Death.
All! All!
Satan.
Haste, Master of the World! One comes—One who will put thee to the sword. An emperor knows how to die!
Nero.
Die! I have scarce begun to live! Oh, what great deeds I should accomplish—deeds that should make Olympus tremble! I would fill up the bed of hoary ocean and speed across it in a triumphal car. I would still live—would see the sun once more, the Tiber, the Campagna, the Circus on the golden sands. Ah! let me live!
Death.
I will give thee a mantle for the tomb, and an eternal bed that shall be softer and more peaceful than the Imperial couch.
Nero.
Yet, I am loth to die.