_Sen._ Such questions, Cæsar, Have their fit time and place. I came to offer My wealth and counsel both; you refuse both, And let your fool mock me.—Knows he not whom Ill manners hurt, that thus he wounds his master? _Ner._ And better have no manners than be made, As thou, of manners only. Thou affectest 970 Insensibility; thy pompous maxims Of wordy wisdom thou wouldst pass for strong Because they are harsh, generous because inflated. Thy rhetoric is like a mouldy cake; I have eaten to loathing of it: I would no more. _Sen._ Look for no more. That speech delivers you. Whether my words are false and empty bubbles There’s nought to show, but ’twill appear the day When life must answer for it:—The condition, Cæsar, I accept, and do not fear the judgment. [_Bows to Nero and exit._ _Re-enter Tigellinus excitedly._ _Tig._ My house is burning, Cæsar! _Ner._ Well! if it be? By all the gods, vex me not now. _Tig._ My house! _Ner._ And what’s thy house, curse it? when half the city Was burned to the ground, wert thou not cool? why now Fume for thy house? _Tig._ Cæsar, the Vatican! _Ner._ The Vatican! _Tig._ You may see it from the windows. _Ner._ (_going to window_). Then Rome will all be burned. _Tig._ (_aside_). And by thy foes. When the wínd was in the south, they fired the south: Now it hath changed, they fire the north. _Ner._ (_returning_). ’Tis true. I can do nó móre: it must búrn. _Tig._ What, sire, 990 To tell the captains? May they use discretion To pull down? _Ner._ Bid them change the wind, man: bid them Snow from the south. Wóod must búrn; when ’tis burnt, I will rebuild in stone. Go: tell them that! Go, sir! Stay: hark! Have supper laid to-night On the palace roof, music beneath, and ladders Outside for the attendance. [_Exit Tig. and Vat._ If Rome must burn, Well, let me see it. (_Goes to window._) _Enter Poppæa._ _POPPÆA._ Ah, Nero, Nero! Rome will all be burned. Canst thou do nought? _Ner._ Nothing. Come watch it with me. What are my spectacles to this? The gods Burn at my feet the capital of the world, ’Tis done for me to look on. _Pop._ Hast thou a heart? _Ner._ There is no mischief, love, I am not a match for. Rome is a second Troy, but when Troy burned None built it up; but I will rebuild Rome: Its name shall be Neropolis. _Pop._ Vain thou art! _Ner._ Eh! wouldst thou have it Poppæapolis?