(Gently.) No! he must die: there is no hope in sleep. Witness, you gods, who sent me on the earth To be a joy to men: and witness you Who stand around: if ever a small malice Hath governed me: what critic have I feared? What rival? Have I used this mighty throne To baulk opinion or suppress dissent? Have I not toiled for art, forsworn food, sleep, And laboured day and night to win the crown, Lying with weight of lead upon my chest? Ye gods, there is no rancour in this soul. [ Thunder. Silence while I am speaking. He must die, Because he is unmindful of your gifts And of the golden voice on me bestowed, To me no credit; and he shall not die Hopeless, for ere he die I'll sing to him This night, that he may pass away in music. How foolish will he peer amid the shades When Orpheus asks, 'Hast thou heard Nero sing?' If he must answer 'No!' I would not have him Arrive ridiculous amid the dead. (SENECA: Caesar, the Parthian and the British chiefs.) I cannot, sirs, so suddenly return Unto life's dreary business, or descend Out of the real to the unreal: from that Which is to that which is not. Leave me still. From art to empire is too swift a drop.

Slave To Nero Monologue

Rehearse Slave To Nero's monologue