Britannicus Monologue from Nero

From Nero by Stephen Phillips

male · anguished · 1:14 min

This is too hot: some snow to cool it: so-- [ (Cold snow is put in and he drinks. He then recites.) Beside the melancholy surge I roam-- A sad exile, a stranger, sick for home: A prince I was in my far native land Who wander to and fro this alien sand: Riches I had, and steeds, a glimmering crown; Never had known a harshness or a frown. Now must I limp and beg from door to door, Wet with the storm, or in the sun footsore: I, by a brother's cunning dispossessed, Crave for these languid limbs a place of rest. Pity me, robbed of all! [He gives a cry and falls headlong. His limbs quiver a moment and then are still. Meanwhile the shower of roses has slackened. There is a dead silence, and in the silence slowly all the guests turn and look at NERO, who rises, with the emerald in his eye.

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