LIVIA.
So blessed, my Eudemus, as to know
The bliss I have, with what I ought to owe
The means that wrought it. How do I look to-day?
EUDEMUS.
Excellent clear, believe it. This same fucus
Was well laid on.
LIVIA.
Methinks ’tis here not white.
EUDEMUS.
Lend me your scarlet, lady. ’Tis the sun,
Hath giv’n some little taint unto the ceruse;
You should have used of the white oil I gave you.
Sejanus, for your love! his very name
Commandeth above Cupid or his shafts—
[Paints her cheeks.]
LIVIA.
Nay, now you’ve made it worse.
EUDEMUS.
I’ll help it straight—
And but pronounced, is a sufficient charm
Against all rumour; and of absolute power
To satisfy for any lady’s honour.
LIVIA.
What do you now, Eudemus?
EUDEMUS.
Make a light fucus,
To touch you o’er withal.—Honour’d Sejanus!
What act, though ne’er so strange and insolent,
But that addition will at least bear out,
If’t do not expiate?
LIVIA.
Here, good physician.