’Tis this, to gain thy son.
Agr.Ay, till our schemes be ripe;
And even though Seneca betray me,—and that
Is sure,—I fear not him. I know my son
Better than he, and I shall win him yet.
My plan is now to seem resigned to all:
I will pretend my purpose is to leave him,
And fly from Rome to voluntary exile.
’Twill work upon his fear and duty both,
To cut himself quite off from me, and all