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 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! Wouldst 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 here 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 declar'd That 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 treasur'd.—He must die, (Thus didst 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