_Luc._ (_aside_). ’Tis nothing.—— (_To Fan._). I thank thee. Take this answer to the message, ‘I bid him, by the love we hold in common, Join the conspiracy.’ _Fan._ Judge, my dear cousin, By them that hold aloof how ill ’tis plotted. _Luc._ Then rather win the hearts that hold aloof, Than tamper with the movers. _Fan._ Sir, my husband.... _Luc._ Thou hast the fairest star in heaven to guide thee. _Fan._ Let him guide thee. _Luc._ I must not hear thee, cousin. Write down my name ’mong the tyrannicides. 1450 I know I have thy prayers; and to say truth, I need them: ’tis an anxious time: indeed While we talk here, a secret messenger Awaits me: the suspense distracts me. Excuse me!... Farewell!... I must.... _Fan._ Ah, Lucan, Lucan! _Luc._ Give My loving thanks to Priscus. _Fan._ Alas! Farewell. May the gods aid thee! [_Exit._ _Luc._ In sleep or action is my mind at ease: Betwixt the two, each moment is a world Of scared imaginations. Better suffer One worst at once, than all the thousand tortures The making mind invents. Who is this woman, That I should dread her message with more fear Than I would grant to death? _Enter Epicharis._ Come in! Ah, lady, I fear there’s something ill? Com’st thou from ... say, bringst thou a secret message? What is’t? Ay, sit and speak. _EPICHARIS_ (_sitting_). Art thou the poet Lucan? _Luc._ I am. _Ep._ ’Tis well. I bring this book. (_Giving._) _Luc._ Ha! a passport: from whose hand? _Ep._ A courtier gave it to me in lieu of money. _Luc._ (_aside_). The copy I gave to Quintian.—— Was it Quintian? _Ep._ No, sir. Ask not his name. _Luc._ Tell me thy message; Or if this book is all, what is thy price? _Ep._ Sir, I was told this book, if given to Nero, Would be thy death. ’Tis writ by thee? 1475 _Luc._ It is. _Ep._ Then thou dost hate him. _Luc._ (_aside_). What should this lead to?—— Thy manner frights me, lady, not thy matter. Who art thou, pale and breathless as the grave, That comest thus? _Ep._ My name is Epicharis. Three days ago, sir, when this book was given me, I thought to bring it back to thee, from whom No doubt ’twas stolen, and win gold for my silence. To-day I ask not money; but much more I’ll ask, if by this chance I have found in Rome The man to avenge me. _Luc._ Avenge thee? What is thy wrong? Tremble not so.