[59]
O ye immortal gods! why do you at times appear
to wink at the greatest crimes of men, or why do you reserve the punishment
of present wickedness to a future day? For I saw, I saw, and I myself
experienced that grief, the bitterest grief that I ever felt in my life,
when Quintus Metellus was torn from the heart and bosom of his country, and
when that man who considered himself born only for this empire, but three
days after he had been in good health, flourishing in the senate-house, in
the rostrum, and in the republic; while in the flower of his age, of an
excellent constitution, and in the full vigour of manhood, was torn in a
most unworthy manner from all good men, and from the entire state; at which
time he, though dying, when on other points his senses appeared to be
bewildered, retained his senses to the last as far as his recollection of
the republic was concerned; and beholding me in tears, he intimated with
broken and failing voice, how great a storm he saw was impending over the
city,—how great a tempest was threatening the state; and
frequently striking that wall which separated his house from that of
Catulus, he kept on mentioning Catulus by name, and me myself, and the
republic, so as to show that he was grieving, not so much because he was
dying, as because both his country and I were about to be deprived of his
aid and protection.
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M. Tullius Cicero. The Orations of Marcus Tullius Cicero, literally translated by C. D. Yonge, B. A. London. George Bell & Sons, York Street, Covent Garden. 1891.
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