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?