Octavia: Act II

Seneca [alone]: Why hast thou, potent Fate, with flattering looks,Exalted me, contented with my lot,That so from this great height I might descendWith heavier fall, and wider prospect seeOf deadly fears? Ah, better was I, hidFar from the stinging lash of envy's tongue,Amid the lonely crags of Corsica.There was my spirit free to act at will,Was master of itself, had time to thinkAnd meditate at length each favorite theme.Oh, what delight, than which none greater is,Of all that mother nature hath produced,To watch the heavens, the bright sun's sacred rounds,The heavenly movements and the changing night,The moon's full orb with wandering stars begirt,The far-effulgent glory of the sky!And is it growing old, this structure vast,Doomed to return to groping nothingness?Then must that final doomsday be at hand,That shall by heaven's fall o'erwhelm a raceSo impious, that thus the world may seeA newer race of men, a better stock,Which once the golden reign of Saturn knew.Then virgin Justice, holy child of heaven,In mercy ruled the world; the race of menKnew naught of war, the trumpet's savage blare,The clang of arms; not yet were cities hedgedWith ponderous walls; the way was free to all,And free to all the use of everything.The earth, untilled, spread wide her fertile lap,The happy mother of a pious stock.Then rose another race of sterner mold;Another yet to curious arts inclined,But pious still; a fourth of restless mood,Which lusted to pursue the savage beasts,To draw the fishes from their sheltering wavesWith net or slender pole, to snare the birds,To force the headstrong bullocks to endureThe bondage of the yoke, to plow the earthWhich never yet had felt the share's deep wound,And which in pain and grief now hid her fruitsWithin her sacred bosom's safer hold.Now deep within the bowels of the earthDid that debased, unfilial age intrude;And thence it dug the deadly iron and gold,And soon it armed its savage hands for war.It fixed the bounds of realms, constructed towns,Fought for its own abodes, or threat'ning stroveTo plunder those of others as a prize.Then did abandoned Justice, heavenly maid,In terror flee the earth, the bestial waysOf men, their hands with bloody slaughter stained,And, fixed in heaven, now shines among the stars.Then lust of war increased, and greed for gold,Throughout the world; and luxury arose,That deadliest of evils, luring pest,To whose fell powers new strength and force were givenBy custom long observed, and precedentOf evil into worser evil led.This flood of vice, through many ages dammed,In ours has burst its bounds and overflowed.By this dire age we're fairly overwhelmed--An age when crime sits regnant on the throne,Impiety stalks raging, unrestrained;Foul lust, with all unbridled power, is queen,And luxury long since with greedy handsHas snatched the boundless riches of the world,That she with equal greed may squander them.But see, with frenzied step and savage mien,The prince approaches. How I fear his will.

Nero [to Prefect]: Speed my commands: send forth a messengerWho straight shall bring me here the severed headsOf Plautus and of Sulla.

Prefect: Good, my lord;Without delay I'll speed me to the camp.Seneca: One should not rashly judge against his friends.

Nero: Let him be just whose heart is free from fear.

Seneca: But mercy is a sovereign cure for fear.

Nero: A ruler's part is to destroy his foes.

Seneca: A ruler's better part, to save his friends.

Nero: A mild old man's advice is fit for boys.

Nero: I deem that at this age we're wise enough.

Seneca: That on thy deed the heavenly gods may smile.

Nero: Thou fool, shall I fear gods myself can make?

Seneca: Fear this the more, that so great power is thine.

Nero: My royal fortune grants all things to me.

Seneca: But trust her cautiously; she may deceive.

Nero: A fool is he who does not what he may.

Seneca: To do, not what he may, but ought, wins praise.

Nero: The crowd spurns sluggish men.

Nero: Yet swords protect a prince.

Nero: A Caesar should be feared.

Nero: But men must fear.

Nero: Let them obey our laws.

Nero: I'll be the judge.

Nero: The sword shall force respect.

Nero: Shall I then tamely let them seek my blood,That suddenly despised and unavenged,I may be taken off? Though exiled far,The stubborn spirits are not broken yetOf Plautus and of Sulla. Still their ragePersistent spurs their friends to seek my death;For still have they the people's love in Rome,Which ever nourishes the exile's hopes.Then let the sword remove my enemies;My hateful wife shall die, and follow him,That brother whom she loves. The high must fall.

Seneca: How fair a thing it is to be the firstAmong great men, to think for fatherland,To spare the weak, to hold the hand of powerFrom deeds of blood, to give wrath time to think,Give rest to a weary world, peace to the age.This is the noblest part; by this high pathIs heaven sought. So did Augustus first,The father of his country, gain the stars,And as a god is worshiped at the shrines.Yet he was long by adverse fortune tossedOn land and sea, in battle's deadly chance,Until his father's foes he recompensed.But fortune hath to thee in peaceful guiseBent her divinity; with unstained handHath she the reins of government bestowed,And given world-dominion to thy nod.Sour hate is overcome, and in its steadIs filial harmony; the senate, knights,All orders yield obedience to thy will;For in the fathers' judgment and the prayersOf humbler folk, thou art the arbiterOf peace, the god of human destinies,Ordained to rule the world by right divine.Thy country's father thou. This sacred nameDoth suppliant Rome beseech thee to preserve,And doth commend her citizens to thee.

