardly then our will let them obey.  Se. 
Will nothing then but that which well you may.  Ne. 
We will decree what we shall best suppose.  Se. 
What people's voice doth jointly bind or lose,  
Let that confirmed stand. Ne. sword bloody dint  
Shall cause them else at me to take their hynt.  Se. 
God shield, and far that fact from you remove.  Ne. 
What then, why Seneck do you that approve,  
That we contemned, despised, and set at nought,  
With finger put in hole (full wisely wrought)  
Our bodies blood to seek should them abide,  
That they might us sometime destroy unspied?  
Their native country bounds to banished be,  
Nor Plautius' breast nor Sulla's eke we see  
Hath broke, or tamed: whose cankered churlish ire,  
Shapes bloody freaks to quench our body's fire.  
And chief when these traitorous absent clowns,  
Such wondrous favour find in cities bounds,  
Which those same exiles lingering hope doth feed:  
Suspected foes with sword we will out weed.  
And so Octavia shall that jolly dame,  
Continue after them their bloody game.  
And wend that way her noun white brother went,  
Such high mistrusted things must needs be bend.  Se. 
It is, O prince, a worthy famous thing,  
Amyds redoubted Lords alone to ring:  
And wisely work your country's praise to save:  
And well yourself to captive folk behave:  
From cruel brutish slaughter to abstain:  
And void of mood to wreak your angry pain:  
And, to the world a quiet calm to give,  
That all your age in peace their lives may live.  
This is a Prince's praise without all crime:  
This is the path to heaven whereby we climb.  
So is Augustus' prince and father called  
Of country first, in starbright throne installed.  
Whom as a God in ministers we adorn,  
Yet troublous fortune tossed him before,  
A great while long on lands, and ruffling seas,  
Until his father's foes he could appease,  
And through wars divers course could quell them quite.  
To you did fortune yield her power, and might,  
And reins of rule without all blood, and fight.  
And to your beck both land, and seas hath bend.  
Grim deadly envy daunted doth relent.  
The Senate Lords gave place with free consent:  
The battailous rout of knights with willing hearts  
(That same decree from sager sires departs)  
Unto the lay men's choice do well agree.  
Your grace the spring of peace they count to be.  
And chosen judge, and guide of mortal stock.  
Your grace, your country's sacred sire, doth rock,  
And rule with princely gorgeous title bright,  
The circled world in roundel wisely ydight.  
Which mighty mounting name to keep so great,  
This noble city Rome, doth you entreat:  
And doth commend unto your royal grace,  
Her lively limbs in charge for your lives space.  Ne. 
The gift of Gods it is, as we discus,  
That Rome with Senate sort doth honour us.  
And that the fear of our displeasure great,  
From cankered envious stomaches maketh sweat  
Both humble talk, and supplications meek.  
And were not fear all these would be to seek.  
Unwieldy, cumbrous cities members ill,  
That prince, and country both do seek to spill,  
To leave alive (which swell, and puffed be,  
Because of lineage great, and high degree)  
What madness mere is it when as we may,  
Even with a word, such freaks dispatch away?  
Sir Brutus stern, his brawns and arms did dight.  
His sovereign liege to slain by force and might,  
That erst had helped him, and given him health,  
And had endued him with princely wealth.  
In brunt of raging war, undaunted out,  
That vanquished many people strong, and stout,  
Prince Cesar, mateht, by great degrees of power.  
To jove, in stately chair of starry bower,  
By devilish citizens wicked wile, was slain.  
What store of bloody, stifling streams on mould  
Did tattered Rome, of her own limbs, behold?  
He by his noble virtues worthy praise,  
Whom people's common brute to heaven doth raise,  
August, among the Gods ysaincted well,  
How many noble breasts did he compel,  
How many springolds young, and hoary heads,  
Each where dispersed, to lig in moulded beds?  
How many men did he bereave of breath,  
Tofore proscript, that were condemned to death?  
When for the grisly fear of deadly dart,  
From proper home they were constrained to part,  
And fly octavius force, and Lepidus might,  
And not abide stern Mark Antonius sight,  
Which then the ample world at once did guide,  
That into kingdoms three they did divide.  
To dampish sadded sires, with heavy cheer,  
Their children's grisly cropped pates appear,  
Hung out before the Senate's judgement seat,  
For each man to behold in open street:  
Ne durst they once lament their piteous case,  
Nor inward seem to morn to Claudius' face.  
The market stead, with blood from bodies spewed,  
And loathsome mattrie streams, is all imbrued:  
And, quite throughout, their faces foul arrayed  
The pitcous gubs of blood drop down, unstaid.  
