_Agr._ Then hear me, child. Whether thou join or not, Whether thou wilt be Cæsar, or refusest, 1450 Thou shalt be Cæsar. If thou wilt not plot, It shall be plotted for thee: in my hands I hold thy life, and guard it but for this, To make thee Cæsar. Ay, and if thou shrinkest When the day comes, I’ll have a doll made like thee; My men shall carry it about, and style it Britannicus, and shout to it as to Cæsar. I say thou shalt be Cæsar, think it o’er. Dare not refuse me: ’tis not yet too late; To-morrow I will speak with thee again. 1460 Now to thy better thought. [_Exit._ _Br._ O murderess! And for this last turn must I thank my folly, That partly trusted her. Now would to heaven, If live I must, that I might change my lot With any man soe’er, though he be chosen And picked for misery. Surely there’s none In all the empire can show cause to stand And weigh his woe with mine. Find me the man, If such there be, that hath an only sister ’Spoused to a murderer and adulterer, 1470 Who hates her virtue, since it shames pretext To cast her off: or, if such man be found, Hath he for mother one that slew his father, And threats him with like death? or if all this Be matched in one, hath he no remedy? Is his speech treason? Is his silence treason? Is he quite friendless, helpless? Forbidden to budge a foot from the dread focus Of crime and anguish? ’Mongst his lesser wrongs Hath he this brag, that he hath been robbed, as I, Of the empire of the world? O happy hinds, 1481 Who toil under clear skies, and for complaint Discuss long hours, low wages, meagre food, Hard beds and scanty covering: ye who trail A pike in German swamps, or shield your heads On Asian sands, I’d welcome all your griefs So I might taste the common nameless joys Which ye light-heartedly so lightly prize, And know not what a text for happiness Lies in a thoughtless laugh: what long, impassable, Unmeasured gulfs of joy sunder it off 1491 From my heart-stifling woe. _Enter Octavia._ Thou art welcome, sister. _OCTAVIA._ Brother, a request you must grant. _Br._ Anything, Dearest, to thee. _Oct._ Sup not to-night with Cæsar. _Br._ I must. Yet what’s thy reason? Thou art moved Strangely beyond the matter. _Oct._ Read this paper. _Br._ (_reads_). _Britannicus, sup not to-day with Cæsar._ How came you by it? _Oct._ ’Tis from Fulvia, The maid that loves Seleucus; whence ’tis his.