You know, sir, thunder speaks not till it hit. Be not secure; none swiftlier are opprest, Than they whom confidence betrays to rest. Let not your daring make your danger such: All power is to be fear’d, where ’tis too much. The youths are of themselves hot, violent, Full of great thought; and that male-spirited dame, Their mother, slacks no means to put them on, By large allowance, popular presentings, Increase of train and state, suing for titles; Hath them commended with like prayers, like vows, To the same gods, with Cæsar: days and nights She spends in banquets and ambitious feasts For the nobility; where Caius Silius, Titius Sabinus, old Arruntius, Asinius Gallus, Furnius, Regulus, And others of that discontented list, Are the prime guests. There, and to these, she tells Whose niece she was, whose daughter, and whose wife. And then must they compare her with Augusta, Ay, and prefer her too; commend her form, Extol her fruitfulness; at which a shower Falls for the memory of Germanicus, Which they blow over straight with windy praise, And puffing hopes of her aspiring sons; Who, with these hourly ticklings, grow so pleased, And wantonly conceited of themselves, As now, they stick not to believe they’re such As these do give them out; and would be thought More than competitors, immediate heirs. Whilst to their thirst of rule, they win the rout (That’s still the friend of novelty) with hope Of future freedom, which on every change That greedily, though emptily expects. Cæsar, ’tis age in all things breeds neglects, And princes that will keep old dignity Must not admit too youthful heirs stand by; Not their own issue; but so darkly set As shadows are in picture, to give height And lustre to themselves.

Sejanus Monologue from Sejanus His Fall

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