Times! the men, The men are not the same: ’tis we are base, Poor, and degenerate from the exalted strain Of our great fathers. Where is now the soul Of god-like Cato? he, that durst be good, When Cæsar durst be evil; and had power, As not to live his slave, to die his master? Or where’s the constant Brutus, that being proof Against all charm of benefits, did strike So brave a blow into the monster’s heart That sought unkindly to captive his country? O, they are fled the light! Those mighty spirits Lie raked up with their ashes in their urns, And not a spark of their eternal fire Glows in a present bosom. All’s but blaze, Flashes and smoke, wherewith we labour so, There’s nothing Roman in us; nothing good, Gallant, or great: ’tis true that Cordus says, “Brave Cassius was the last of all that race.” Drusus passes over the stage, attended by Haterius, etc.

Arruntius Monologue from Sejanus His Fall

Rehearse Arruntius's monologue