At least not thus to die. Let _Cannae_[52] come,
Let _Allias_[53] waters turne again to blood:
To these will any miseries be light.

_Petron_. Why with false _Auguries_ have we bin deceiv'd?
Why was our Empire told us should endure
With Sunne and Moone in time, in brightnesse pass them,
And that our end should be oth' world and it?
What, can Celestiall Godheads double too?

_Seneca_. _O Rome_, the envy late
But now the pitie of the world! the _Getes_[54]?
The men of _Cholcos_ at thy sufferings grive;
The shaggy dweller in the _Scithian_ Rockes,
The _Mosch_[55] condemned to perpetual snowes,
That never wept at kindreds burials
Suffers with thee and feeles his heart to soften.
O should the _Parthyan_ heare these miseries
He would (his low and native hate apart[56])
Sit downe with us and lend an Enemies teare
To grace the funerall fires of ending Rome.

[_Exeunt_.



(SCENE 4.)


_Soft Musique. Enter Nero above alone with a Timbrell_.