SENECA

He sometime trained was in better studies, And had a Childhood promised other Hope's; High Fortune's, Like strong wines, do try their vessels. Was not the Raze, and Theater big enough, To have enclosed thy follies here at home? Oh could not Room, and Italy contain Thy shame? but thou must cross the Seas to show it? They strove with Kings; and kinglike adversaries. Were even in their Enemies made happy; The Macedonian Courage tried of old, And the new greatness of the Syrian power: But he for Philip, and Antiochus, Hath found more easy enemies to deal with, Turpuus, Pammenes, and a rout of Fiddlers. I saw't, but turned away my Eyes, and Ears, Angry, they should be privy to such sights. Why do I stand relating of the story, Which in the doing had enough to grieve me? Tell on, and end the tale, you, whom it pleases; Me mine own sorrow stops from further speaking. Nero, my love does make thy fault, and my grief greater. ex. See. Petroneus, you were at the Theater. Nay even end here, for I have herd enough, I have a Fiddler herd him, let me not See him a Player, nor the fearful voice Of Rome's great Monarch, now command in Jest Our Prince be Aegamemnon in a Play. Fire, where? Wast chance, or purpose? What can Heaven now unto our sufferings add. Heaven, hast thou set this end, to Roman greatness? Were the world's spoils, for this, to Room divided, To make but our fires bigger? You Gods, whose anger made us great, grant yet Some change in misery; We beg not now, To have our Consul tread on Asian Kings, Or spurn the quiuerd Susam at their feet; This, we have had before; we beg to live, At least not thus to die; Let Cannos come, Let Allius waters turn again to blood. To these will any Misery's be light. Oh Room, the envy late, But now, the pity of the world thee gets, The men of Choleos at thy sufferings grieve, The shaggy dweller in the Scythian Rocks; The most condemned to perpetual snow That never wept at kindreds burials, Suffers with thee, and feels his heart to soften. Oh, should the Parthyan hear these Misery's, He would, (his low and native hate apart) Fit down with us. and lend and Enemies tear, To grace the funeral fires of ending Room. Exeunt. I, now my Troy looks beauteous in her flames, The Trirhnen Seas are bright with Roman fires, Whilst the amazed Mariner a far, Gazing on th'vnknowne light, wonders what star Heaven hath begotten, to ease the aged Moon. When Pyrrhus, stryding over the cinders, stood On ground, where Troy late was; and with his Eye Measured the height of what he had thrown down, A City, great in people, and in power: Walls built with hands of Gods; He now forgive The ten years length, and thinks his wounds well healed, Bathed in the blood of Priam's fifty sons. Yet am not I appeased, I must see more Then Towers, and Collomns tumble to the ground; 'Twas not the high built walls, and guiltless stones That Nero did provoke; Themselves must be the wood To feed this fire, or quench it with their blood. What means your mourning, this ungrateful sorrow? Where are your precepts of Philosophy? Where our prepared resolution, So many years fore-studied against danger? To whom is Nero;s cruelty unknown? Or what remained after mother's blood, But his instructers death? Leave, leave these tears, Death from me nothing takes, but what's a burden, A clog, to that free spark of Heavenly fire: But that in Seneca, the which you loved, Which you admired, does, and shall still remain Secure of death, untouched of the graven. Be not afraid my soul, go cheerfully, To thy own Heaven, from whence it first let down, Thou loath by this imprisoning flesh puttest on, Now lifted up, thou ravished shalt behold The truth of things, at which we wonder here, And foolishly do wrangle on beneath; And Like a God shalt walk the spacious air, And see what even to conceit's denied. Great soul oth' world, that through the parts defused Of this vast All, guidest what thou dost inform; You blessed minds, that from the Pbeares you move, Look on men's actions not with idle eyes; And Gods we go to, Aaid me in this strife, And combat of my flesh, that ending, I May still show Seneca, and my self die.