_Scevin_. Tis answerd as I lookt for, Noble Poet, Worthy the double Lawrell. Flavius, Good lucke, I see, doth vertuous meanings ayde, And therefore have the Heavens forborne their duties To grace our swords with glorious blood of Tyrants. [_Exeunt_. _Finis Actus Primi_. _Actus Secundus_. _Enter Petronius solus_. Here waites _Poppea_ her _Nimphidius_ comming And hath this garden and these walkes chose out To blesse her with more pleasures then their owne. Not only Arras hangings and silke beds[15] Are guilty of the faults we blame them for: Somewhat these arbors and you trees doe know Whil'st your kind shades you to these night sports show. Night sports? Faith, they are done in open day And the Sunne see'th and envieth their play. Hither have I Love-sicke _Antonius_ brought And thrust him on occasion so long sought; Shewed him the Empresse in a thicket by, Her loves approach waiting with greedie Eye; And told him, if he ever meant to prove The doubtfull issue of his hopelesse Love, This is the place and time wherein to try it; Women will heere the suite that will deny it. The suit's not hard that she comes for to take; Who (hot in lust of men) doth difference make? At last loath, willing, to her did he pace: Arme him, _Priapus_, with thy powerfull Mace. But see, they comming are; how they agree Heere will I harken; shroud me, gentle tree. _Enter Poppea and Antonius_. _Anton_. Seeke not to grieve that heart which is thine owne. In Loves sweete fires let heat of rage burne out; These brows could never yet to wrinkle learne, Nor anger out of such faire eyes look forth. _Poppea_. You may solicit your presumptious suites; You duety may, and shame too, lay aside; Disturbe my privacie, and I forsooth Must be afeard even to be angry at you! _Anton_. What shame is't to be mastred by such beautie? Who but to serve you comes, how wants he dutie? Or, if it be a shame, the shame is yours; The fault is onely in your Eies, they drew me: Cause you were lovely therefore did I love. O, if to Love you anger you so much, You should not have such cheekes nor lips to touch, You should not have your snow nor currall spy'd;-- If you but looke on us in vaine you chide. We must not see your face, nor heare your speech; Now, whilst you Love forbid, you Love do teach. _Petron_. He doth better than I thought he would. _Poppea_. I will not learne my beauties worth of you; I know you neither are the first nor greatest Whom it hath mov'd: He whom the World obayes Is fear'd with anger of my threatening eyes. It is for you afarre off to adore it, And not to reach at it with sawsie hands: Feare is the Love that's due to God and Princes. _Petron_. All this is but to edge his appetite.