_Nero_. Malicious Rogue! when I fell willingly To show of purpose with what little hurt Might a good rider beare a forced fall. How sayest thou, _Tigellinus_? I am sure Thou hast in driving as much skill as he. _Tigell_. My Lord, you greater cunning shew'd in falling Then had you sate. _Nero_. I know I did; or[18] bruised in my fall? Hurt! I protest I felt no griefe in it. Goe, _Tigellinus_, fetch the villaines head. This makes me see his heart in other things. Fetch me his head; he nere shall speake againe. [_Ex. Tigell_. What doe we Princes differ from the durt And basenesse of the common Multitude If to the scorne of each malicious tongue We subiect are: For that I had no skill,[19] Not he that his farre famed daughter set A prise to Victoria and had bin Crown'd With thirteene Sutors deaths till he at length By fate of Gods and Servants treason fell, (Shoulder pack't[20] _Pelops_, glorying in his spoyles) Could with more skill his coupled horses guide. Even as a Barke that through the mooving Flood Her linnen wings and the forc't ayre doe beare; The Byllowes fome, she smoothly cutts them through; So past my burning Axeltree along: The people follow with their Eyes and Voyce, And now the wind doth see it selfe outrun And the Clouds wonder to be left behind, Whilst the void ayre is fild with shoutes and noyse, And _Neroes_ name doth beate the brazen Skie; _Jupiter_ envying loath doth heare my praise. Then their greene bowes and Crownes of Olive wreaths, The Conquerors praise, they give me as my due. And yet this Rogue sayth No, we have no skill. _Enter a servant to them_. _Servant_. My Lord, the Stage and all the furniture-- _Nero_. I have no skill to drive a Chariot! Had he but robde me, broke my treasurie: The red-Sea's mine, mine are the _Indian_ stones, The Worlds mine owne; then cannot I be robde? But spightfully to undermine my fame, To take away my arte! he would my life As well, no doubt, could he tould (tell?) how. _Enter Tigellinus_ with _Proculus head_. _Neoph_. My Lord, _Tigellinus_ is backe come with _Proculus head_. (_Strikes him_.) _Nero_. O cry thee mercie, good _Neophilus_; Give him five hundred sesterces for amends. Hast brought him, Tigellinus? _Tigell_. Heres his head, my Lord. _Nero_. His tongue had bin enough. _Tigell_. I did as you commanded me, my Lord.