I shall always be consistent and never change my ways so long as

Host: The Senate chamber was draped in marble and tension. Afternoon light poured through tall Roman windows, gilding the dust that hung in the air like the ghosts of ancient debates. The columns stood silent — elegant witnesses to centuries of pride, fear, and the brittle sound of reason colliding with power.

At the center, the room breathed in measured silence. The voices of the day’s orators had faded, leaving behind only the faint echo of rhetoric and restraint.

Jack, now dressed in the robes of a Roman senator, sat in the half-light. His face, shadowed and sharp, carried that mix of intellect and exhaustion known only to those who live too long in proximity to power. Beside him stood Jeeny, her posture steady, her expression thoughtful — like someone balancing admiration and alarm in equal measure.

The great bronze doors closed behind them with a low, solemn thud.

Jeeny: “Tiberius once said, ‘I shall always be consistent and never change my ways so long as I am in my senses; but for the sake of precedent the Senate should beware of binding itself to support the acts of any man, since he might through some mischance suffer a change.’”

Host: Her voice carried softly, almost reverently, but her tone hinted at unease — the unease of a mind wrestling with both wisdom and warning.

Jack: (smirking faintly) “Leave it to an emperor to sound humble while warning others of tyranny.”

Jeeny: “And yet, he wasn’t wrong. Loyalty to a person is fragile; loyalty to principle endures.”

Jack: “Until principles become inconvenient.”

Jeeny: “Then you find out which kind of loyalty you truly hold.”

Host: The sunlight struck the Senate floor, a mosaic of shadow and gold. The faint scent of parchment, oil, and iron lingered — the scent of civilization held together by argument.

Jack: “You know, Tiberius fascinates me. A man who claimed to distrust power but never relinquished it. A philosopher of control.”

Jeeny: “He understood the danger of worship. Once a Senate pledges loyalty to a man, the republic is already over.”

Jack: “And yet, they always do. History repeats because gratitude always mistakes itself for wisdom.”

Jeeny: “Or fear disguises itself as faith.”

Host: Her words hung there, sharper than any dagger the Senate had ever seen.

Jack: “So you think he was warning them — or himself?”

Jeeny: “Both. Tiberius was intelligent enough to know that conviction can curdle into madness. ‘So long as I am in my senses,’ he said. That’s the most honest phrase ever spoken by a ruler.”

Jack: “Because even emperors know sanity is temporary?”

Jeeny: “Because power tests it.”

Host: A long pause. The wind outside whispered through the marble arches — a low murmur, as if history itself were eavesdropping.

Jack: “You ever wonder if consistency is overrated? Everyone worships it — but it’s just another form of stubbornness.”

Jeeny: “No. Consistency isn’t stubbornness; it’s clarity. The danger isn’t changing — it’s pretending you haven’t.”

Jack: “So you’d rather a ruler admit his contradictions?”

Jeeny: “Always. A man who hides his change becomes a god — and gods don’t answer questions.”

Host: The light dimmed slightly as a cloud passed over the sun, casting the Senate hall in silver-gray shadow. The marble busts of past rulers seemed to lean closer, as if listening to the echo of their own downfall.

Jack: “Strange how Tiberius spoke of reason, yet ruled through fear.”

Jeeny: “Because philosophy sounds pure until it meets ambition.”

Jack: “And yet, his words outlived his empire.”

Jeeny: “Because words, unlike power, don’t decay — they just wait to be misunderstood again.”

Host: She stepped closer, the sound of her sandals echoing lightly across the marble floor.

Jeeny: “You see, his warning wasn’t against loyalty — it was against blindness. ‘Beware of binding yourselves,’ he said. That’s not just for senators. It’s for everyone who follows too easily.”

Jack: “Even now?”

Jeeny: “Especially now.”

Host: The light returned, washing the room in pale gold. For a moment, everything glowed — the marble, the silence, even the weight of their thoughts.

Jack: “Maybe that’s why history never learns. We prefer leaders to laws, charisma to conscience.”

Jeeny: “Because responsibility is heavier when it’s shared.”

Jack: “You think people ever change that?”

Jeeny: “Only when they remember that government is a mirror, not a master.”

Host: He looked at her — at the conviction in her gaze, the steadiness of belief. There was no idealism there, only the hard-earned faith of someone who’d seen what happens when institutions bow to personality.

Jack: (softly) “You know, I think Tiberius saw his own fall long before it happened. That’s why he warned them. Every ruler eventually becomes the cautionary tale he once told.”

Jeeny: “And every Senate, given time, forgets the warning.”

Host: Outside, the sound of the city drifted faintly through the arches — the market chatter, the clash of armor, the heartbeat of empire continuing as if immortal.

Jeeny: “Consistency is noble, Jack. But empathy is wiser. The danger isn’t change — it’s arrogance disguised as principle.”

Jack: “And power disguised as order.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The moment you believe yourself immune to error, you’re already mad.”

Host: The light began to fade; the last beam of day touched the Senate floor and vanished. The air grew still, heavy with echoes.

Jack: “Maybe that’s what he meant by ‘so long as I am in my senses.’ He knew every leader walks on a narrow ledge between reason and delusion.”

Jeeny: “And that’s why no institution should ever promise to follow a man, no matter how sane he seems today.”

Jack: “Because sanity has an expiration date.”

Jeeny: (quietly) “And power always tests the clock.”

Host: The doors creaked open again. The hall seemed larger now — emptier, lonelier — as if it had swallowed their conversation whole.

They walked toward the exit, their footsteps echoing against the marble. At the threshold, Jeeny stopped and glanced back — one last look at the chamber where ideals and ego had wrestled for centuries.

Jeeny: “Strange, isn’t it? The empire’s gone, but the warning still fits the world perfectly.”

Jack: “That’s the irony of wisdom. It outlives both the wise and the foolish.”

Host: The sunset burned across the horizon, red as memory, soft as surrender.

And in that light — the color of both dawn and ruin — Tiberius’s words whispered across time:

That consistency without humility is a throne built on sand.
That loyalty to principle must outweigh devotion to men.
And that the true measure of sanity
lies not in power held,
but in the awareness that one day,
the mind — or the world —
may change.

Host: The city roared faintly below, as if history itself exhaled. And above the marble silence, only light remained — the oldest ruler of all.