[Exit Nat.] Now, Satrius,
The time of proof comes on; arm all our servants,
And without tumult. [Exit Sat.] You, Pomponius,
Hold some good correspondence with the consul:
Attempt him, noble friend. [Exit Pomp.] These things begin
To look like dangers, now, worthy my fates.
Fortune, I see thy worst: let doubtful states,
And things uncertain, hang upon thy will:
Me surest death shall render certain still.
Yet, why is now my thought turn'd toward death,
Whom fates have let go on, so far in breath,
Uncheck'd or unreproved? I that did help
To fell the lofty cedar of the world,
Germanicus; that at one stroke cut down
Drusus, that upright elm; wither'd his vine;
Laid Silius and Sabinus, two strong oaks,
Flat on the earth; besides those other shrubs,
Cordus and Sosia, Claudia Pulchra,
Furnius and Gallus, which I have grubb'd up;
And since, have set my axe so strong and deep
Into the root of spreading Agrippina;
Lopt off and scatter'd her proud branches,
Nero. Drusus; and Caius too, although re-planted.
If you will, Destinies, that after all,
I faint now ere I touch my period,
You are but cruel; and I already have done
Things great enough.
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