as far as the extremest verge of ocean there is nothing left for Italy to fear."[1]
Cicero forthwith published this splendid oration. As a master-piece of his art, he might well be proud of it; but as marking definitely his submission to the Triumvirate, the "recantation," as he called it, caused him shame and self-reproach. "What is this you say," he writes to Atticus,[2] "do you think that there is any one by whom I wish my works to be read and approved rather than by yourself? Why then did I send it to any one else first? Well, I was pressed by the person to whom I sent it, and I had not another copy; and besides—I keep nibbling round what I have got to swallow—this recantation seemed to me to be somewhat discreditable. But a long good night to the thorough downright honest policy. It is incredible what treachery I find in these noble chiefs,[3] as they wish to be, and as they might be if they had any loyalty. I felt and knew how I had been led on by them and then deserted and tossed aside; still my hope was that I might work together with them in politics. But no, they were the same as ever, and by the aid of your monitions I have at last come to my senses. . . Let us finish with them. Since those, who have no power, will none of my love, let me take care that those who have the power[4] shall love me. You will
