COTTA. Rightly.
LUCIUS. Perhaps.
COTTA. We get no thanks.
LUCIUS. We strip the men for troops abroad,
And leave the women and the slaves
For merchants and their kind. The graves
Of half each province line the road;
These people could not stand a day
Against the tribes, with us away.
COTTA. Rightly.
LUCIUS. Perhaps.
COTTA. Here comes the Chief.
LUCIUS. Sir, did your riders catch the thief?
CHIEF. No; he got clear and keeps the horse.
But bad news always comes with worse:
The frontier's fallen, we're recalled,
Our army's broken, Rome's appalled!
My God! the whole world's in a blaze.
So now we've done with idle days,
Fooling on frontiers. Boot and start.
It gives a strange feel in the heart
To think that this, that Rome has made,
Is done with. Yes, the stock's decayed.
We march at once. You mark my words:
We're done, we're crumbled into sherds;
We shall not see this place again
When once we go.
LUCIUS. Do none remain?