OTHO. I dread to leave you in your loveliness.
POPPAEA. Then I'll not go with you.
OTHO. You will not—Why?
POPPAEA. Because you will not trust me. Show to me
That you can trust me, Otho; and what joy,
What satisfaction can you have to drag
Your wife behind you, from dull jealousy
Because you do not dare leave her behind
For fear—I'll not be such a wife.
OTHO. Poppaea,
No more I'll ask you to depart with me,
I'll go alone: but this remember still—
Gay have I been, a spendthrift and an idler,
A brilliant fly that buzzed about the bloom.
But I had that in me deep down, and still,
Of which you, you alone, possess the key,
A sullen nobleness to you disclosed
E'en then with shame: and by no other guessed.
This you well know: betray not that at least;
For even the lightest woman here is scared,
And dreads to dabble deeper in the soul.
We have no children.
POPPAEA. [Coming to him and putting up her face.]
Am I not child enough
Who should be woman? You shall kiss these lips
Once ere you go—so close they are to you.
OTHO. The gods laugh out at me—but I must kiss you.
POPPAEA. Can I not help your preparation?
OTHO. No.
I shall not go with pomp; but as a soldier.
POPPAEA. I think you are still angry?