_Marcellus._ Take it, Hannibal. It was given me by a poor woman who flew to me at Syracuse, and who covered it with her hair, torn off in desperation that she had no other gift to offer. Little thought I that her gift and her words should be mine. How suddenly may the most powerful be in the situation of the most helpless! Let that ring and the mantle under my head be the exchange of guests at parting. The time may come, Hannibal, when thou (and the gods alone know whether as conqueror or conquered) mayest sit under the roof of my children, and in either case it shall serve thee. In thy adverse fortune, they will remember on whose pillow their father breathed his last; in thy prosperity (Heaven grant it may shine upon thee in some other country!) it will rejoice thee to protect them. We feel ourselves the most exempt from affliction when we relieve it, although we are then the most conscious that it may befall us. There is one thing here which is not at the disposal of either. _Hannibal._ What? _Marcellus._ This body. _Hannibal._ Whither would you be lifted? Men are ready. _Marcellus._ I meant not so. My strength is failing. I seem to hear rather what is within than what is without. My sight and my other senses are in confusion. I would have said--this body, when a few bubbles of air shall have left it, is no more worthy of thy notice than of mine; but thy glory will not let thee refuse it to the piety of my family. _Hannibal._ You would ask something else. I perceive an inquietude not visible till now. _Marcellus._ Duty and Death make us think of home sometimes. _Hannibal._ Thitherward the thoughts of the conqueror and of the conquered fly together. _Marcellus._ Hast thou any prisoners from my escort? _Hannibal._ A few dying lie about--and let them lie--they are Tuscans. The remainder I saw at a distance, flying, and but one brave man among them--he appeared a Roman--a youth who turned back, though wounded. They surrounded and dragged him away, spurring his horse with their swords. These Etrurians measure their courage carefully, and tack it well together before they put it on, but throw it off again with lordly ease. Marcellus, why think about them? or does aught else disquiet your thoughts? _Marcellus._ I have suppressed it long enough. My son--my beloved son! _Hannibal._ Where is he? Can it be? Was he with you? _Marcellus._ He would have shared my fate--and has not. Gods of my country! beneficent throughout life to me, in death surpassingly beneficent: I render you, for the last time, thanks. QUEEN ELIZABETH AND CECIL