for there stood knaves,
That put downe in their Tables all that stir'd
And markt in each there cheerefulnesse or sadnesse.

_Poppea_. I warrant He excuse you; but I pray
Lett's be a little better for your sight.
How did our Princely husband act _Orestes_?
Did he not wish againe his mother living?
Her death would adde great life unto his part.
But come, I pray; the storie of your sight.

_Nimph_. O doe not drive me to those hatefull paines.
Lady, I was too much in seeing vext;
Let it not be redoubled with the telling.
I now am well and heare, my eares set free;
O be mercifull, doe not bring me backe
Unto my prison, at least free your selfe.
It will not passe away, but stay the time;
Wracke out the houres in length. O give me leave:
As one that wearied with the toyle at sea
And now on wished shore hath firm'd his foote,
He lookes about and glads his thoughts and eyes
With sight oth' greene cloath'd ground and leavy trees,
Of flowers that begge more then the looking on,
And likes these other waters narrow shores;
So let me lay my wearines in these armes,
Nothing but kisses to this mouth discourse,
My thoughts be compast in those circl'd Eyes,
Eyes on no obiect looke but on these Cheekes;
Be blest my hands with touch of those round brests
Whiter and softer than the downe of Swans.
Let me of thee and of thy beauties glory
An[39] endless tell, but never wearying story.

[_Exeunt_.

(SCENE 2.)

_Enter Nero, Epaphroditus, Neophilus_.

_Nero_. Come Sirs, I faith, how did you like my acting?
What? wast not as you lookt for?

_Epaphr_. Yes, my Lord, and much beyond.

_Nero_. Did I not doe it to the life?

_Epaphr_. The very doing never was so lively
As was this counterfeyting.

_Nero_. And when I came
Toth' point of _Agripp[40]--Clytemnestras_ death,
Did it not move the feeling auditory?

_Epaphr_. They had beene stones whom that could not have mov'd.

_Nero_. Did not my voice hold out well to the end,
And serv'd me afterwards afresh to sing with?

_Neoph_. We know _Appollo_ cannot match your voice.

_Epaphr_. By Jove! I thinke you are the God himselfe
Come from above to shew your hidden arts
And fill us men with wonder of your skill.

_Nero_. Nay, faith, speake truely, doe not flatter me;
I know you need not; flattery's but where
Desert is meane.

_Epaphr_. I sweare by thee, O _Caesar_,
Then whom no power of heaven I hon