Nero: It is the gift of heaven that haughty Rome,Her people, and her senate bow to me,And that my terror doth extort those prayersAnd servile words from their unwilling lips.To save the citizens! seditious men,Who ever 'gainst their land and prince conspire,Puffed up with pride of race--sheer madness that,When all my enemies one word of mineCan doom to death. Base Brutus raised his handTo slay that prince from whom he had his all;And he, who never 'mid the shock of armsHad been o'ercome, the world's great conqueror,Who trod, a very Jove, the lofty pathsOf honor, he was slain by impious hands--Of citizens! What streams of blood hath Rome,So often rent by civil strife, beheld!That very saint of thine, Augustus' self,Who, as thou said'st but now, did merit heavenBy piety--how many noble menDid he destroy, in lusty youth, in age,At home, abroad, when, spurred by mortal fear,They fled their household gods and that fell swordOf the Triumvirate, consigned to deathUpon those mindful tablets' fatal lists.The grieving parents saw their severed headsUpon the rostra set, but dared not weepTheir hapless sons; the forum reeked with blood,And gore down all those rotting faces dripped.Nor this the end of slaughter and of death:Long did the plains of grim Philippi feedThe ravenous birds and prowling beasts of prey;While ships and men, in deadly conflict met,Beneath Sicilia's waters were engulfed.The whole world trembled with the shock of arms;And now, when all was lost, with fleeing ships,That mighty leader sought the distant Nile,Doomed soon himself to perish there. And thus,Once more incestuous Egypt drank the bloodOf Rome's great captains. Now his flitting shadeIs hovering there; and there is civil strife,So long and impious, at last interred.Now did the weary victor sheathe his sword,All blunted with the savage blows he gave,And held his empire with the rein of fear.He lived in safety 'neath the ample shieldOf loyal guards; and when his end was come,The pious mandate of his son proclaimedHim god, and at the temples' sacred shrinesWas he adored. So shall the stars expectMy godhead too, if first I seize and slayWith sword relentless all who bear me hate,And on a worthy offspring found my house.

Seneca: But she will fill thy house with noble sons,That heaven-born glory of the Claudian stock,Who by the will of fate was wed to thee,As Juno to her brother Jove was given.

Nero: A child of hers would stain my noble line,For she herself was of a harlot born;And more--her heart was never linked to me.

Seneca: In tender years is faith not manifest,When love, by shame o'ercome, conceals its fires.

Nero: This I myself long trusted, but in vain,Though she was clearly of unloving heart,And every look betrayed her hate of me.At length, in angry grief, I sought revenge;And I have now a worthy wife obtained,In race and beauty blessed, before whose charmsMinerva, Venus, Juno--all would bow.

Seneca: But honor, wifely faith, and modesty--These should the husband seek, for these alone,The priceless treasures of the heart and soul,Remain perpetual; but beauty's flowerDoth fade and languish with each passing day.

Nero: On her has heaven all its charms bestowed,And fate has given her from her birth to me.Seneca: But love will fail; do not too rashly trust.

Nero: Shall he give way, that tyrant of the skies,Whom Jove, the Thunderer, cannot remove,Who lords it over savage seas, the realmsOf gloomy Dis, and draws the gods to earth?

Seneca: 'Tis by our human error that we paintLove as a god, wingéd, implacable,And arm his sacred hands with darts and bow,Assign him blazing torches, count him sonOf fostering Venus and of Vulcan. Nay,But love is of the heart's compelling power,A fond and cozening passion of the soul;Of hot youth is it born, and in the lapOf ease and luxury, 'midst fortune's joys,Is fostered. But it sickens straight and diesWhen you no longer feed and fondle it.

Nero: I deem the primal source of life is this,The joy of love; and it can never die,Since by sweet love, which soothes e'en savage breasts,The human race is evermore renewed.This god shall bear for me the wedding torch,And join me with Poppaea in his bonds.

Seneca: The people's grief could scarce endure to seeThat marriage, nor would piety permit.Nero: Shall I alone avoid what all may do?

Seneca: The state from loftiest souls expects the best.

Nero: I fain would see if, broken by my power,This rashly cherished favor will not yield.Seneca: 'Tis better calmly to obey the state.

Nero: Ill fares the state, when commons govern kings.Seneca: They justly chafe who pray without avail.

Nero: When prayers do not avail, should force be sought?

Seneca: Rebuffs are hard.

Seneca: He should give way.

Seneca: Rumor's an empty thing.

Seneca: She fears the strong.

Seneca: She soon can be o'ercome. But let the youth,The faith and chastity of this thy wife,The merits of her sainted sire prevailTo turn thee from thy will.

Nero: Have done at last,For wearisome has thy insistence grown;One still may do what Seneca comdemns.And I myself have now too long delayedThe people's prayers for offspring to the throne.Tomorrow's morn her wedding day shall prove,Who bears within her womb my pledge of love.