I am most sure that some one call’d. O women,
Ye will have Roman masters. I am glad
I shall not see it. Did not some old Greek
Say death was the chief good? He had my fate for it,
Poison’d. (Sinks back again). Have I the crown on? I will go
To meet him, crown’d! crown’d victor of my will—
On my last voyage—but the wind has fail’d—
Growing dark too—but light enough to row.
Row to the blessed Isles! the blessed Isles!—
Sinnatus!