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The Pontiff, mighty Caesar, waits without, And craves admittance.

Let him be admitted.

Pontiff, thy visage, if I read it well, Says that some weighty matter brings thee here: Thou hast our leave to speak.

Imperial Nero, did'st thou not condemn That eloquent, but pestilential Nazarene, The Grecian Ethocles, whose specious words Wrap in delusion all who listen to him, Spreading his baleful errors o'er the world?

Did I condemn him! Ev'n this very day, He in the Amphitheatre meets his doom; Having, I trust, no power of words to charm The enchafed lion, or the famish'd wolf.

I am inform'd, and I believe it true, That this bold malefactor is enlarged.