Nor here did this same slaughterous bloodshed stay:  
Phyllips, Pharsalia ghastly fields each day  
The cromming ravening fowls, and cruel beasts,  
Long fed, with gobbets big of manly breasts.  
Beside all this, the coast he scoured quite  
Of Sicill sea, and ships to war yoyght  
With force of arms did win: and havoc made  
Of proper subjects, slain with his own blade.  
The rundle round of lands with mighty main  
Of noble chieftains stroke, reboils again.  
Antonius' overcome in navale fight,  
To Egypt posts in ships prepared to flight:  
Not looking long to live, nor hoping life.  
Incestuous Egypt (through Antonius' wife)  
That worthy Roman princes blood, did suck:  
And covered lie their ghosts with dirty muck.  
Long wicked, waged civil war, there stayed,  
In Mark Antonius grave, with him ylaid.  
Augustus at the last, of conquest great  
His dulled swords, that wounded souls did beat  
In peaceable sheaths reposed, hath laid at rest:  
And fear doth rule, and guide his kingdom best.  
By ready force of arms at all assays,  
And Captains saith he shields himself always:  
Whom now his sons most worthy virtues praise,  
To heaven a consecrated God doth raise,  
And causeth all, in Churches for to place  
The sacred Picture of prince Claudius' grace.  
And us, the starry reign of Gods shall bide  
If first, with dreadful sword about us wide,  
We wipe away, what so our person stain:  
And found our court with worthy stem again.  Se. 
Your noble spouse, sprung forth of sainted peer,  
Of Claudius' stock, the starbright Diamond clear,  
That goddess juno wise her brother's bed  
Partaking, pressed down with buttocks red,  
Your graces princely court shall garnish gay,  
With wondrous heavenly fair descended stay.  Ne. 
Incestuous married dames, from stock, and stem,  
Detract all hope, that we should have of them.  
Nor us, could she once love, that we could see,  
Nor with our person once at all agree.  Se. 
In tender budding years, when love suppressed  
With blushing, hides the flames of burning breast,  
Scant plain appears the love they bear in deed.  Ne. 
Thus we ourself with hope in vain did feed:  
Although undoubted signs, as body wried,  
And frowning looks, which we have oft espied,  
Her spiteful, hating stomach did bewray  
Which she doth bear, whom duty binds t' obey.  
Which yet at last, big, boiling, grievous pain  
With death determined hath t'avengeavenge again.  
We have found out, for birth, and beauties grace  
A worthy make, for such an empress place:  
To whom, that lovely goddess, Venus' bright,  
And mighty jove his spouse that juno hight,  
And goddess fierce in boisterous warlike arts,  
Gives place for bodies seemly portrayed parts.  Se. 
Faith, meekness, manners mild, & hashfull shame  
Of spouse, those aught an husband to reclaim.  
The perls of judging mind, alone remain,  
Not subject once to any ruler's reign.  
The passing pride of beauties numbing grace  
Each day appalls, and blemisheth a pace.  Ne. 
What praises woman wights have in them closed?  
All those, in her alone hath God reposed.  
And such a peerless peer, the guides of life,  
The destinies would have borne to be our wife.  Se. 
O noble prince such blind, unlawful love,  
(Do rashly credit nought) from you remove.  Ne. 
Whom jove can not repel that rules the clouds,  
And piercing raging floods, therein him shrouds,  
And rangeth through the reign of Pluto's pit,  
And pulleth down in welkin high that sit  
The mighty powers of heaven, the God of love?  
And can I then his force from me remove?  Se. 
Swift winged love, men's fanste fond, in vain  
A mercy wanting God to be, doth fame:  
And arms his hands with wounding weapons keen  
And bows with burning brands, for lovers green:  
Of Venus to be sprung, they all accord,  
And blindly forged, of thunder's limping Lord.  
Bland love the minds great torment sore, appears,  
And buddeth first, in frolic youthful years.  
Who, while we drink of fortunes pleasant cup,  
With lazy pampering riot, is nestled up:  
Whom if to foster up, you leave at length  
It fleeting, falls away with broken strength.  
This is, in all our life, as I suppose  
The greatest cause, how pleasure, first arose.  
Which sith mankind by brooding, bideth ayt,  
Through gladsome love, that fierce wild beasts doth sway  
It never can, from manly breast departed.  Ne. 
This self same God, I wish with all my heart  
The wedlock lights to bear before our grace,  
And fasten Poppy, sure, in our bed place.  Se. 
