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.

_Petron_. What, are the _Gauls_ returnd?
Doth _Brennus_ brandish fire-brands againe?

_Seneca_. What can Heaven now unto our suffrings adde?

_Enter another Romane to them_.

_Rom_. O all goes downe, _Rome_ falleth from the Roofe;
The winds aloft, the conquering flame turnes all
Into it selfe. Nor doe the Gods escape;
_Plei[a]des_ burnes; _Iupiter, Saturne_ burnes;
The Altar now is made a sacrifice,
And _Vesta_ mournes to see her Virgin fires
Mingle with prophane ashes.

_Seneca_. Heaven, hast thou set this end to Roman greatnesse?
Were the worlds spoyles for this to Rome devided
To make but our fires bigger?
You Gods, whose anger made us great, grant yet
Some change in misery. We begge not now
To have our Consull tread on _Asian_ Kings
Or spurne the quivered _Susa_ at their feet;
This we have had before: we beg to live,