_Ner._ That is a trouble we can spare them, master: That were a pity.—I thank you, Tigellinus:— Take you the order for their deaths; but mind, Secretly, secretly. Here’s Seneca. _Enter Seneca._ (_Scevinus, Senecio and Quintian still stand aside._) _Tig._ (_aside_). Two of my foes wiped out; now, Mister Seneca, I take you next. _Ner._ Good Seneca, what wouldst thou? _SENECA._ Cæsar, I ask A private interview. _Ner._ ’Tis private here: This is my privy-council. _Vat._ Rome’s triumvirate. Ha, ha! we rule the world! (_Tableau._) (_Gesturing._) Come, trust thy secret In Cæsar’s ear, my lord. _Se^{o.}_ (_aside to Sce._). Let us make up To Seneca by going out. _Sen._ As Cæsar wills. _Sce._ (_to Nero_). Cæsar’s august permission! We are not stoics. _Ner._ I understand you, sir: You may withdraw. _Sce., Se^{o.} and Qu._ Our humble thanks. [_Exeunt, bowing separately to Nero and Seneca._ _Ner._ Now we are private. _Sen._ If your majesty Will lend me attention, I will put my business Shortly. _Ner._ I shall not interrupt. _Vat._ Nor I; 880 Unless I snore. (_Sits._) _Sen._ ’Tis fourteen years, Cæsar, since I was first Chosen your guide; and for eight years and more You have governed the empire not without my aid. Through all w^h time your kindness hath heaped ón me So many dignities and so much wealth, That nothing wants to my felicity Save some curtailment of it.—I can allege Precedents for my conduct: the divine Augustus, Who was your great-great-grandfather, permitted Marcus Agrippa to withdraw himself To Mitylenè and a private life: Mæcenas too he let abide in Rome, As in a foreign country, at his ease;— Whereof the one had served in all his wars, The other toiled at home; and each grown rich With presents answerable to their high deserts. As for myself, what I have done to merit Your prodigal favour,—being but a student, A teacher, a philosopher,—I say not: 900 But being enriched, it comforteth my mind ’Twas not for me to strive against your gifts. Both of us, sire, have filled our measure, you In giving all a prince should give a friend, I taking what a friend might from a prince. But now, sire, in my journey of life grown old, The business of my riches burdens me. And ’tis by envy augmented; which if you Be set above the sting of, yet ’tis known What curse to peace it is. Wherefore I pray, Let me retire. I crave your helping hand To ease me of my wealth: that I restore Whence first I had it, to yourself: receive it, I pray you, as your own. You, in your flower,