The people's grief might never yield to it:  
Nor virtue can, the same at all, permit.  Ne. 
Shall I alone to do, forbidden be,  
That every patch may do? that grieveth me.  Se. 
No trifling toys, the people looks to have  
Of him, that aught to rule with wisdom grave.  Ne. 
It pleaseth us, with daunted power, to try,  
If people's rash conceived rage, will fly.  Se. 
Seek rather for to please, and calm their mood.  Ne. 
Ill ruled is that reign where people wood,  
Their subject prince doth wield, as they think good.  Se. 
When nought that they require they can obtain,  
They justly then aggrieved are again.  Ne. 
That gentle prayers can not win with ease,  
By force to wring it out, it doth us please.  Se. 
An hard thing 'tis the people not to have  
That of their Prince, which they do justly crave.  Ne. 
And horrible 'tis a Prince to be constrained.  Se. 
Let not your subjects then so sore be rained.  Ne. 
Why then the common brute abroad will be.  
How that the people have subdued me.  Se. 
That no man trusts, that is of credit light.  Ne. 
Be it so, yet many it marks with deadly spite.  Se. 
With country peers to meddle, it is afraid.  Nc. 
To quip and frump, 'tis nothing less dismayed.  Se. 
Your grace may easily couch that budding brute.  
Let sainted sires deserts with pliant suit,  
Your grace's mind, remove: let spouses age,  
And courteous bashful shame disrump your rage.  Ne. 
Leave off, I say, that we intend, to grudge.  
For now your talk, our patience moveth much:  
I pray you let it lawful be to do,  
That Seneck giveth not advise unto.  
And we, our people's wishes do defer,  
While Poppy feel in wombling womb to stir,  
The pledge of faithful love to me, and her.  
Why do we not appoint the morrow next,  
When as our marriage pomp may be context?    

The third Act.  

The first Scene.  Agrippina. 
THrough paunch of rivened earth, from Pluto's rain  
With ghostly steps, I am returned again.  
In writhled wrists that blood do most desire,  
Forguiding wedlock vile, with Stygian fire.  
Let Poppy 〈◊〉 these tressets coupled sure,  
Unto my son be joined in marriage pure:  
Whom mother's grief, and hand revenging wracks,  
Shall send with heave and hoe, to funeral stacks.  
I always do remember well beneath,  
Where piteous, ghostly, crawling souls do breath,  
Th' unkindly, slaughterous deed, which to our sprite  
Yet unrevengde, is grievous, and of right.  
And, for the good I did, a cruel prise,  
That deadly framed ship in crafty wise:  
And due reward, that he gave me again,  
For helping him to rule of empires reign:  
And eke that night, when as I did bewail,  
Both less of ship, wherein we then did sail,  
And mates unhappy beath: and while I thought,  
For this accursed died, to have besought  
The Gods, to trickling tears he gave scant time,  
But twice increased hath his devilish crime.  
Quite slain with sword, thrust through my bodies bosids  
And filthy laid through gory mattering ing wounds,  
Delivered safe, from seas devouring ing sup,  
In antic court, my ghost I yielded up.  
Nor yet his cankered, and unfatiate hate,  
For all this blood, doth Nero once abate.  
That tyrant dire doth rage at mother's name,  
And seeketh ways, my deeds for to defame.  
Who threating death to them that do withstand,  
My shapes he dingeth down, in every land:  
My princely tyties large he scrapeth out  
In every place, the whole wide world about,  
Which my unlucky parents love did give,  
To much unto my pain, while I did live,  
unto a boy to guide, which now I rue.  
My poisoned Make, my ghost doth oft pursue:  
And in my face, with burning brands, doth fly.  
He stays a space with earnest talk hard by,  
And threateneth sore, and doth impute his death  
And tomb he should have had, to me beneath.  
And now desires to have some factious wight,  
That dare despoil my son of breathing sprite.  
Let be, you shall have one to work this crime,  
I do require no long delayed time.  
Revenging spirit Erin, a death doth coin,  
Of life, that wicked tyrant, to purloin.  
Sore smarting leaden stripes, and shameful flight,  
And pining pangs, with thirst and hunger dight:  
That Tantalus spungelyke thirsty mouth befurd,  
And Sisyphus toil shall pass, and Tityus bird,  
And Ixion's painful, wombling wheel about,  
That teareth all his bodies parts throughout.  
