_Ful._ If thus his fate doth weigh upon thy heart, Thou art no longer Gracchus, or thou ravest! More grateful praise and warmer thanks might well Reward the generous courage which hath freed Rome from a tyrant, Gracchus from a foe. _Caius._ Then he was slain by thee? _Ful._ Ungrateful friend! Why dost thou tempt me? Danger menaces Thy honour. Freedom’s wavering light is dim; Rome wears the fetters of a guilty senate; One Scipio drove thy brother to a death Of infamy, another seeks _thy_ fall; And when one noble, one determined stroke To thee and thine assures the victory, wreaks The people’s vengeance, gives thee life and fame And pacifies thy brother’s angry shade, Is it a cause for wailing? Am I call’d For _this_ a murderer? Go!--I say once more, Thou art no longer Gracchus, or thou ravest! _Caius._ I know thee now, barbarian! Would’st thou serve My cause with crimes? _Ful._ And those of that proud man Whom I have slain, and thou dost mourn, are _they_ To be forgotten? Hath oblivion then Shrouded the stern destroyer’s ruthless work, The famine of Numantia? Such a deed As on our name the world’s deep curses drew! Or the four hundred Lusian youths betray’d, And with their bleeding, mutilated limbs Back to their parents sent? Is this forgot? Go, ask of Carthage!--bid her wasted shores Of him, this reveller in blood, recount The terrible achievements! At the cries, The groans, th’ unutterable pangs of those, The more than hundred thousand wretches, doom’d (Of every age and sex) to fire, and sword, And fetters, I could marvel that the earth In horror doth not open! They were foes, They were barbarians, but unarm’d, subdued, Weeping, imploring mercy! And the law Of Roman virtue is, to spare the weak, To tame the lofty! But in other lands, Why should I seek for records of his crimes, If there the suffering people ask in vain A little earth to lay their bones in peace? If the decree which yielded to their claims So brief a heritage, and the which to seal Thy brother’s blood was shed--if this remain Still fruitless, still delusive, who was he That mock’d its power?--Who to all Rome declared Thy brother’s death was just, was needful?--Who But Scipio? And remember thou the words Which burst in thunder from thy lips e’en then, Heard by the people! Caius, in my heart They have been deeply treasured. He must die, (Thus did’st thou speak) this tyrant! We have need That he should perish! I have done the deed; And call’st thou _me_ his murderer? If the blow Was guilt, then _thou_ art guilty. From thy lips The sentence came--the crime is thine alone. I, thy devoted friend, did but obey Thy mandate.