Of our august prince, why is she driven285
From her father's court? Of what avail
Her faith, her father deified,
Her love and spotless chastity?
We, too, of our former master's fame
Have been unmindful, and his child
At the hest of cringing[56] fear betrayed.290
Not so of old: then Rome could boast
Of manly virtue, martial blood.
There lived a race of heroes then