_Scevin_. We shall have blowes on both sides.--_Milichus_,
Provide me store of cloathes to bind up wounds.--
What an't be heart for heart; Death is the worst.
The Gods sure keepe it, hide from us that live.
How sweet death is because we should goe on
And be their bailes.--There are about the house
Some stones that will stanch blood; see them set up.--
This world I see hath no felicitie:
Ile trie the other.

_Mili_. _Neroes_ life is sought;[62]
The sword's prepar'd against anothers breast,
The helpe for his. It can be no private foe,
For then 'twere best to make it knowne and call
His troupes of bond and freed men to his aide.
Besides his Counsellors, _Seneca_
And _Lucan_, are no Managers of quarrels.

_Scevin_. Me thinkes I see him struggling on the ground,
Heare his unmanly outcries and lost prayers
Made to the Gods which turne their heads away.
_Nero_, this day must end the worlds desires
And head-long send thee to unquenched fires. [_Exit_.

_Mili_. Why doe I further idly stand debating?
My proofes are but too many and too frequent,
And Princes Eares still to suspitions open.
Who ever, being but accus'd, was quit?
For States are wise and cut of ylls that may be.
Meane men must die that t'other may sleepe sound.