Although that tyrant proud and scornful wight,  
His court with marble stone do strongly dight,  
And princelike garnish it with glistering gold:  
Though troops of soldiers shielded sure, uphold  
Their chieftains princely porch: & though yet still  
The world drawn dry with tasks even to his will,  
Great heaps of riches yield themselves to save,  
Although his bloody help, the Parthians crave,  
And kingdoms bring, and goods all that they have,  
The time, and day shall come, when as he shall  
Forlorn, and quite undone, and wanting all,  
Unto his cursed deeds, his life, and more,  
Unto his foes, his baared throat restore.  
Alas, unto what end is all my pain,  
Or in what case, do now my vows remain?  
Whereto doth now thy rage, and destiny's spite  
Draw thee, O son, with brain benumbed quite?  
That to such monstrous heaps of ills thy dame  
(Whom thou, with cursed mischief overcame)  
Her wrath should yield? O that, ere to the light  
A sucking babe I brought thee forth in sight,  
And fed thee fine with pap, as princely borne,  
The fierce, wild, savage beasts had rend and torn  
My womb, and bloody entrells all before.  
Without all crime, and wanting reasons pride,  
Mine own dear dandling child thou shouldst have died.  
And fastened sure to me shouldst aye behold,  
The quiet place, where ghostly souls be rolled:  
And see thy grand sires great of worthy same,  
And sire Domitius eke of princely name,  
Whom now, both shame, and wailing doth abide,  
That while they dure, from them shall never slide.  
For which, both thee, O cursed barn, they may,  
And me, that thee have borne give thanks for aye.  
But why cease I, with Hell to hide my face,  
wife, stepdame, mother dire, in my life space?   

The second Scene of the third Act.  Octavia. Chorus. 
DO not, alas, thus sore lament,  
But rather yet your mourning stay,  
Sith that the city whole is bend  
To celebrate this joyful day:  
Lest your great love, and favour both,  
Which I do count to be most sure,  
The more cause Nero me to loath,  
And eke his bitter wrath procure:  
And I fall out to be the ground  
To you of many mischiefs vile,  
This same is not the first deep wound,  
That I have felt now this good while:  
far worse than this have I abode:  
But of these troublous cares, this day  
Shall make an end, I trust in God,  
Although with death he do me pay.  
No man to see shall me constrain  
His bended brows knit furrowise,  
Nor step within the chamber reign  
Of maid dressed up in bridal guise.  
Augustus' sister I will be,  
And not his wife, as wont I was:  
But only pains remove from me,  
And fear of death, I will not pass.  
Yet canst thou, piteous wretch, once trust,  
Thy cruel husband's father law,  
Or these few things to have so just  
While mischiefs yet in mind are raw?  
Now long reserved, until this day,  
And these same marriage rites be past,  
Thou shalt poor wretch, without delay,  
A bloody offering die at last.  
Why thus with tears disfigured sore  
Thy wont home dost thou behold?  
Make haste, to shun this deadly shore,  
And leave this slaughterous Prince's fold.  Chorus. 
Lo see that day suspected long,  
And whispered fame in all men's ears,  
With glistering pomp of bridal throng,  
To us poor wretches, now appears.  
And Claudius brood, Octavia's grace,  
From Nero's wedlock place expelled,  
Departed is, whose spousal space,  
Hath Poppy conqueror long time held.  
The while, our piety couched lies  
Kept down with heavy, cumbrous fear,  
And slow revenging grief likewise:  
Where doth the people's power appear,  
That broke the force of princes great,  
That conquerous city laws hath framed,  
That worthy men to honours seat  
Preferred, that war and peace proclaimed,  
That savage people strange did tame  
That kings and princes caught in fight,  
Shut surely up in prison frame,  
To keep them close from all men's sight?  
Lo, which we can not once abide,  
To see, where Poppies image trim,  
Conjoined unto Nero's side  
All glistering bright, shines very brim.  
Let force of arms pull down that frame  
And match with ground that lady's face  
Too likely carved to his name,  
And snatch her down from bedding place,  
And let it forthwith fly with brands  
With Darts and javelins fiercely flung,  
From pithy brawns and sturdy hands,  
Unto the princes courtly throng.    

The fourth Act.  

The first Scene.  Nutrix. Poppea. 
FRom out of spousal bower dismayed with fear,  
Whither go you? what secrets daughter dear  
Unknowen, makes you to look so drouselye?  
Why spungelike looks your face with tears from eye  
That fell? of truth, the time desired long,  
And wished for by prayers, and vows among  
Hath shined bright. Caesar's wedlock are you:  
Your golden grace, whereof he took the view.  
