Hush! walls have ears. _Sce._ When the gods favour a man, They set his mind at ease: he disregards Your fearful chances. Think you, Quintian, ’Tis the April air intoxicates me so, And floats my head with birdlike confidence? Is it the April morning air? Ah, no; ’Tis the air of the eve of liberty.—Is that Not poetry, good fellow? _Qu._ Well, they say Occasion makes a poet of any man. _Sce._ It pleases me to walk about the palace, And count the columns: with my eye I measure The carven friezes and gold roofs, and say All this is thine, Scevinus: stretch but forth Thy hand and take it from its master: give it Back to the world. These busts, Hellenic statues, All these are thine, Scevinus! Let us go 1975 To the western court, where we may gaze on Rome. _Qu._ Ay, if you will. _Sce._ All this is thine, Scevinus! Open the door! _Qu._ ’Tis closed. _Sce._ (_trying it_). Shut fast! ’Tis strange. I never knew this door shut up before. _Qu._ We can go back the same way we came in, And round by the north corridor. _Sce._ We will. (_Going hurriedly back to first door._) By God, ’tis closed too: fast. We are locked in. _Qu._ What can it mean? _Sce._ (_going again to the second door_). They both are fast. _Qu._ I hear Footsteps without. _Sce._ Here, here! my dagger: take it. _Qu._ Nay, curse thee, I’ll not have it. _Sce._ They will search me. _Qu._ Throw it out of the window. _Sce._ (_throwing_). So! _Qu._ They are coming. _Sce._ By God, Quintian, I forgot. It was the dagger That should have pierced my heart, if I was taken. _Qu._ Brave it out. I know nothing. _Re-enter Nero and Tigellinus preceded by Guards_ (L.). _Ner._ Ha! Quintian too, my feathery Quintian. (_To Tig._) What of him, master? _Tig._ (_to Ner._). Send him out. _Ner._ Begone, sir: And thank thy littleness. _Qu._ I am Cæsar’s slave. [_Exit._ _Ner._ Now, sir, we have thee; we know all: go down, Fall on thy knees. (_Sce. kneels._) Confess, and tell me first Why in the temple of Capitoline Jove Thou didst present and dedicate a sword. _Tig._ This sword, sir, sharpened too, and tempered freshly. _Sce._ Most mighty Cæsar, I know not on oath Why I am treated thus. What of this sword? _Ner._ Is it not thine? _Sce._ Pray let me see it near. 2000 _Tig._ I’d like to put it, sir, where thou couldst feel More than thou saw’st of it. Dost see it now? _Sce._ ’Tis mine. O sacred heirloom of my house, Left to my father by my grandfather....