Octavia: Act III

Ghost of Agrippina [bearing a flaming torch]: Through clovenearth from Tartarus I come,To bring in bloody hands this torch of hellTo light these curséd rites; with such dire flamesLet this Poppaea wed my son, which soonHis mother's grief and vengeful hand shall turnTo funeral fires. And ever 'mid the shadesMy impious murder in my memory dwells,A heavy weight upon my grieving soulStill unavenged; for, Oh, ingratitudeHe gave me in return for all my gifts,E'en for the gift of empire did he giveA murderous ship designed to work my death.I would have wept my comrades' plight, and more,My son's most cruel deed: no time for tearsWas given, but even higher did he heapHis sum of crime. Though I escaped the sea,I felt the keen sword's thrust, and, with my bloodThe very gods defiling, poured my soulIn anguish forth. But even yet his hateWas not appeased. Against my very nameThe tyrant raged; my merits he obscured;My statues, my inscriptions, honors--all,On pain of death he bade to be destroyedThroughout the world--that world my hapless love,To my own direful punishment, had givenTo be by him, an untried boy, controlled.And now my murdered husband's angry ghostShakes vengeful torches in my guilty face,Insistent, threat'ning; blames his death on me,His murdered son, and loud demands that nowThe guilty cause be given up. Have done:He shall be given, and that right speedily.Avenging furies for his impious headAre planning even now a worthy fate:Base flight and blows, and fearful sufferings,By which the raging thirst of TantalusHe shall surpass; the cruel, endless toilOf Sisyphus; the pain that Tityus feels,And the dread, racking anguish of the wheelOn which Ixion's whirling limbs are stretched.Let gold and marble deck his palace walls;Let arméd guards protect him; let the worldBe beggared that its treasures vast may flowInto his lap; let suppliant Parthians bendTo kiss his hands, and bring rich offerings:The day and hour will come when for his crimesHis guilty soul shall full atonement make,When to his enemies he shall be given,Deserted and destroyed and stripped of all.Oh, to what end my labors and my prayers?Why did thy frenzied madness, O my son,And fate impel thee to such depths of crimeThat e'en thy mother's wrath, whom thou didst slay,Is all too small to match her sufferings?Oh, would that, ere I brought thee forth to light,And suckled thee, my vitals had been rentBy savage beasts! Then senseless, innocent,And mine wouldst thou have perished; joined to meWouldst thou forever see the quiet seatsOf this abode of souls, thy mighty sire,And grandsires too, those men of glorious name,Whom now perpetual shame and grief awaitBecause of thee, thou monster, and of me.But why delay in hell to hide my face,Since I have proved a curse to all my race?

Octavia [to the Chorus in deprecation of their grief becauseof her divorce]: Restrain your tears; put on a face of joy,As on a festal day, lest this your loveAnd care for me should stir the royal wrath,And I be cause of suffering to you.This wound is not the first my heart has felt;Far worse have I endured; but all shall end,Perchance in death, before this day is done.No more upon my brutal husband's faceShall I be forced to look; that hateful couch,Long since consigned to slavish uses, base,I shall behold no more.For now Augustus' sister shall I be,And not his wife. But Oh, be far from meAll cruel punishments and fear of death.Poor, foolish girl! and canst thou hope for this?Bethink thee of his former sins--and hope.Nay, he has spared thy wretched life till now,That thou mayst at his marriage altars fall.But why so often turn thy streaming eyesUpon thy home? Now speed thy steps away,And leave this bloody prince's hall for aye.

Chorus: Now dawns at last the day we long have fearedAnd talked of. Lo, our Claudia, driven forthBy cruel Nero's threats, leaves that abodeWhich even now Poppaea calls her own;While we must sit and grieve with sluggish woe,By heavy fear oppressed.Where is that Roman people's manhood now,Which once the pride of mighty leaders crushed,Gave righteous laws to an unconquered land,Gave powers at will to worthy citizens,Made peace and war, fierce nations overcame,And held in dungeons dark their captive kings?Behold, on every side our eyes are grievedBy this Poppaea's gleaming statues joinedWith Nero's images--a shameful sight.Come, overturn them with indignant hands,Too like in feature to her living face.And her we'll drag from off that royal couch;And then, with flaming brand and deadly sword,Attack the princely palace of her lord.