Well, all is worthy of us, were it more, Who with our riots, pride, and civil hate, Have so provok’d the justice of the gods: We, that, within these fourscore years, were born Free, equal lords of the triumphed world, And knew no masters, but affections; To which betraying first our liberties, We since became the slaves to one man’s lusts; And now to many: every minist’ring spy That will accuse and swear, is lord of you, Of me, of all our fortunes and our lives. Our looks are call’d to question, and our words, How innocent soever, are made crimes; We shall not shortly dare to tell our dreams, Or think, but ’twill be treason. Sab. Tyrants’ arts Are to give flatterers grace; accusers, power; That those may seem to kill whom they devour. Enter Cordus and Arruntius. Now, good Cremutius Cordus.

Silius Monologue from Sejanus His Fall

Rehearse Silius's monologue