Thy valour further here; some otherwhere
Thy matchless skill and industry bestow.
Thy work is over in Numantia there;
They all are dead and gone, save one, I ween,
Who still doth live to give thee triumph rare.
Within that very tower, as I have seen,
There right in front of us, doth lurk a youth,
Alarm'd and timid, but of gentle mien.
Scipio.
This is enough to make, if it be truth,