<emph xmlns="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0">Agrippina, a Tragedy</emph> <emph xmlns="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0">Dramatis Personae</emph> <emph xmlns="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0">Scene, the Emperor's villa at Baiae</emph> The Argument The drama opens with the indignation of Agrippina, at receiving her son's orders from Anicetus to remove from Baiae, and to have her guard taken from her. At this time Otho having conveyed Poppaea from the house of her husband Rufus Crispinus, brings her to Baiae, where he means to conceal her among the croud; or, if his fraud is discovered, to have recourse to the Emperor's authority; but, knowing the lawless temper of Nero, he determines not to have recourse to that expedient, but on the utmost necessity. In the meantime he commits her to the care of Anicetus, whom he takes to be his friend, and in whose age he thinks he may safely confide. Nero is not yet come to Baiae: but Seneca, whom he sends before him, informs Agrippina of the accusation concerning Rubellius Plancus, and desires her to clear herself, which she does briefly; but demands to see her son, who, on his arrival, acquits her of all suspicion, and restores her to her honours. In the meanwhile Anicetus, to whose care Poppaea had been entrusted by Otho, contrives the following plot to ruin Agrippina: He betrays his trust to Otho, and brings Nero, as it were by chance, to the sight of the beautiful Poppaea; the Emperor is immediately struck with her charms, and she, by a feigned resistance, increases his passion; tho', in reality, she is from the first dazzled with the prospect of empire, and forgets Otho: She therefore joins with Anicetus in his design of ruining Agrippina, soon perceiving that it will be for her interest. Otho hearing that the Emperor had seen Poppaea, is much enraged; but not knowing that this interview was obtained thro' the treachery of Anicetus, is readily persuaded by him to see Agrippina in secret, and acquaint her with his fears that her son Nero would marry Poppaea. Agrippina, to support her own power, and to wean the Emperor from the love of Poppaea, gives Otho encouragement, and promises to support him. Anicetus secretly introduces Nero to hear their discourse; who resolves immediately on his mother's death, and, by Anicetus's means, to destroy her by drowning. A solemn feast, in honour of their reconciliation, is to be made; after which she being to go by sea to Bauli, the ship is so contrived as to sink or crush her; she escapes by accident, and returns to Baiae. In this interval Otho has an interview with Poppaea; and being duped a second time by Anicetus and her, determines to fly with her into Greece, by means of a vessel which is to be furnished by Anicetus; but he, pretending to remove Poppaea on board in the night, conveys her to Nero's apartment: She there encourages and determines Nero to banish Otho, and finish the horrid deed he had attempted on his mother. Anicetus undertakes to execute his resolves; and, under pretence of a plot upon the Emperor's life, is sent with a guard to murder Agrippina, who is still at Baiae in imminent fear, and irresolute how to conduct herself. The account of her death, and the Emperor's horrour and fruitless remorse, finishes the drama. ACT I. Scene I. 'Tis well, begone! your errand is performed. The message needs no comment. Tell your master, His mother shall obey him. Say you saw her Yielding due reverence to his high command: Alone, unguarded and without a lictor As fits the daughter of Germanicus. Say, she retired to Antium; there to tend Her household cares, a woman's best employment. What if you add, how she turned pale and trembled: You think, you spied a tear stand in her eye, And would have dropped, but that her pride restrained it? (Go! you can paint it well) 'twill profit you, And please the stripling. Yet 'twould dash his joy To hear the spirit of Britannicus Yet walks on earth: at least there are who know Without a spell to raise, and bid it fire A thousand haughty hearts, unused to shake When a boy frowns, nor to be lured with smiles To taste of hollow kindness, or partake His hospitable board: they are aware Of the unpledged bowl, they love not Aconite. He's gone; and much I hope these walls alone And the mute air are privy to your passion. Forgive your servant's fears, who sees the danger Which fierce resentment cannot fail to raise In haughty youth and irritated power. And dost thou talk to me, to me, of danger, Of haughty youth and irritated power, To her that gave it being, her that armed This painted Jove, and taught his novice hand To aim the forked bolt; while he stood trembling, Scared at the sound and dazzled with its brightness? 'Tis like, thou hast forgot, when yet a stranger To adoration, to the grateful steam Of flattery's incense and obsequious vows From voluntary realms, a puny boy, Decked with no other lustre than the blood Of Agrippina's race, he lived unknown To fame or fortune; haply eyed at distance Some edileship, ambitious of the power To judge of weights and measures; scarcely dared On expectation's strongest wing to soar High as the consulate, that empty shade Of long-forgotten liberty: when I Oped his young eye to bear the blaze of greatness; Showed him where empire towered, and bade him strike The noble quarry. Gods! then was the time To shrink from danger; fear might then have worn The mask of prudence; but a heart like mine, A heart that glows with the pure Julian fire, If bright ambition from her craggy seat Display the radiant prize, will mount undaunted, Gain the rough heights, and grasp the dangerous honour. Through various life I have pursued your steps, Have seen your soul, and wondered at its daring: Hence rise my fears. Nor am I yet to learn How vast the debt of gratitude which Nero To such a mother