Him prisoner caught, and did him surely bind,  
So much the more, how much Seneck his mind  
Did seek to change, and wild from love to wield.  
And Venus chief in love hath made him yield.  
O in beauty passing all, what beds than down  
More soft, have borne thy weight: when thou with crown  
Didst sit in mids of court, the Senate all  
At thy great beauty aghast, thou didst appall:  
Whilst thou the Gods with perfume sensedst fine,  
And sacred altars drenched with thankful wine,  
Thy head attired with veil of yellow hue.  
By Caesar's side thou went'st as princess new:  
When he aloft extolleth above the rest,  
With haughty courage merrily went to feast.  
Like as King Peleus went some times to take  
Queen Tethis, whom salt seas some bred, his make  
Whose briding chambers, banquetwise ydrest,  
The God's vouchsaaft to hollow with their hest,  
Both they that rule in skies, and eke in seas.  
But tell, O Lady, tell, if it you please,  
What sudden chance doth shade your beauty's light?  
What means your colour change from red to white?  
What moves those trickling tears, how stands your plight?  Poppea. 
With dreams, and grisly sights, this last night nurse,  
My mind was troubled sore, but frayed much worse.  
For when sir Phoeb his weary course had rid,  
While quiet resting night each thing shaded,  
My senses weary fell in slumber deep,  
While Nero me within his arms did cléepe.  
Resolving limbs, at length 'gan sleep discharge,  
And long I rest not under quiets targe.  
For lo, I saw a rout, that brought me fear,  
Come to my chamber with dishevelled hear:  
The Matrons sage of Latin land did mourn,  
And sounded shrycking sighs as though forlorn  
They were, the dolefulst wights that live on ground.  
And oft among the warlike trumpets sound,  
I saw my husbands mother terribly stand,  
With threatening look bewrayed with blood, in hand,  
A light fire brand she bore which oft she shook,  
And made me go with her, through fearful look.  
When down we came through opened earth, she led  
The way, I after went with bowing head,  
And musing much thereat, mark what I say,  
My bed, me thought I saw, wherein I lay,  
When first espoused I was to Rufe Cryspine:  
And he me thought, with first son of his line,  
With many following them, against me fast  
Did come, and me to cléepe did swift his haste,  
And as he wouted was, he kiss me oft.  
Then rushed into my house, with pace not soft  
Amazed Nero sore, in Crispines' breast  
That hid his falchion keen: fear shaked of rest  
From me: I trembling stood with quivering fear,  
And breast dismayed to speak made me forbear.  
Till now O nurse I met with thee, whose trust,  
And faith into these words have made me burst.  
Alas what threateneth me each grisly spirit?  
What means of husband's blood that doleful sight?  Nutrix. 
The hidden sacred vain that moveth swift,  
Which fantasy we call by secret drift,  
When we do take our rest, doth show again,  
The things both good and bad that broil in brain.  
You marvel that you saw your make, and bower,  
His ghostly funeral stacks, at that same hour,  
Round clasped close in arms of husband new:  
Hereto, the beaten breasts with hands moved you,  
And maidens hear, on marriage day displayed:  
Octavia's friends with heavy hearts, bewrayed,  
Amids her brother's booth, and father's hall  
Their heavy cheer, for her unlucky fall.  
That dreadful blazing flame of fire foreborne  
In Agryppinas hands, your grace before,  
Which you did follow straight, declares renown  
To you, though envy strive to keep it down:  
The seat you saw beneath, doth promise you  
Your state to stand full sure, not changing new:  
That Nero prince in Crispin's throat did hide  
His sword, it tells that he in peace shall bide,  
Unknowen to bloody ruthful war for aye.  
Therefore, madame, pluck up your heart, I pray:  
receive both mirth, and glee, cast fear aside,  
With joy, and ease you may in bower abide.  Pop. 
To temples hie, where mighty Gods do dwell,  
I will repair, and offerings to them fell  
In humble wise, their heavy wrath t'appease,  
And me of mighty sight, and dreams to ease,  
My second with shall be, that this fear all,  
Upon my foes as sudden chance may fall.  
O nurse, pray thou for me, some vows do make  
Toth' Gods, that ghostly fear his flight may take.   

The second Scene of the fourth Act.  Chorus. 
IF stealth disclosed by blabbing fame,  
And lusty, pleasant, thankful love,  
Of jove be true: who fou●●ne did frame  
Of Swan, to come from skies above,  
And did enjoy the sweet consent,  
Of Lady Leda's loves delight:  
Who like a Bull his labour spent,  
Through flowing floods to carry quite.  
