If this man Had but a mind allied unto his words, How blest a fate were it to us, and Rome! We could not think that state for which to change, Although the aim were our old liberty: The ghosts of those that fell for that, would grieve Their bodies lived not, now, again to serve. Men are deceived, who think there can be thrall Beneath a virtuous prince: Wish’d liberty Ne’er lovelier looks, than under such a crown. But, when his grace is merely but lip-good. And that, no longer than he airs himself Abroad in public, there, to seem to shun The strokes and stripes of flatterers, which within Are lechery unto him, and so feed His brutish sense with their afflicting sound, As, dead to virtue, he permits himself Be carried like a pitcher by the ears, To every act of vice: this is the case Deserves our fear, and doth presage the nigh And close approach of blood and tyranny. Flattery is midwife unto prince’s rage: And nothing sooner doth help forth a tyrant, Than that and whisperers’ grace, who have the time, The place, the power, to make all men offenders.

Silius Monologue from Sejanus His Fall

Rehearse Silius's monologue