_Ner._ You, my friends, who know my scheme, May mete and judge my general scope in this, A sample of my temper coined and uttered 99 For the world’s model, that all men’s endeavours May rise with mine to have all things at best, Not only for myself but for the world; Riches and joy and heart’s content for all. It may be done, and who should do it but I? See now my years at best, my youth and strength With form and gifts agreeing, and my power,.... Know’st thou my power?—Oh! Otho, I tell thee The Cæsars which have been have never known What ’tis to be full Cæsar. Dost thou think? There’s nothing good on earth but may be won 110 With power and money; and I have them both; Ay, and the will. _Oth._ Much may be done, no doubt. _Ner._ Much! Why there’s nothing, man, may not be done. The curse of life is of our own devising, Born of man’s ignorance and selfishness. He wounds his happiness against a cage Of his own make, and only waits the word For one to set his door open,—and look, Having his liberty is he not glad As heaven’s birds are?—Now when fate’s ordinance Sends him a liberator, ay, and one 121 Not to cajole or preach, but, will or nill, Who’ll force him forth and crush up his old cage, With all who would hang back and skulk therein, How shall he not be happy? _Luc._ This shall be The world’s last crown, by man with utmost power Endowed to drive him to the good he shuns. _Ner._ Ay. Be all human hopes summed up in mine And reach their goal. I say there shall be peace, There shall be plenty, pleasure, and content: 130 The god on earth shall work the good whereof The folly of man hath baulked the gods in heaven: And good that men desire shall be as common As ills they now repine at. When I say There shall be justice, see, even at my word Injustice is no more. _PARIS._ The house of Rufus, Standing on justice there, will mar thy palace. _Ner._ Fool. Why, I say to Rufus—I am Cæsar, And need thy house.—Says he—It cost my sire Ten million sesterces.—A trifle that, 140 Say I, and give him twenty: and down it goes. Is not this more than justice? _Par._ Ay, ’tis power. _Ner._ Thou quibbling meddler, learn this point of wit, To keep thy sphere; answer in that: last night Sang I divinely? Wert thou envious When I put on the lion’s skin, and did The choice of Hercules? _Par._ Most mighty Cæsar, I wished that I had asses ears to hear; Mine are not long enough.