Tread down whole ranks, and crush out heroes' souls;
Dash'd from their hoofs, as o'er the dead they fly,
Black bloody drops the smoaking chariot dye;—
The spiky wheels through heaps of carnage tore,
And thick the groaning axles dropp'd with gore;
High o'er the scene of death Achilles stood,
All grim with dust, all horrible with blood;
Yet still insatiate, still with rage on flame,
Such is the lust of never-dying fame!
The cure must be taken from moral writers. Woolaston says, Cæsar conquered Pompey; that is, a man whose name consisted of the letters C. æ. s. a. r. conquered a long time ago a man, whose name consisted of the letters P. o. m. p. e. y. and that this is all that remains of either of them. Juvenal also attacks this mode of insanity, Sat. X. 166.