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Of fortune's gilded minion. I confess My want of fortitude,—I cannot gaze On my triumphant rival, all unmoved, Or view the contrast with a Stoic's eye, When baffled, beaten, chased by land and sea, I brought the remnant of my soldiers home, Mid hisses and disgrace. The chance of war, Disease and famine, want and mutiny, Were all combined against thee. Here I swear By all the sacred attributes of heaven! By all the much-loved honours I have lost! What man could do I did, to stem the tide, Which ran so strong against me:—I had died Upon the field of war, but that I hoped Some future period would see me rise From base defeat to glorious victory;