MACRO. I will not ask, why Cæsar bids do this; But joy that he bids me. It is the bliss Of courts to be employ’d, no matter how; A prince’s power makes all his actions virtue. We, whom he works by, are dumb instruments, To do, but not inquire: his great intents Are to be served, not search’d. Yet, as that bow Is most in hand, whose owner best doth know To affect his aims; so let that statesman hope Most use, most price, can hit his prince’s scope. Nor must he look at what, or whom to strike, But loose at all; each mark must be alike. Were it to plot against the fame, the life Of one, with whom I twinn’d; remove a wife From my warm side, as loved as is the air; Practise sway each parent; draw mine heir In compass, though but one; work all my kin To swift perdition; leave no untrain’d engine, For friendship, or for innocence; nay, make The gods all guilty; I would undertake This, being imposed me, both with gain and ease: The way to rise is to obey and please. He that will thrive in state, he must neglect The trodden paths that truth and right respect; And prove new, wilder ways: for virtue there Is not that narrow thing, she is elsewhere; Men’s fortune there is virtue; reason their will; Their license, law; and their observance, skill. Occasion is their foil; conscience, their stain; Profit their lustre; and what else is, vain. If then it be the lust of Cæsar’s power, To have raised Sejanus up, and in an hour O’erturn him, tumbling down, from height of all; We are his ready engine: and his fall May be our rise. It is no uncouth thing To see fresh buildings from old ruins spring. [_Exit._] ACT IV SCENE I.—An Apartment in AGRIPPINA’S House. Enter Gallus and Agrippina. GALLUS. You must have patience, royal Agrippina. AGRIPPINA. I must have vengeance, first; and that were nectar Unto my famish’d spirits. O, my fortune, Let it be sudden thou prepar’st against me; Strike all my powers of understanding blind. And ignorant of destiny to come! Let me not fear that cannot hope. GALLUS. Dear princess, These tyrannies on yourself, are worse than Cæsar’s. AGRIPPINA. Is this the happiness of being born great? Still to be aim’d at? still to be suspected? To live the subject of all jealousies? At least the colour made, if not the ground To every painted danger? who would not Choose once to fall, than thus to hang for ever? GALLUS. You might be safe if you would—