# Romance of the Rose (Ellis)/Chapter 41

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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.”