Europa slily stolen away:  
He will no doubt, leave reign of sky  
And Poppies love disguised, assay.  
If he her sovereign beauty spy.  
Which he might well prefer before  
Fair Leda's sugared sweet delight:  
And Danaë whom he won of yore  
Amazed with golden shower so bright:  
Let Sparte now for Helen's sake  
Of beauty, bragging fame upraise:  
Admit the Trojan herdman make  
Of gained spoil triumphant praise:  
Fair Helen here is stained quite:  
Whose beauty bred such boiling ire,  
That earth was matched even in sight  
With Trojan towers consumed with fire.  
But who is this that runs with fear oppressed?  
Or else what news brings he in panting breast?   

The third Scene of the fourth Act.  Nuntius. Chorus. 
WHat sturdy champion stout doth joy with glee  
Our chieftains royal bower safe to see,  
Then to his court, I counsel him to wend,  
'Gainst which the populus rout their force doth bend.  
The rulers run amazed to fetch the guard,  
And armed troops of men, their town to ward.  
Nor woodness rashly caught through fear, doth cease,  
But more and more, their power doth increase.  Cho. 
What sudden rage doth beat their broiling brain?  Nunt. 
The garrisons great with fury astoned again,  
And stirred up for Queen Octavia's sake  
With monstrous mischief vile, their rage to slake,  
They rumbling rush into the Palace far.  Chor. 
What dare they do, their counsellors who are?  Nunt. 
Advance their Empress old, subvert the new:  
And grant her, brothers beds, as is her due.  Chor. 
Which Poppy now, with hole consent doth hold?  Nunt. 
Yea that unbridled rage in breast uprold,  
Sets them agog, and makes them wondrous wood.  
What ever image graven in marble stood,  
If Poppies badge it bore, or if in sight,  
It tended for to show her beauty bright,  
Though it on heavenly altars brave did stand,  
They break, or pull it down, with sword or hand.  
Some parts with ropes sure tide, they trail them forth,  
Which spurned with dirty feet, as though nought worth  
With filthy stinking mire, they it all bewray.  
And with their deeds their talk doth jump agree,  
Which mine amazed mind, thinks true to be.  
For fiery flames they threat for to prepare,  
Wherewith to waste, the prince's Palace fair,  
Unless, unto their furious mood he give  
His second wife, and with Octavia live,  
But he by me shall know in what hard stay  
The City stands: the rulers I'll obey.  Chor. 
Alack, what made you cruel wars, in vain  
To move, sith prisoner love you can not gain?  
You can not him overcome, your fiery flame  
He recketh not: his sirs overcomes the same.  
He darkened hath those thundering things that shake  
Heaven, Earth, Hell, Sea, all things that makes to quake.  
Yea mighty jove, in heaven that wears chief crown  
His flames from welkin high hath brought adown.  
And you, not victors now, but vanquished,  
Shall ransom pay, the price of heart's blood red.  
Love, patient can not be, but hot in rage,  
No easy thing it is, his wrath t'assuageassuage.  
Achilles' worthy wight, that was so stout,  
To twang the Harp he made in Lady's rout,  
Prince Agamemnon stern that boy benumbed,  
And rabble rude of Greeks with love brands burnt.  
King Priam's reign he topsy turuis tossed,  
And goodly Cities great he chief lost.  
And now my mind sore frighted stands aghast,  
What Cupid's furious force brings us at last,   

The fourth Scene of the fourth Act.  Nero. 
AH, ah, our captains slow dispatching coil,  
And our long suffering ire in such a broil,  
That streams of blood yet do not quench their rage  
Which they against our proper person wage.  
And that all Rome, with corpses strewed about,  
Those cruel villains blood, doth not sweat out.  
But deeds already done, with death to pay  
A small thing 'tis, a greater slaughterous day  
The people's cursed crime, and eke that dame,  
Whom I did aye suspect, deserves the same.  
To whom, to yield those peasants would me make:  
At last she shall, with life our sorrow slake,  
And with her body's blood shall quench our ire.  
Then, shall their houses fall by force of fire:  
What burning both, and buildings fair decay,  
What beggarly want, and wailing hunger may,  
Those villains shall be sure, to have each day.  
Ah Provender pricks that vile rebellious race,  
Ne can they once our favour well embrace,  
Nor be content, with peace in quiet state,  
But broiling raumpe about with troubled gate.  
Hereon with boldness strait hereon they fly,  
With harebrained rashness headlong by and by.  
