PRÆCONES. Be all profane far hence; fly, fly far off: Be absent far; far hence be all profane! [_Tubicines and Tibicines sound while the Flamen washeth._] FLAMEN. We have been faulty, but repent us now, And bring pure hands, pure vestments, and pure minds. FIRST MINISTER. Pure vessels. SECOND MINISTER. And pure offerings. THIRD MINISTER. Garlands pure. FLAMEN. Bestow your garlands: and, with reverence, place The vervin on the altar. PRÆCONES. Favour your tongues. [_While they sound again, the Flamen takes of the honey with his finger, and tastes, then ministers to all the rest; so of the milk, in an earthen vessel, he deals about; which done, he sprinkleth upon the altar, milk; then imposeth the honey, and kindleth his gums, and after censing about the altar, placeth his censer thereon, into which they put several branches of poppy, and the music ceasing, proceeds._] FLAMEN. Great mother Fortune, queen of human state, Redress of action, arbitress of fate, To whom all sway, all power, all empire bows, Be present; and propitious to our vows! PRÆCONES. Favour it with your tongues. MINISTRI. Be present and propitious to our vows! OMNES. Accept our offering and be pleased, great goddess. TERENTIUS. See, see, the image stirs! SATRIUS. And turns away! NATTA. Fortune averts her face. FLAMEN. Avert, you gods, The prodigy. Still! still, some pious rite We have neglected. Yet, heaven be appeased, And be all tokens false and void, that speak Thy present wrath! SEJANUS. Be thou dumb, scrupulous priest: And gather up thyself, with these thy wares Which I, in spite of thy blind mistress, or Thy juggling mystery, religion, throw Thus scorned on the earth. [_Overturns the statue and the altar._] Nay, hold thy look Averted till I woo thee turn again And thou shalt stand to all posterity, The eternal game and laughter, with thy neck Writh’d to thy tail, like a ridiculous cat. Avoid these fumes, these superstitious lights, And all these cozening ceremonies: you, Your pure and spiced conscience! [_Exeunt all but Sejanus, Terentius, Satrius and Natta._] I, the slave And mock of fools, scorn on my worthy head! That have been titled and adored a god, Yea, sacrificed unto, myself, in Rome, No less than Jove: and I be brought to do A peevish giglot, rites! perhaps the thought And shame of that, made fortune turn her face, Knowing herself the lesser deity, And but my servant.-Bashful queen, if so, Sejanus thanks thy modesty.—Who’s that? Enter Pomponius and Minutius. POMPONIUS. His fortune suffers, till he hears my news: I have waited here too long. Macro, my lord— SEJANUS. Speak lower and withdraw. [_Takes him aside._] TERENTIUS. Are these things true? MINISTRI. Thousands are gazing at it in the streets. SEJANUS. What’s that?