Your ill affection then shall punisht bee.
Take him to execution; he shall die
That the death pities of mine enemie.

_Yong_. This benefit at least
Sad death shall give, to free me from the power
Of such a government; and if I die
For pitying humane chance and _Pisoes_ end
There will be some too that will pitie mine.

_Poppaea_. O what a dauntlesse looke, what sparkling eyes, (_aside.)_
Threating in suffering! sure some noble blood
Is hid in ragges; feares argues a base spirit;
In him what courage and contempt of death!
And shall I suffer one I love to die?
He shall not die.--Hands of this man! Away!
_Nero_, thou shalt not kill this guiltlesse man.

_Nero_. He guiltlesse? Strumpet!

(_Spurns her, and Poppaea falls_.)

She is in love with the smooth face of the boy.

_Neoph_. Alas, my Lord, you have slaine her.

_Epaphr_. Helpe, she dies.

_Nero_. _Poppaea, Poppaea_, speake, I am not angry;
I did not meane to hurt thee; speake, sweet love.