Well, they must tamed be with heavy stroke,  
And down be kept with poise of weighty yoke:  
That they, with like attempt, do not arise,  
Nor once cast up their deadly peasant's eyes,  
Against our loving spouses golden looks:  
First punish them sure, than fear shall be their books,  
To teach them, at their Prince's beck t'obeyobey.  
But see at hand, whom faith, and virtue rare,  
Lieutenant chief of camps, appointed there.   

The fift Scene of the fourth Act.  Praefectus. Nero. 
THe vulgar people's rash unruly rage,  
The slaughter of a few did soon assuage,  
Which long withstood our valiant force in vain,  
To tell your grace this news, I come again.  Nero. 
And is this then enough, dost thou so well,  
O soldier mark what doth thy captain tell?  
Hast thou with held thy hand from bloody ire?  
Is this the due revenge that we require?  Prae. 
The captain guides of treason paid their hire,  
By desperate death of bloody sword in fight.  
The rout which sought with flaming fire to light,  
Our royal Palace great, who would assign  
Their Prince what he should do: and pull in fine  
Our mate from us dissolving wedlock bands:  
Whose hardy slanderous tongues, & wicked hands,  
Her princely grace reproachfully withstands,  
From due revenge, are they dysmissed free?  Praef. 
Shall subjects pain, by grief assigned be?  Ner. 
It shall assign which time shall never wear.  
Which neither wrath may end, nor yet our fear?  
She shall appease our high displeased mind,  
Who first, our wrath deserved due to find.  Praef. 
Declare whose death your mood doth most require  
Let not my hand be stayed from your desire.  Ner. 
It seeks our sister's death, and traitorous head.  Praef. 
Those words through all my limbs, hath stiffness spread,  
Oppressed with grisly fear:  Ner. 
Us to obey  
Stands thou in doubt?  Praef. 
On faith why do you lay  
So great a fault?  Ner. 
Because thou sparedst our foe.  Praef. 
Deserves a woman to be termed so?  Ner. 
If treason she begin.  Praef. 
Is any man  
So sure, that her accuse of treason can?  Ner. 
The people's rage:  Praef. 
Those mad unwieldy wights  
Who order could?  Ner. 
Who could stir up their spirits?  Praef. 
No creature as I think.  Ner. 
A woman could,  
In whom a mind Dame nature hath upfould,  
To mischief prone: she armed hath her heart,  
To hurt by miles: yet strength she set a part,  
Lest she undaunted force with her should bear:  
But now her slender power with doubting fear,  
Is quickly quailed, or else with punishment,  
Which her condemned state to mischief bend,  
To late doth end: away with grave advise,  
Us with entreating seek not to entice.  
Dispatch that we command on shipboard borne,  
far off to shore aloof with dashing worn,  
Command she be: that tunlike swelling breast  
At length in storming stomach may take rest.   

The sixth Scene of the fourth Act.  Chorus. Octavia. 
A Lack the people's bitter love,  
And dire good will to many one,  
Which, when they hoisted sails above,  
With pleasant blasts it made to groan,  
And carried them far from quiet shore,  
That fainting, leaves them in the deep,  
And tumbling, raging waters roar.  
Cornelia piteous wretch, did weep,  
And sore bewail her sons estate:  
The people's love did undo them,  
And wondrous favour, bred them hate:  
Great worthy peers of noble stem:  
Of high renown for virtues praise:  
In faith and eloquence both did pass  
Their stomachs stout their fame did raise:  
Ith' laws each one most excellent was.  
And Scipio, thee did fortune yield  
Unto like death, and cursed wrack,  
Whom neither honour's pomp could shield,  
Nor fenced house thy foes keep back.  
More to repeat, although I could,  
Pure present grief forbiddeth sore:  
Ere while to whom the people would,  
Her Father's antic court restore,  
And Brother's wedlock once again,  
Now weeping, wring hands poor wretch,  
Unto her cruel, deadly pain,  
The armed soldiers do her fetch.  
How safe doth poverty lie content,  
In thatched house safe shrouded there?  
High raised towers with blasts are bend,  
Which often times them over bear.  Oct. 
Where pull you me poor wretch? alas,  
Into what banished exiles place,  
Would Nero have me for to pass,  
Or fortune bids, with frowning face?  
If now with fainting strength quite cooled,  
And with my broils all wearied cease,  
And longer life she grant me would,  
If that she work for to increase,  
My sorrows great with deadly dart,  
Why is she then so much my foe,  
In country that I may not part,  
And leave my life before I go?  
