orld;
Or you whom _Nero_ rather should invoke,
Blacke _Chaos_ and you fearefull shapes beneath,
That with a long and not vaine envy have
Sought to destroy this worke of th'other Gods;
Now let your darknesse cease the spoyles of day,
And the worlds first contention end your strife.

_Enter two Romanes to him_.

1 _Rom_. Though others, bound with greater benefits,
Have left your changed fortunes and doe runne
Whither new hopes doe call them, yet come we.

_Nero_. O welcome come you to adversitie;
Welcome, true friends. Why, there is faith on earth;
Of thousand servants, friends and followers,
Yet two are left. Your countenance, me thinks,
Gives comfort and new hopes.

2 _Rom_. Doe not deceive your thoughts:
My Lord, we bring no comfort,--would we could,--
But the last duty to performe and best
We ever shall, a free death to persuade,
To cut off hopes of fearcer cruelty
And scorne, more cruell to a worthy soule.

1 _Rom_. The Senate have decreed you're punishable
After the fashion of our ancestors,
Which is, your necke being locked in a forke,
You must be naked whipt and scourg'd to death.

_Nero_. The Senate thus decreed? they that so oft
My vertues flattered have and guifts of mine,
My government preferr'd to ancient times,
And challenge[d] _Numa_ to compare with me,--
Have they so horrible an end sought out?
No, here I beare which shall prevent such shame;
This hand shall yet from that deliver me,
And faithfull be alone unto his Lord.
Alasse, how sharp and terrible is death!
O must I die, must now my senses close?
For ever die, and nere returne againe,
Never more see the Sunne, nor Heaven, nor Earth?
Whither goe I? What shall I be anone?
What horred iourney wandrest thou, my soule,
Under th'earth in darke, dampe, duskie vaults?
Or shall I now to nothing be resolv'd?
My feares become my hopes; O would I might.
Me thinkes I see the boyling _Phlegeton_
And the dull poole feared of them we feare,
The dread and terror of the Gods themselves;
The furies arm'd with linkes, with whippes, with snakes,
And my owne furies farre more mad then they,
My mother and those troopes of slaughtred friends.
And now the Iudge is brought unto the throne,
That will not leave unto Authoritie
Nor favour the oppressions of the great!

1 _Rom_. These are the idle terrors of the night,
Which wise men (though they teach) doe not beleeve,
To curbe our pleasures faine[d] and aide the weake.

2 _Rom_. D