_Nurse:_ In vain dost thou invoke thy father's soul, Poor child, in vain; for there among the shades He little thinks upon his offspring here; Who, when in life, unto his own true son Preferred the offspring of another's blood, 140 And to himself in most incestuous bonds And rites unhallowed joined his brother's child. From this foul source has flowed a stream of crime: Of murder, treachery, the lust of power, The thirst for blood. Thy promised husband fell, A victim slain to grace that wedding feast, 145 Lest, joined with thee, he should too mighty grow. Oh, monstrous deed! Silanus, charged with crime, Was slain to make a bridal offering, And stained the household gods with guiltless blood. And then this alien comes, Oh, woe is me, 150 And by his mother's wiles usurps the house, Made son-in-law and son to the emperor, A youth of temper most unnatural, To impious crime inclined, whose passion's flame His mother fanned, and forced thee at the last In hated wedlock into his embrace. Emboldened by this notable success, 155 She dared to dream of wider sovereignty. What tongue can tell the changing forms of crime, Her impious hopes, her cozening treacheries, Who seeks the throne along the ways of sin? Then Piety with trembling haste withdrew, 160 And Fury through the empty palace halls With baleful tread resounded, and defiled The sacred images with Stygian brands. All holy laws of nature and of heaven In mad abandon did she set at naught. She mingled deadly poison for her lord, 165 And she herself by the impious mandate fell Of her own son. Thou too dost lifeless lie, Poor youth, forever to be mourned by us, Ill-starred Britannicus, so late, in life, The brightest star of this our firmament, The prop and stay of our imperial house; But now, Oh, woe is me, a heap of dust, Of unsubstantial dust, a flitting shade. 170 Nay, even thy stepmother's cruel cheeks Were wet with tears, when on the funeral pyre She placed thy form and saw the flames consume Thy limbs and face fair as the wingéd god's. _Octavia:_ Me, too, he must destroy--or fall by me. _Nurse:_ But nature has not given thee strength to slay. 175 _Octavia:_ Yet anguish, anger, pain, distress of soul, The ecstasy of grief will give me strength. _Nurse:_ Nay, by compliance, rather, win thy lord. _Octavia:_ That thus he may restore my brother slain? _Nurse:_ That thou thyself mayst go unscathed of death; That thou by thine own offspring mayst restore Thy father's falling house. 180 _Octavia:_ This princely house Expects an heir, 'tis true; but not from me, For I am doomed to meet my brother's fate.