Yong. The Gods forbid my Prince should pitie need.
Somewhat the sad remembrance did me stirre
Oth' fraile and weake condition of our kind,
Somewhat his greatnesse; then whom yesterday
The world but Caesar could shew nothing higher.
Besides, some vertues and some worth he had,
That might excuse my pitie to an end
So cruell and unripe.
Poppaea. I know not how this stranger moves my mind. (Aside.)
His face me thinkes is not like other mens,
Nor do they speake thus. Oh, his words invade
My weakned senses and overcome my heart.
Nero. Your pitie shewes your favour and your will,
Which side you are inclinde too, had you[79] power:
You can but pitie, else should Caesar feare.
Your ill affection then shall punisht bee.
Take him to execution; he shall die
That the death pities of mine enemie.
Yong. This benefit at least
Sad death shall give, to free me from the power
Of such a government; and if I die
For pitying humane chance and Pisoes end
There will be some too that will pitie mine.
Poppaea. O what a dauntlesse looke, what sparkling eyes, (aside.) Threating in suffering! sure some noble blood Is hid in ragges; feares argues a base spirit; In him what courage and contempt of death! And shall I suffer one I love to die? He shall not die.—Hands of this man! Away! Nero, thou shalt not kill this guiltlesse man.
Nero. He guiltlesse? Strumpet!
(Spurns her, and Poppaea falls.)
She is in love with the smooth face of the boy.
Neoph. Alas, my Lord, you have slaine her.
Epaphr. Helpe, she dies.