_Agr._ Nay, though thou goest first, That is not much: even that I cannot save thee 801 Is sign that I am fallen ere thou could’st fall: A deeper, deadlier fall, unless indeed My wit can save me still. _Pal._ Alas, dear queen, Fear makes this parting sad. But if there’s hope, ’Tis this, to gain thy son. _Agr._ Ay, till our schemes be ripe; And even though Seneca betray me,—and that Is sure,—I fear not him. I know my son Better than he, and I shall win him yet. My plan is now to seem resigned to all: 810 I will pretend my purpose is to leave him, And fly from Rome to voluntary exile. ’Twill work upon his fear and duty both, To cut himself quite off from me, and all That goes with me. He will entreat me stay; And if I stay— _Pal._ Ay, if this storm go by, The turns of time may offer us reprisals. At present use all means to gain thy son. _Agr._ I shall. Farewell. _Pal._ Be bold. The gods protect you. Farewell. 820 _Agr._ Farewell. [_Exeunt severally._ _Enter Tigellinus and Paris._ _TIGELLINUS._ Look from the window: thou wilt see ’tis true; He takes all with him. _PARIS._ Nay, if this is all. _Tig._ This much were all: and yet this caravan Is but the least of six; His monstrous Grace Brings up the rear. _Par._ ’Tis nobly done of Cæsar. _Tig._ ’Tis noble, say you, that the thief go quit With all his plunder from the house he plundered? _Par._ Hark how the weasel can upbraid the fox! Good Tigellinus, there’s no need to grudge Pallas his scrapings; the sea is full of fish: 830 Rather thou should’st rejoice because thou seest Thy probable hap. Pray that as many mules, Litters and bags and bales, women and slaves May comfort thee. _Enter Nero with Domitia._ _NERO._ Paris, what do you here? _Par._ I comfort Tigellinus on the fate Of his predecessor. Ner._ (_at window_). Gods! see what a train _Drags out the very bowels of the palace. No wonder my good mother’s man resigns With resignation. _Tig._ Ha! ha! _Ner._ I seek the Augusta. She late was here; go find her; say I wait her. 840 [_Exeunt Tigellinus and Paris._ _DOMITIA._ Through my discovery, Nero, thy good fortune Lifts thee a corner of the veil whereunder Thy mother plots. Be not thou now deceived To further trust. She is bent upon thy ruin. _Ner._ Though it be true she urged Britannicus Even in those words, we lack the surety yet She spoke them in good faith.