Had it been another
Who sang, it would have ravished every ear,
But thee must I remember at thy best,
And what in others we count excellence
In thee we count a lapse, and falling off.

NERO. There's a good fellow!

SENECA. Caesar!

NERO. But a moment!

1ST SPY. [_Stealing forward._] Licinius smiled, sir,
at thy final note.

NERO. Nothing! an artist must bear ridicule.
Were I incensed, I were ridiculous
Myself.

1ST SPY. Shall nothing then be done?

NERO. Nothing!

2ND SPY. [_Stealing forward._] Sir, Labienus, in thy second song
Coughed twice.

ANOTHER SPY. [_Cringing._] Nay, Caesar, thrice.

2ND SPY. What punishment?

NERO. None! Interruption must I learn to bear.
What patience must we own who would excel!
Anger I never must permit myself,
Or ruffling littleness to this great soul.

3RD SPY. [_Creeping forward._] Sir, Titus
Cassius yawned while thou didst sing.

4TH SPY. Nay, Caesar, worse, he slept, and must he live?

NERO. [_Gently._] No! he must die: there is no hope in sleep.
Witness, you gods, who sent me on the earth
To be a joy to men: and witness you
Who stand around: if ever a small malice
Hath governed me: what critic have I feared?
What rival? Have I used this mighty throne
To baulk opinion or suppress dissent?
Have I not toiled for art, forsworn food, sleep,
And laboured day and night to win the crown,
Lying with weight of lead upon my chest?
Ye gods, there is no rancour in this soul.
[_Thunder._
Silence while I am speaking. He must die,
Because he is unmindful of your gifts
And of the golden voice on me bestowed,
To me no credit; and he shall not die
Hopeless, for ere he die I'll sing to him
This night, that he may pass away in music.
How foolish will he peer amid the shades
When Orpheus asks, 'Hast thou heard Nero sing?'
If he must answer 'No!' I would not have him
Arrive ridiculous amid the dead.

SENECA. Caesar, the Parthian and the British chiefs.

NERO. I cannot, sirs, so suddenly return
Unto life's dreary business, or descend
Out of the real to the unreal: from that
Which is to that which is not. Leave me still.
From art to empire is too swift a drop.

OTHO. Now what to do? Still drags the o'erlong day.
We have driven, we have eaten, we have drunk.
But all the brilliance is a burden still.

ANICETUS. No cloud upon