NERO. Was it so, friend?
SATELLITE. Harsh and uncertain. Had it been another
Who sang, it would have ravished every ear,
But thee must I remember at thy best,
And what in others we count excellence
In thee we count a lapse, and falling off.
NERO. There's a good fellow!
SENECA. Caesar!
NERO. But a moment!
1ST SPY. [Stealing forward.] Licinius smiled, sir, at thy final note.
NERO. Nothing! an artist must bear ridicule.
Were I incensed, I were ridiculous
Myself.
1ST SPY. Shall nothing then be done?
NERO. Nothing!
2ND SPY. [Stealing forward.] Sir, Labienus, in thy second song Coughed twice.