Be dead.
Pop.Nay, ’tis no jest, for Agrippina2512
Will never love a daughter who loves thee.
Restore me to my husband. I were happier
In any place, howe’er remote from Rome,
Where thy disgrace and wrongs can but be spoken,
Not seen and felt as here. See why I go.
Ner. Poppæa, since I have never hid from thee
My quarrel with my mother, thou mayst know
It draws to end.