give? Can I call you "soldiers?"—you who have beset with arms the son of your emperor, eonfined him in your trenches? "Citizens" can I call you?—you who have treated with such scorn the authority of the senate? The obligations observed by enemies—the sacred persons and privileges of ambassadors—the laws of nations—you have violated. The deified Julius quelled a sedition in his army by a single word—by calling those who renounced their allegiance "Quirites." The deified Augustus terrified the legion that fought Actium into submission by his countenance and look. If the armies in Syria and Spain contemn the authority of us, who, tho not yet equal to them, are descended from them, we should think their behavior strange and base.
Do you, the first and the twentieth legions, the former enrolled by Tiberius himself, the other Ins constant companions in so many battles, and by him enriched with so many bounties, make this goodly return to your general? And shall I be the bearer of such tidings to him—while he receives none but joyful intelligence from the other provinces—that his own recruits, his own veterans, have not been satiated with exemption from service nor money? Must I tell him that here alone centurions are butchered—tribunes expelled—ambassadors imprisoned—the camp and the rivers polluted with blood—and that I drag out a precarious existence among men implacably set against me?
"Wherefore, on the first day that I addressed
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