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OTHUS.

To be in toils and perils, nay in sufferings,

With th' applauding sympathy of men
Upon his side, is to the noble mind
A state of happiness beyond the bliss
Of calm inglorious ease.

CONSTANTINE.

O no, good Othus! thou misjudgest of me.

I would, God knows, in a poor woodman's hut
Have spent my peaceful days, and shar'd my crust
With her who would have cheer'd me, rather far
Than on this throne; but, being what I am,
I'll be it nobly.

OTHUS.

Yes, thou wilt be it nobly, spirit as brave

As e'er wore Cæsar's name!

CONSTANTINE (smiling sorrowfully).

Yes, there is cause for me; there is good cause.

But for those valiant men, link'd in my fate,
Who have in other lands their peaceful homes
And dear domestic ties, on whom no claim
Lays its strong hold—alas! what cause have they?
What is their recompense? Fame is not mine;
And unto them——O this doth press my heart!
A heart surcharg'd with many cares, and press'd
With that besides, which more than all—with that
Which I have wrestled with—which I have strove—