MINUTIUS.
One day, he’s well; and will return to Rome;
The next day, sick; and knows not when to hope it.
LACO.
True; and to-day, one of Sejanus’ friends
Honour’d by special writ; and on the morrow
Another punish’d—
POMPONIUS.
By more special writ.
MINUTIUS.
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.
LACO.
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.
ARRUNTIUS.
Good Heliotrope! Is this your honest man?
Let him be yours so still; he is my knave.
POMPONIUS.
I cannot tell, Sejanus still goes on,
And mounts, we see; new statues are advanced,
Fresh leaves of titles, large inscriptions read,
His fortune sworn by, himself new gone out
Cæsar’s colleague in the fifth consulship;
More altars smoke to him than all the gods:
What would we more?
ARRUNTIUS.
That the dear smoke would choke him,
That would I more.
LEPIDUS.
Peace, good Arruntius.
LATIARIS.
But there are letters come, they say, ev’n now,
Which do forbid that last.