Poppæa even, in her victorious calm Of conscious power beside him, winced at this As at slant notice served upon herself; And poor Drusilla hugged a shudder down. But Nero rattled on licentiously: "What was I saying? Aye, 'infallible'"-- And toward Poppæa now his eye he turned-- "We two shall have to be infallible-- I take it so--when they make gods of us. What a bore that, to be infallible! Bore to be anything because one must! Let us take it as a joke and not be bored-- Uproarious joke, my dear, for me and thee To pose as gods, while we hold both our sides Lest we split laughing and upset mankind! "But for the present here is help arrived, Welcome, while we stay only mortals yet, To make that old prig of a Seneca Come down once from his magisterial throne." Wherewith he to Drusilla spoke once more: "Madam, we listen, tell us about Paul." Besides that menace slanted in his words, The gamesome emperor hurt Drusilla sore Demonstrating before her thus a firm Accord and understanding knit between Himself and this Poppæa; worse to bear, Poppæa's easy air of affable-- A condescension equal to his own Toward her, Drusilla, air as of a queen Deigning her scepter toward a suppliant! Drusilla would have felt it like a touch Of tonic to her blood, could she have found One least hint that Poppæa in her heart Hated her: but Poppæa far too well Was mistress of her part; she sweetly smiled Exquisite discomposure on her foe. With sheer exertion of her will, or helped Only with the delight to injure Paul-- Daunted, yet with a front of dauntlessness-- Drusilla entered on her perjury. By the reaction of her eloquence Upon herself reflected from the fixed Admiring heed she won, she plucked up heart Of buoyance to be brilliant more and more As she went on and told the emperor, Him chiefly, and at length not her at all, How Paul was a disturber everywhere; He at Jerusalem had raised a mob And tumult of his outraged countrymen Against himself; they, out of loyalty, Would then and there have rent him limb from limb, But that the chiliarch intervened to save The wretch from violence--not of the law, Though well deserved--and under escort thence Sent him to her lord Felix, governor At Cæsarea, to be held and judged. Felix, who was the heart of lenity, Not bearing to condemn him for his crimes, Postponed his trial, until Festus came Successor to her husband dispossessed Of kingdom for his too much clemency-- Fault, yet a noble fault, and Cæsar-like ('My Otho!' thy word, madam; 'my Felix!' mine)-- Then Festus on the point to sentence him Was thwarted by the culprit's hardihood; Desperate hardihood seeking reprieve At least from doom by refuge in appeal To Cæsar.