[_Exeunt_.

_Nero_. Let Heaven do what it will, this I have done.
Already doe you feel my furies waight:
Rome is become a grave of her late greatnes;
Her clowdes of smoke have tane away the day,
Her flames the night.
Now, unbeleaving Eyes, what crave you more?

_Enter Neophilus to him_.

_Neoph_. O save your selfe, my Lord: your Pallace burnes.

_Nero_. My Pallace? how? what traiterous hand?

_Enter Tigellinus to them_.

_Tigell_. O flie, my Lord, and save your selfe betimes.
The winde doth beate the fire upon your house,
The eating flame devoures your double gates;
Your pillars fall, your golden roofes doe melt;
Your antique Tables and Greeke Imagery
The fire besets; and the smoake, you see,
Doth choake my speech: O flie and save your life.

_Nero_. Heaven thou dost strive, I see, for victory.

[_Exeunt_.