e you been
Nero to me, but Caesar must be now
High throned, the nations crawling at your feet.
And yet be sure that if on some far day
The throne should pass from you; if you should stand
Lonely at last; your friends all fallen away
From you; the laurel upon other brows
Set; were you dyed in blood deep as the robe
That folds you; were you dead in rags reposing,
Yet would I find you, cover up your face,
Taking the last kiss from your lips, and I
Would gently bury you within the earth.

NERO. Ah!

ACTE. And though none came nigh you, being dead,
Who were in life so thronged about and pressed,
One hand at least would duly pluck you flowers,
One hand at least would strew them on your grave.
Sleep now, and I will charm these eyes to close.

[_She takes a harp, and as she plays_ NERO _drops off to sleep.
She, seeing him so, softly kisses him and noiselessly disappears.
Meanwhile_ NERO _turns uneasily in his sleep, and a procession
of dead Emperors passes_--JULIUS, _covering his face, but
withdrawing his cloak to gaze a while on_ NERO; TIBERIUS; CAIUS
_wounded_; CLAUDIUS _holding a cup_. NERO _rushes forward,
uttering a cry_. ACTE _again re-enters at the sound_.

Nero, what ails you? Nero, how the drops
Stand on your brow!

NERO. There, there, I seemed to see
As in procession the dead Emperors:
Julius, Tiberius, Caius, Claudius,
All bloody, and all pacing that same path.

ACTE. [_Trying to lead him on the opposite way._]
There is another path, will you but take it.

[NERO _is led by her a little way, then hesitates, still gazing
after the procession of Emperors. Gradually he looses_ ACTE'S
_hand, and she leaves him, gazing._

ACT II

SCENE.--_The same, but signs of excessive luxury and profusion. Rich
carpets, gilded pillars, etc. As the scene opens, strange oriental
music is heard, with singing_. GIRLS _enter slowly and place wreaths
round the various statues of_ NERO, _who is depicted now as Apollo
singing, now as a charioteer_.

[ACTE _is reclining on a couch. The time is broad
noon. A faint exotic odour pervades the palace._

1ST MAIDEN. O Lydia, I am drowsing, and my hands
Can scarcely wreathe the Emperor as Apollo.

2ND MAIDEN. Ah, crown this carefully!
To-day he sings
In public; as Apollo will return
So crowned, so garbed.

1ST MAIDEN. How is that wreath disposed?

2ND MAIDEN. Excellent!