_Nero_. This kisse, sweete love Ile force from thee, and this; And of such spoiles and victories be prowder Than if I had the fierce _Pannonian_ Or gray-eyed _German_ ten times overcome. Let _Iulius_ goe and fight at end oth' world And conquer from the wilde inhabitants Their cold and poverty, whilst _Nero_ here Makes other warres, warres where the conquerd gaines, Where to orecome is to be prisoner. O willingly I give my freedome up And put on my owne chaines, And am in love with my captivitie. Such _Venus_ is when on the sandy shore Of _Xanthus_ or on _Idas_ pleasant greene She leades the dance; her the Nymphes all a-rowe[64] And smyling graces do accompany. If _Bacchus_ could his stragling Mynion Grace with a glorious wreath of shining Starres, Why should not Heaven my _Poppaea_ Crowne? The Northerne teeme shall move into a round, New constellations rise to honour thee; The earth shall wooe thy favours and the Sea Lay his rich shells and treasure at thy feete. For thee _Hidaspis_ shall throw up his gold, _Panchaia_ breath the rich delightful smells; The _Seres_ and the feather'd man of _Inde_ Shall their fine arts and curious labours bring; And where the Sunn's not knowne _Poppaeas_ name Shall midst their feasts and barbarous pompe be sung. _Poppea_. I, now I am worthy to be Queene oth' world, Fairer then _Venus_ or the _Bacchus_ love; But you'le anon unto your cutt-boy[65] _Sporus_, Your new made woman; to whom now, I heare, You are wedded too. _Nero_. I wedded? _Poppaea_. I, you wedded. Did you not heare the words oth' _Auspyces_? Was not the boy in bride-like garments drest? Marriage bookes seald as 'twere for yssue to Be had betweene you? solemne feasts prepar'd, While all the Court with _God-give-you-Ioy_ sounds? It had bin good _Domitius_ your Father Had nere had other wife. _Nero_. Your froward, foole; y'are still so bitter. Whose that? _Enter Milichus to them_. _Nimph_. One that it seemes, my Lord, doth come in hast. _Nero_. Yet in his face he sends his tale before him. Bad newes thou tellest? _Mili_. 'Tis bad I tell, but good that I can tell it Therefore your Maiestie will pardon me If I offend your eares to save your life. _Nero_. Why? is my life indangerd? How ends the circumstance? thou wrackst my thoughts. _Mili_. My Lord, your life is conspir'd against. _Nero_. By whom? _Mili_. I must be of the world excus'd in this, If the great dutie to your Maiestie, Makes me all other lesser to neglect. _Nero_. Th'art a tedious fellow. Speake: by whom? _Mili_. By my Master. _Nero_. Who's thy Master? _Mili_. _Scevinus_. _Poppea_. _Scevinus_? why should he conspire?-- Unlesse he thinke that likenesse in conditions May make him, too, worthy oth' Empire thought. _Nero_. Who are else in it? [_Mili_]. I thinke _Natalis, Subrius, Flavus_,[66] _Lucan, Seneca, and Lucius Piso, Asper_ and _Quintilianus_.