“To the admired Camma,—beheld you afar off—loved you—sends you this cup—the cup we use in our marriages—cannot at present write himself other than “A GALATIAN SERVING BY FORCE IN THE ROMAN LEGION.” Serving by force! Were there no boughs to hang on, Rivers to drown in? Serve by force? No force Could make me serve by force. SYNORIX. How then, my lord? The Roman is encampt without your city— The force of Rome a thousand-fold our own. Must all Galatia hang or drown himself? And you a Prince and Tetrarch in this province—— SINNATUS. Province! SYNORIX. Well, well, they call it so in Rome. SINNATUS (_angrily_). Province! SYNORIX. A noble anger! but Antonius To-morrow will demand your tribute—you, Can you make war? Have you alliances? Bithynia, Pontus, Paphlagonia? We have had our leagues of old with Eastern kings. There is my hand—if such a league there be. What will you do? SINNATUS. Not set myself abroach And run my mind out to a random guest Who join’d me in the hunt. You saw my hounds True to the scent; and we have two-legg’d dogs Among us who can smell a true occasion, And when to bark and how. SYNORIX. My good Lord Sinnatus, I once was at the hunting of a lion. Roused by the clamour of the chase he woke, Came to the front of the wood—his monarch mane Bristled about his quick ears—he stood there Staring upon the hunter. A score of dogs Gnaw’d at his ankles: at the last he felt The trouble of his feet, put forth one paw, Slew four, and knew it not, and so remain’d Staring upon the hunter: and this Rome Will crush you if you wrestle with her; then Save for some slight report in her own Senate Scarce know what she has done. (_Aside._) Would I could move him, Provoke him any way! (_Aloud._) The Lady Camma, Wise I am sure as she is beautiful, Will close with me that to submit at once Is better than a wholly-hopeless war, Our gallant citizens murder’d all in vain, Son, husband, brother gash’d to death in vain, And the small state more cruelly trampled on Than had she never moved. CAMMA.