_Oth._ See, but I do. I tell thee, love, this night Thou wert invited.
_Oth._ Knowing thy mind, And mine, I begged him for our friendship’s sake Urge me no further.
_Oth._ Again to-night he asked for thee. ’Twas this Which made me sad and thoughtful.
_Oth._ The meaning, love, the meaning: thou must guess it.
_Pop._ The very reason, Otho, which thou urgest Against my going, is in truth the reason Why such as I should go. As Cæsar’s friend, Thou would’st do well to save him from the slough He daily sinks in.
_Oth._ Nay, but such a stake For such a flimsy hope.
_Pop._ I see a hope In the invitation. Otho, let us see 780 What may be done among his friends.
_Oth._ Poppæa, ’Tis generously thought, but ’tis a thing Must not be thought. Trust to my judgment, love. ’Tis Cæsar’s love of power that threats us here; He would have nought held from him. Thee I hold, And most because I know thou would’st be mine.
_Pop._ Why, I were well his match. Let us go in.
_Room in the Palace. Enter AGRIPPINA and PALLAS._
Pallas, thy date is out: thou art dismissed; Thou goest from the court: yet what thou takest 790 May soften thy regrets. Thy shiny days Were not misspent, and thou may’st live like Cæsar. Farewell, we still are friends: the debt I owe I shall remember: ’twas thy power that first Gave root to mine: for thee, I think my favours Were once thy pleasure. If those days are gone, We can look time in the face; we have not wasted The days that flew: ’tis now with what remain Still to be careful. Friends and firm allies.
_Agr._ Nay, though thou goest first, That is not much: even that I cannot save thee 801 Is sign that I am fallen ere thou could’st fall: A deeper, deadlier fall, unless indeed My wit can save me still.
_Pal._ Alas, dear queen, Fear makes this parting sad. But if there’s hope, ’Tis this, to gain thy son.
_Agr._ Ay, till our schemes be ripe; And even though Seneca betray me,—and that Is sure,—I fear not him. I know my son Better than he, and I shall win him yet. My plan is now to seem resigned to all: 810 I will pretend my purpose is to leave him, And fly from Rome to voluntary exile. ’Twill work upon his fear and duty both, To cut himself quite off from me, and all That goes with me. He will entreat me stay; And if I stay—