Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/466

448 Your puny fires by those fierce flames he'll dim By which he oft has quenched the bolts of Jove, And brought the Thunderer captive from the sky. For this offense you shall dire forfeit pay, E'en with your blood; for hot of wrath is he, And may not be o'ercome. At his command Did fierce Achilles strike the peaceful lyre; He forced the Greeks and Agamemnon proud To do his will. Illustrious cities, too, And Priam's realm he utterly destroyed. And now my mind in fear awaits to see What Cupid's cruel penalties will be.

Nero [seated in a room of his palace]: Too slow my soldiers' hands, too mild my wrath, When citizens have dared such crimes as these. Those torches that they kindled 'gainst their prince Their blood shall quench; and Rome, who bore such men, Shall be bespattered with her people's gore. Yet death is far too light a punishment For such atrocities; this impious mob Shall suffer worse than death. But she, my wife And sister, whom I hate with deadly fear, For whose sole sake the people rage at me, Shall give her life at last to sate my grief, And quench my anger in her flowing blood. Soon shall my flames enwrap the city's walls, And in the ruins of her falling homes The people shall be buried; squalid want, Dire hunger, grief—all these shall they endure. Too fat upon the blessings of our age Has this vile mob become, and know not how To bear our clemency and relish peace; But, rash and reckless, are they ever borne By shifting tides of passion to their hurt. They must be held in check by suffering, Be ever pressed beneath the heavy yoke, Lest once again they dare assail the throne,