Arr. His name was, while he liv'd, above all envy;|
And being dead, without it. O, that Man!
If there were Seeds of the old vertue left,
They liv'd in him. Sil. He had the Fruits, Arruntius,
More than the Seeds: Sabinus, and my self
Had means to know him, within; and can report him.
We were his followers, (he would call us Friends.)
He was a Man most like to vertue; In all,
And every action, nearer to the Gods,
Than Men, in Nature; of a Body as fair
As was his Mind; and no less reverend
In Face, than Fame: He could so use his state,
Temp'ring his Greatness, with his Gravity,
As it avoided all self-love in him,
And spight in others. What his Funerals lack'd
In Images, and Pomp, they had suppli'd
With honourable sorrow, Soldiers sadness,
A kind of silent Mourning, such, as Men
(Who know no Tears, but from their Captives) use
To shew in so great losses. Cor. I thought once,
Considering their Forms, Age, manner of Deaths,
The nearness of the places, where they fell,
T' have paralell'd him with great Alexander:
For both were of best Feature, of high Race,
Year'd but to thirty, and, in Foreign Lands,
By their own People, alike made away.
Sab. I know not, for his Death, how you might wrest it:
But, for his Life, it did as much disdain
Comparison, with that voluptuous, rash,
Giddy, and drunken Macedon's, as mine
Doth with my Bond-mans. All the good, in him,
(His Valour, and his Fortune) he made his;
But he had other touches of late Romans,
That more did speak him: Pompey's Dignity,
The Innocence of Cato, Cæsar's Spirit,
Wise Brutus Temp'rance; and every Vertue,
Which, parted unto others, gave them name,
Flow'd mixt in him. He was the Soul of Goodness:
And all our Praises of him are like Streams
Drawn from a Spring, that still rise full, and leave
The part remaining greatest. Arr. I am sure
He was too great for us, and that they knew
Who did remove him hence. Sab. When Men grow fast
Honour'd, and lov'd, there is a trick in State
(Which jealous Princes never fail to use)
How to decline that growth, with fair pretext,
And honourable colours of employment,
Either by Embassie, the War, or such,
To shift them forth into another Air,
Where they may purge, and lessen; so was he:
And had his seconds there, sent by Tiberius,
And his more subtile Dam, to discontent him;
To breed, and cherish Mutinies; detract
His greatest Actions; give audacious check
To his Commands; and work to put him out
In open act of Treason. All which snares
When his wise cares prevented, a fine Poyson
Was thought on, to mature their practices.
Cor. Here comes Sejanus. Sil. Now observe the stoops,
The bendings, and the falls. Arr. Most creeping base!
Sejanus, Satrius, Terentius, &c.
[They pass over|
Note 'em well: No more. Say you. Sat. My Lord,
There is a Gentleman of Rome would buy ——
Sej. How call you him you talk'd with?
Sat. 'Please your Lordship, it is Eudemus, the Physician
To Livia, Drusus's Wife. Sej. On with your Sute.
Would buy, you said — Sat. A Tribunes place, my Lord.
Sej. What will he give? Sat. Fifty Sestertia.
Sej. Livia's Physician, say you, is that Fellow?
Sat. It is, my Lord, your Lordships answer.
Sej. To what?
Sat. The Place, my Lord. 'Tis for a Gentleman,
Your Lordship will well like of, when you see him;
And one, you make yours, by the grant.
Sej. Well, let him bring Money, and his Name.
Sat. 'Thank your Lordship. He shall, my Lord.
Sej. Come hither.
Know you this same Eudemus? Is he learn'd?
Sat. Reputed so, my Lord, and of deep practice.
Sej. Bring him in, to me, in the Gallery;
And take you cause to leave us there together:
I would confer with him, about a grief. — On.
Arr. So, yet! another? yet? O desperate state
Of grov'ling honour! Seest thou this, O Son,
And do we see thee after? Methinks, day
Should lose his light, when Men do lose their shames,
And for the empty circumstance of life,
Betray their cause of living. Sil. Nothing so.
Sejanus can repair, if Jove should ruine.
He is the now Court-god; And well applied
With sacrifice of Knees, of Crooks, and Cringe;
He will do more than all the House of Heav'n
Can, for a thousand Hecatombs. 'Tis he
Makes us our Day, or Night; Hell, and Elysium
Are in his look: We talk of Rhadamanth,
Furies, and Fire-brands; But 'tis his frown
That is all these; where, on the adverse part,
His smile is more, than e're (yet) Poets fain'd
Of Bliss, and Shades, Nectar — Arr. A serving Boy!
I knew him, at Caius trencher, when for hire,
He prostituted his abused Body
To that great gormond, fat Apicius;
And was the noted Pathick of the time.
Sab. And, now, the second face of the whole World.
The partner of the Empire, hath his Image
Rear'd equal with Tiberius, born in Ensigns,
Commands, disposes every Dignity,
Centurions, Tribunes, Heads of Provinces,
Prætors, and Consuls; all that heretofore
Romes general suffrage gave, is now his sale.
The gain, or rather spoil, of all the Earth,
One, and his House, receives. Sil. He hath of late
Made him a strength too, strangely, by reducing
All the Prætorian Bands into one Camp,
Which he commands: pretending that the Soldier
By living loose, and scattered, fell to Riot;
And that if any sudden Enterprise
Should be attempted, their united strength
Would be far more than sever'd; and their life
More strict, if from the City more remov'd.
Sab. Where, now, he builds, what kind of Fort's he please,
Is hard to court the Soldier, by his name,
Wooes, feasts the chiefest Men of action,
Whose wants, not loves, compel them to be his.
And though he ne'r were liberal by kind,
Yet, to his own dark ends, he's most profuse,
Lavish, and letting fly, he cares not what
To his Ambition. Arr. Yet, hath he Ambition?
Is there that step in State can make him higher?
Or more? or any thing he is, but less?
Sil. Nothing, but Emp'rour. Ar. The name Tiberius
I hope, will keep; how ere he hath fore-gone
The Dignity, and Power. Sil. Sure, while he lives.
Arr. And dead, it comes to Drusus. Should he fail,
To the brave issue of Germanicus;
And they are three: Too many (ha?) for him
To have a Plot upon? Sab. I do not know
The Heart of his Designs; but, sure, their Face
Looks farther than the present. Arr. By the Gods,
If I could guess he had but such a thought,
My Sword should cleave him down from Head to Heart,
But I would find it out: and with my Hand
I'ld hurl his panting Brain about the Air,