Poppaea_, for thy death,
Enough is bled: so many teares of others
Wailing their losses have wipt mine away.
Who in the common funerall of the world
Can mourne on[e] death?

_Tigell_. Besides, Your Maiestie this benefit
In their diserved punishment shall reape,
From all attempts hereafter to be freed.
Conspiracy is how for ever dasht,
Tumult supprest, rebellion out of heart;
In _Pisoes_ death danger it selfe did die.

_Nimph_. _Piso_ that thought to climbe by bowing downe,
By giving a way to thrive, and raising others
To become great himselfe, hath now by death
Given quiet to your thoughts and feare to theirs
That shall from treason their advancement plot;
Those dangerous heads that his ambition leand on;
And they by it crept up and from their meannesse
Thought in this stirre to rise aloft, are off.
Now peace and safetie waite upon your throne;
Securitie hath wall'd your seat about;
There is no place for feare left.

_Nero_. Why, I never feard them.

_Nimph_. That was your fault:
Your Maiestie might give us leave to blame
Your dangerous courage and that noble soule
To prodigall[93] of it selfe.

_Nero_. A Princes mind knowes neither feare nor hope:
The beames of royall Maiestie are such
As all eyes are with it amaz'd and weakened,
But it with nothing. I at first contemn'd
Their weak devises and faint enterprise.
Why, thought they against him to have prevail'd
Whose childhood was from _Messalinas_ spight
By Dragons[94] (that the earth gave up), preserv'd?
Such guard my cradle had, for fate had then
Pointed me out to be what now I am.
Should all the Legions and the provinces,
In one united, against me conspire
I could disperce them with one angry eye;
My brow's an host of men. Come, _Tigellinus_,
Let turne this bloody banquet _Piso_ meant us
Into a merry feast; weele drink and challenge
Fortune.--Whose that _Neophilus_?

_Enter a Roman_.

_Neoph_. A Currier from beyond the Alpes, my Lord.

_Nero_. Newes of some German victory, belike,
Or Britton overthrow.

_Neoph_. The letters come from France.

_Nimph_. Why smiles your Maiestie?

_Nero_. So, I smile? I should be afraid; there's one
In Armes, _Nimphidius_.

_Nimph_. What, arm'd against your Maiestie?

_Nero_. Our lieutenant of the Province, _Julius Vindex_.

_Tigell_. Who? that guiddy French-man?

_Nimph_. His Province is disarm'd, my Lord; he hath
No legion nor a souldier under him.

_Epaphr_. O