emicat ad nutum stricto mucrone minister.
fixus quisque toro tacita formidine libat
carnifices epulas incertaque pocula pallens
haurit et intentos capiti circumspicit enses.
splendet Tartareo furialis mensa paratu 180
caede madens, atrox gladio, suspecta veneno.
Gildo. Twelve courses has the sun’s chariot run since first I wore this sorry yoke. He has now grown old amid our miseries and these many years have set their seal upon his rule. Rule—would it were rule: a private owner possesses me, as it had been some pelting farm. From Nile to Atlas’ mount, from scorched Barce to western Gades, from Tingi[71] to Egypt’s coast Gildo has appropriated the land as his own. A third of the world belongs to one robber-chief.
“He is a prey to the most diverse vices: whatsoe’er his bottomless greed has stolen, a yet more insatiable profligacy squanders. He is the terror of the living, the heir of the dead, the violator of the unwed, and the foul corrupter of the marriage-bed. He is never quiet; when greed is sated lust is rampant; day is a misery to the rich, night to the married. Is any wealthy or known to possess a beautiful wife, he is overwhelmed by some trumped-up charge. If no charge be brought against him, he is asked to a banquet and there murdered. No form of death but is known to this artist in crime. He investigates the properties of different poisons and serpents’ livid venom and knows of deadly herbs unknown even to stepmothers. If any condemns what he sees by a look or sighs with too much freedom, at the very festal board out darts some henchman with drawn sword at a nod from his master. Each glued to his seat tastes in silent fear of the deadly banquet; drains, pale of face, the treacherous cup, and looks around at the weapons that threaten his life. The deadly board is decked in infernal splendour, wet with slaughter, dreadful with fear of sword and suspected poison. When wine has
[71] Tangiers.