_Seneca. Petronius_, you were at the _Theater_?
_Petron_. _Seneca_, I was, and saw your Kingly Pupyll In Mynstrills habit stand before the Iudges Bowing those hands which the worlds Scepter hold, And with great awe and reverence beseeching Indifferent hearing and an equall doome. Then Caesar doubted first to be oreborne; And so he ioyn'd himselfe to th'other singers And straightly all other Lawes oth' Stage observ'd, As not (though weary) to sit downe, not spit, Not wipe his sweat off but with what he wore.[44] Meane time how would he eye his adversaries, How he would seeke t'have all they did disgract; Traduce them privily, openly raile at them; And them he could not conquer so he would Corrupt with money to doe worse then he. This was his singing part: his acting now.
_Seneca_. Nay, even end here, for I have heard enough; I[45] have a Fidler heard him, let me not See him a Player, nor the fearefull voyce Of _Romes_ great Monarch now command in Iest-- Our Prince be _Agamemnon_[46] in a Play!
_Petron_. Why,[47] _Seneca_, 'Tis better in [a] Play Be _Agamemnon_ than himselfe indeed. How oft, with danger of the field beset Or with home mutineys, would he unbee Himselfe; or, over cruel alters weeping, Wish that with putting off a vizard hee Might his true inward sorrow lay aside. The showes of things are better then themselves. How doth it stirre this ayery part of us To heare our Poets tell imagin'd fights And the strange blowes that fained courage gives! When I[48] _Achilles_ heare upon the Stage Speake Honour and the greatnesse of his soule, Me thinkes I too could on a _Phrygian_ Speare Runne boldly and make tales for after times; But when we come to act it in the deed Death mars this bravery, and the ugly feares Of th'other world sit on the proudest browe, And boasting Valour looseth his red cheeke.
_Rom_. O round about, here, there, on every side The girdling flame doth with unkind embraces Compasse the Citie.
_Rom_. Alas, there are a many there with weapons, And whether it be for pray or by command They hinder, nay, they throwe on fire-brands.[49]
_Anton_. The fire increaseth and will not be staid, But like a stream[50] that tumbling from a hill Orewhelmes the fields, orewhelmes the hopefull toyle Oth' husbandman and headlong beares the woods; The unweeting Shepheard on a Rocke afarre Amazed heares the feareful noyse; so here Danger and Terror strive which shall exceed. Some cry and yet are well; some are kild silent; Some kindly runne to helpe their neighbours house, The whilest their own's afire;[51] some save their goods And leave their dearer pledges in the flame; One takes his little sonnes with trembling hands; Tother his house-Gods saves, which could not him; All bann the doer, and with wishes kill Their absent Murderer.