Romance of the Rose (Ellis)/Chapter 41
XLI
This tells how Nero sought to hide
Within a garden, where he died,
Self-slain. Thus, coward-like, life’s stage
He fled, nor dared the people’s rage.
How Nero died
“Then ran he swift to hide his head
In flower-grown close, and with him fled6800
Two faithful slaves, but all around
He heard the fearful surging sound
Of maddening voices, which: ‘Nero,’
Cried loudly, ‘thou to hell shalt go;
Where skulk’st thou?’ And he, terrified,
Beheld that vain it was to hide,
Yet knew not how to go or stay
So he might ’scape the dread affray.
And compassing his fearsome case,
Despaired he of all hope of grace,6810
And ’mandment gave his slaves to kill
Their master, and when nought fulfil
Would they his best, the wretched elf
Fell on his sword and slew himself
Outright, but ere death came he gave
His servants bidding they should shave
His head from off his trunk, that none
Might know ’twas he, and, that stroke done,
They should his corse without delay
Burn on a pyre to ashes grey.6820
This may be read by him who dives
Among old parchments in the lives
Of those twelve Cæsars, which were writ
By Suetonius, who doth twit
Fair promise blighted
The law of Christ as tale absurd
(This is the wretched caitiff’s word)
And mischievous. Alas! the day,
That mouth of man such words should say!
With Nero perished out the line
Of Cæsar, and, as I opine,6830
This monster so was void of grace
Or virtue, that ’twere meet his race
Should fall extinct. He nobly reigned
Five years before with crime he stained
His annals, and no prince e’er gave
A fairer promise by his grave
And loyal rule; so good at first
Appeared this felon-king accurst,
That once in audience given at Rome,
When some poor caitiff to that home6840
Whence none return he should consign,
He cried: ‘O evil fate is mine
That e’er my hand hath learned to write.’
This monster stood upon the height
Of empire more than sixteen years,
Deceiving hopes, fulfilling fears,
And for his whole life thirty-two
Years good and evil lived he through.
But, stirred to felony by pride,
So grievously he turned aside6850
From virtue, that he lastly fell
From highest grace to lowest hell
Of crime and sin, as thou hast heard,
And Fortune’s freak it was preferred
Him thus on high, that she might show
Her power to raise and overthrow.
King Crœsus’ dream
Neither could Crœsus, Lydia’s king,
And mighty conqueror, ’scape the sting
Of Fortune. On the burning pyre
He stood and round him leapt the fire,6860
When suddenly the lowering sky
Disburdened it so copiously
That died the flames; his foes dismayed
Thereat took flight, nor long time stayed
King Crœsus, but escaped his bane.
Then ruled he o’er his land again;
But yet, once more by Fortune flung
Tn durance, was he lastly hung;
But ere that happed this vision dreamed:
High on a beech tree’s top he seemed,6870
Where mighty Jupiter had set
Himself to wash him; when all wet
By Jove’s hands made, his glorious son,
Phœbus, with towel, had begun
To dry his skin. Alas! too true
That dreaming proved; he thereby grew
To hateful pride and foolishness,
And then succumbed to sore distress.
Though when to Phanie fair, his child,
He told this dream so strange and wild,6880
She strove to tear from off his eyes
The veil, for she was passing wise
To pierce the visions of the night,
And show their truth in morning light.”