POPPAEA. Then, Caesar, I have long
Brooded upon the music of thy verse.
It doth beset me—and, O pardon me,
If, little fool that I am, I longed to speak
But once alone with him who made it. Now,
What have I said? I will return forthwith.
NERO. O not thy beauty moves me but thy mind!
POPPAEA. I think I have some little ear for verse.
There is one line——
NERO. Yes—yes——
POPPAEA. Of burning Troy—
'O city amorous red, thou flagrant rose'——
NERO. A regal verse! But the arm extended thus
Toward doomed Ilium. Say on.
POPPAEA. My eyes
Are filled with tears.
NERO. Remove thy veil and weep.
POPPAEA. [Starting back.] For no man—save my husband—O my lord!
He is despatched to Lusitania.
NERO. Know you not why?