owes; the world you gave him Suffices not to pay the obligation. I well remember too (for I was present) When in a secret and dead hour of night, Due sacrifice performed with barbarous rites Of muttered charms and solemn invocation, You bade the Magi call the dreadful powers That read futurity, to know the fate Impending o'er your son: their answer was, If the son reign, the mother perishes. Perish (you cried) the mother! reign the son! He reigns, the rest is heaven's; who oft has bade, Even when its will seemed wrote in lines of blood, The unthought event disclose a whiter meaning. Think too how oft in weak and sickly minds The sweets of kindness lavishly indulged Rankle to gall; and benefits too great To be repaid, sit heavy on the soul, As unrequited wrongs. The willing homage Of prostrate Rome, the senate's joint applause, The riches of the earth, the train of pleasures That wait on youth and arbitrary sway: These were your gift, and with them you bestowed The very power he has to be ungrateful. Thus ever grave and undisturbed reflection Pours its cool dictates in the madding ear Of rage, and thinks to quench the fire it feels not. Sayest thou I must be cautious, must be silent, And tremble at the phantom I have raised? Carry to him thy timid counsels. He Perchance may heed 'em: tell him too, that one Who had such liberal power to give, may still With equal power resume that gift, and raise A tempest that shall shake her own creation To its original atoms---tell me! say, This mighty emperor, this dreaded hero, Has he beheld the glittering front of war? Knows his soft ear the trumpet's thrilling voice, And outcry of the battle? Have his limbs Sweat under iron harness? Is he not The silken son of dalliance, nursed in ease And pleasure's flowery lap? Rubellius lives, And Sylla has his friends, though schooled by fear To bow the supple knee, and court the times With shows of fair obeisance; and a call Like mine might serve belike to wake pretensions Drowsier than theirs, who boast the genuine blood Of our imperial house. [Cannot my nod] Rouse [up] eight hardy legions, wont to stem With stubborn nerves the tide, and face the rigour Of bleak Germania's snows [?] Four, not less brave, That in Armenia quell the Parthian force Under the warlike Corbulo, by [me] Marked for their leader: these, by ties confirmed Of old respect and gratitude, are [mine]. Surely the Masians too, and those of Egypt, Have not forgot [my] sire: the eye of Rome And the Praetorian camp have long revered, With customed awe, the daughter, sister, wife, And mother of their Caesars. Ha! by Juno, It bears a noble semblance. On this base My great revenge shall rise; or say we sound The trump of liberty; there will not want, Even in the servile senate, ears to own Her spirit-stirring voice; Soranus there, And Cassius; Veto too, and Thrasea, Minds of the antique cast, rough, stubborn souls, That struggle with the yoke. How shall the spark Unquenchable, that glows within their breasts, Blaze into freedom, when the idle herd (Slaves from the womb, created but to stare And bellow in the Circus) yet will start, And shake 'em at the name of liberty, Stung by a senseless word, a vain tradition, As there were magic in it? Wrinkled beldams Teach it their grandchildren, as somewhat rare That anciently appeared, but when, extends Beyond their chronicle---oh! 'tis a cause To arm the hand of childhood, and rebrace The slackened sinews of time-wearied age. Yes, we may meet, ungrateful boy, we may! Again the buried Genius of old Rome Shall from the dust uprear his reverend head, Roused by the shout of millions: there before His high tribunal thou and I appear. Let majesty sit on thy awful brow And lighten from thy eye: around thee call The gilded swarm that wantons in the sunshine Of thy full favour; Seneca be there In gorgeous phrase of laboured eloquence To dress thy plea, and Burrhus strengthen it With his plain soldier's oath and honest seeming. Against thee, liberty and Agrippina: The world, the prize; and fair befall the victors. But soft! why do I waste the fruitless hours In threats unexecuted? Haste thee, fly These hated walls that seem to mock my shame, And cast me forth in duty to their lord. My thought aches at him; not the basilisk More deadly to the sight than is to me The cool injurious eye of frozen kindness. I will not meet its poison. Let him feel Before he sees me. Yes, I will be gone, But not to Antium---all shall be confessed, Whate'er the frivolous tongue of giddy fame Has spread among the crowd; things that but whispered Have arched the hearer's brow and riveted His eyes in fearful ecstasy: no matter What, so it be strange, and dreadful.---Sorceries, Assassinations, poisonings; the deeper My guilt, the blacker his ingratitude. And you, ye manes of ambition's victims, Enshrined Claudius, with the pitied ghosts Of the Syllani, doomed to early death (Ye unavailing horrors, fruitless crimes!), If from the realms of night my voice ye hear, In lieu of penitence and vain remorse, Accept my vengeance. Though by me ye bled, He was the cause. My love, my fears for him, Dried the soft springs of pity in my heart, And froze them up with deadly cruelty. Yet if your injured shades demand my fate, If murder cries for murder, blood for blood, Let me not fall alone; but crush his pride, And sink the traitor in his mother's ruin. Scene II. Thus far we're safe. Thanks to the rosy queen Of amorous thefts: and had her wanton son Lent us his wings, we could not have beguiled With more elusive speed the dazzled sight Of wakeful jealousy. Be gay securely; Dispel, my fair, with smiles, the timorous cloud That hangs on thy clear brow. So Helen looked, So her white neck reclined, so was she borne By the young Trojan to his gilded bark With fond reluctance, yielding modesty, And oft reverted eye, as if she knew not Whether she feared or wished to be pursued. 