CALIGULA. What would you advise me? MACRO. To go for Capreae presently; and there Give up yourself entirely to your uncle. Tell Cæsar (since your mother is accused To fly for succours to Augustus’ statue, And to the army with your brethren) you Have rather chose to place your aids in him, Than live suspected; or in hourly fear To be thrust out, by bold Sejanus’ plots: Which, you shall confidently urge to be Most full of peril to the state, and Cæsar, As being laid to his peculiar ends, And not to be let run with common safety. All which, upon the second, I’ll make plain, So both shall love and trust with Cæsar gain. CALIGULA. Away then, let’s prepare us for our journey. [_Exeunt._] SCENE V.—Another part of the Street. Enter Arruntius. ARRUNTIUS. Still dost thou suffer, heaven! will no flame, No heat of sin, make thy just wrath to boil In thy distemper’d bosom, and o’erflow The pitchy blazes of impiety, Kindled beneath thy throne! Still canst thou sleep, Patient, while vice doth make an antick face At thy dread power, and blow dust and smoke Into thy nostrils! Jove! will nothing wake thee? Must vile Sejanus pull thee by the beard, Ere thou wilt open thy black-lidded eye, And look him dead? Well! snore on, dreaming gods, And let this last of that proud giant-race Heave mountain upon mountain, ’gainst your state— Be good unto me, Fortune and you powers, Whom I, expostulating, have profaned; I see what’s equal with a prodigy, A great, a noble Roman, and an honest, Live an old man!— Enter Lepidus. O Marcus Lepidus, When is our turn to bleed? Thyself and I, Without our boast, are almost all the few Left to be honest in these impious times. LEPIDUS. What we are left to be, we will be, Lucius; Though tyranny did stare as wide as death, To fright us from it. ARRUNTIUS. ’T hath so on Sabinus. LEPIDUS. I saw him now drawn from the Gemonies, And, what increased the direness of the fact, His faithful dog, upbraiding all us Romans, Never forsook the corps, but, seeing it thrown Into the stream, leap’d in, and drown’d with it. ARRUNTIUS. O act, to be envied him of us men! We are the next the hook lays hold on, Marcus: What are thy arts, good patriot, teach them me, That have preserved thy hairs to this white dye, And kept so reverend and so dear a head Safe on his comely shoulders? LEPIDUS. Arts, Arruntius! None, but the plain and passive fortitude, To suffer and be silent; never stretch These arms against the torrent; live at home, With my own thoughts, and innocence about me, Not tempting the wolves’ jaws: these are my arts.