Be thou dumb, scrupulous priest: And gather up thyself, with these thy wares Which I, in spite of thy blind mistress, or Thy juggling mystery, religion, throw Thus scorned on the earth. Nay, hold thy look Averted till I woo thee turn again And thou shalt stand to all posterity, The eternal game and laughter, with thy neck Writh’d to thy tail, like a ridiculous cat. Avoid these fumes, these superstitious lights, And all these cozening ceremonies: you, Your pure and spiced conscience! I, the slave And mock of fools, scorn on my worthy head! That have been titled and adored a god, Yea, sacrificed unto, myself, in Rome, No less than Jove: and I be brought to do A peevish giglot, rites! perhaps the thought And shame of that, made fortune turn her face, Knowing herself the lesser deity, And but my servant.-Bashful queen, if so, Sejanus thanks thy modesty.—Who’s that? Enter Pomponius and Minutius.

Sejanus Monologue from Sejanus His Fall

Rehearse Sejanus's monologue