1 _Rom_. Whether _Augustus_ Triumph greater was I cannot tell; his Triumphs cause, I know, Was greater farre and farre more Honourable. What are wee People, or our flattering voyces That always shame and foolish things applaud, Having no sparke of Soule? All eares and eyes, Pleased with vaine showes, deluded by our sences, Still enemies to wisedome and to goodnesse. [_Exit_. (SCENE 3.) Enter _Nero, Poppea, Nimphidius, Epaphroditus, Neophilus_ and others. _Nero_. Now, fayre _Poppea_, see thy Nero shine In bright _Achaias_ spoyles and Rome in him. The _Capitall_ hath other Trophies seene Then it was wont; not spoyles with blood bedew'd Or the unhappy obsequies of Death, But such as _Caesars_ cunning, not his force, Hath wrung from _Greece_ too bragging of her art. _Tigell_. And in this strife the glories all your owne, Your tribunes cannot share this prayse with you; Here your _Centurions_ hath no part at all, Bootless your Armies and your Eagles were; No Navies helpt to bring away this conquest. _Nimph_. Even Fortunes selfe, Fortune the Queene of Kingdomes, That Warrs grim valour graceth with her deeds, Will claime no portion in this Victorie. _Nero_. Not _Bacchus_[7] drawn from Nisa downe with Tigers, Curbing with viny rains their wilful heads Whilst some doe gape upon his Ivy Thirse, Some on the dangling grapes that crowne his head, All praise his beautie and continuing youth; So strooke amased India with wonder As _Neroes_ glories did the Greekish townes, _Elis_ and _Pisa_ and the rich _Micenae, Junonian Argos_ and yet _Corinth_ proud Of her two Seas; all which ore-come did yeeld To me their praise and prises of their games. _Poppea_. Yet in your _Greekish_ iourney, we do heare, _Sparta_ and _Athens_, the two eyes of _Greece_, Neither beheld your person or your skill; Whether because they did afford no games Or for their too much gravitie. _Nero_. Why, what Should I have seene in them? but in the one Hunger, black pottage and men hot to die Thereby to rid themselves of misery: And what in th'other? but short Capes, long Beards; Much wrangling in things needlesse to be knowne, Wisedome in words and onely austere faces. I will not be Aieceleaus nor Solon. Nero was there where he might honour win; And honour hath he wonn and brought from _Greece_ Those spoyles which never Roman could obtaine, Spoyles won by witt and _Tropheis_ of his skill. _Nimph_. What a thing he makes it to be a Minstrill! _Poppea_. I prayse your witt, my Lord, that choose such safe Honors, safe spoyles, won without dust or blood. _Nero_. What, mock ye me, _Poppea_?