But now no help of health I feel,  
Alas I see my Brother's boat:  
This is the same, whose vaulted keel,  
His Mother once did set a float.  
And now his piteous Sister I,  
Excluded clean from spousal place,  
Shall be so carried by and by:  
No force hath virtue in this case,  
No Gods there be my woes to wreck.  
The grisly, dreadful drab Erin,  
Doth wield the world at nod and beck,  
Who can lament my state, wherein  
I am, alas, sufficiently?  
How can Aëdon duly plain,  
My smarting streams of tears that I  
Do shed? whose wings I would be feign,  
If destinies would them grant, to wear.  
Then would I leave my mourning mates,  
As swiftly fled, as wings could bear,  
And so avoid these bloody pates.  
Then sitting sole in shirwood shirle,  
And hanging sure, by dandling twig  
With plaintive pipe I might out twirl  
My heavy tuned note so big.  Chor. 
The mortal brood the destiny's guide:  
Themselves they nothing can assure,  
That certainly doth steadfast bide:  
Which our last day of life, procure,  
(Whereof we always should beware,)  
Much dangerous chances for to try:  
Unto your troubled mind with care,  
Now many samples do apply,  
Which your accursed court hath brought,  
To bolden you in all your broil:  
For what hath more your troubles wrought,  
What doth against you sorer toil,  
Than fortune doth? thee first of all,  
Agrippa's child brought forth to life,  
Whom we Tiberius' daughter call,  
By law, and eke Prince Caesar's wife,  
Of many sons a careful dame,  
I cannot choose but now recount,  
Whose worthy, glorious, ample name,  
Throughout the world doth much surmount.  
So oft with belly bollen that bare  
Desired fruits, and pieces pledge,  
Ere long thou suffered'st exiles care,  
Stripes, chains, and bolts of iron wedge,  
And mourning much, which so did frame,  
That death they caused thee to abide.  
So Livia, Drusus lucky dame  
In male kind babes, did headlong slide,  
Into a cruel monstrous deed,  
And death sore piercing deadly dart.  
Her Mother's fates doth julia speed,  
To follow straight with all her heart,  
Who after longer wasted time  
With bloody falchion keen, was slain,  
Although for no just cause, or crime.  
Your Mother eke that once did reign,  
Who then esteemed of Claudius well,  
Did wisely wield his court at will,  
And fruitful was, as you can tell,  
What could not her desire fulfil?  
She sometime subject to her slave,  
To death was put with soldiers blade.  
What she, that casly hope might have,  
Toth' skies, her reign to rise have made,  
Prince Nero's lusty parent great?  
First tossed with shipman's boisterous force,  
Then torn with sword in Prince's heat,  
Did she not lie a senseless corpse?  Oct. 
Lo me the tyrant stern will send  
To irksome shades, and hellish spirits.  
Why wretch do I the time thus spend?  
Draw me to death you to whose mights,  
False fortune hath bequeathed me.  
I witness now the heavenly power.  
What dost thou bedlam? leave to flee,  
With prayer to Gods, who on thee lower.  
I call to witness Tartar deep,  
And spirits of Hell revenging freaks  
Of heinous facts, in dungeon steep,  
And Sire whom death deserved wreaks.  
I do not now repine to die,  
Deck up your ship, and hoist your sail,  
On frothing seas to winds on high:  
Let him that guides the helm not fail,  
To seek the shore of Pharian land.  Cho. 
O pippling puff of western wind,  
Which sacrifice didst once withstand,  
Of Iphigeneia to death assigned:  
And close in cloud congealed clad,  
Did carry her from smoking ears,  
Which angry, cruel virgin had:  
This prince also oppressed with cares,  
Save from this painful punishment,  
To Diane's temple safely borne:  
The barbarous moor to rudeness bend,  
Then Princes courts in Rome forlorn,  
Have far more civil courtesy:  
For there doth stranger's death appease  
The angry Gods in heavens on high,  
But Roman blood, our Rome must please  
FINIS.    

¶ Imprinted at London, by Henry Denham, dwelling in Pater noster row, at the sign of the Star.   

¶ Faults escaped.  
In C. ij. page. 2. line. 32. for soon read some, and in the same line, for doth read do  
In the last leaf of C. page. 2. line. 15. for thy read her  
In D. i. page. 2. line. 10. for Into read Unto  
In E. j page. 2. line. 8. for wisely read wise  
In G. j page. 2. line. 1. for things read thumps  
In G. ij. page. 2. line. 11. for Which read Praef. Which  
In the next line of the same page, for She read Ner. She