Within the tent he heedless stands aloof, Entranc’d from all but Titus’s reproof: “Great sir (he cries) the world is nought to me, And I’m content, if native Rome be free: These are our foes; and ’tis a Roman’s pride (For which what thousands of our friends have died) To strive with all who would our pow’r withstand, Or mar die honor of our native land. Then let us on, and quell these daring fools, Nor talking stand, nor calmly wait for rules; I, with my band, will call them to the fight, And hilt to hilt will quickly prove our right: But if, like cowards, they the combat shun, Or beaten by our army basely run, Pursue them to the walls, our fortune try, And nobly enter, or as nobly die. There raise our banners in their very jaws, Or fall together in the common cause.” Each breast with double fury feels inspir’d, No tongue but with Placidus’ praise is fir’d; Titus himself with noble envy swells, The man gives way, but yet the king rebels, And thus he speaks: “Thy words and deeds are great, But we are men, then wherefore tempt our fate: He is but fool who of his lot complains, Yet greater far is he who life disdains; They only noble are whose deeds are good, Whose virtues have the shocks of fate withstood, Who fight their country’s battles as their own, And die to gain them victory alone. If such thy wish, and such thy pious thought, If with such Roman aims thy breast is fraught, Thy daring soul the giddy height shall soar, Till, fully cloy’d, it drops to mount no more. Yet if you meet that death you wildly seek, And with bright honor’s scars thy frame grows weak, Remember Titus, call him to thy side, (He will not mock thy zeal, nor proudly chide,) Pour in his friendly bosom all thy wrongs, The fatal cause that now thy woe prolongs; Repose in him, as friend, thy last request, Or aught to give thy parting spirit rest; And here he swears in face of all—of thee To ’tend thy wish, whatever it may be.” With heart o’erfill’d the lone Placidus bow’d, And silent mix’d among the list’ning crowd. Now round the tent the flowing goblet moves, Some pledge their friends, and some their distant loves; Nought but full pleasure can their hearts approach, While flask by flask the sparkling wine they broach; Glee, mirth, and laughter, with each bowl increase, And ev’ry thought of bloodshed feels release.