To check the fearful deed which I intend;
Think, O my sons, if I can now give way,
When thoughts of honour with my purpose blend!
O poignant is the grief, the sore dismay,
We feel when Life must have a sudden end;
But mine is more, since I by Fate's decree
Your cruel executioner must be!
Ye shall not live, O children of my soul,
To be the Romans' slaves, nor shall their power,
However much it rage beyond control,