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Caius. And we will make it such.
But prove we first our strength. Declare, what friends
(If yet misfortune hath her friends) remain
True to our cause?
Ful. Few, few, but valiant hearts.
****
Oh! what a change is here! There was a time,
When, over all supreme, thy word gave law
To nations and their rulers; in thy presence
The senate trembled, and the citizens
Flock 'd round thee in deep reverence. Then a word,
A look from Caius, a salute, a smile,
Fill'd them with pride. Each sought to be the friend,
The client,—aye, the very slave, of him,
The people's Idol; and beholding them
Thus prostrate in thy path, thou, thou thyself,
Didst blush to see their vileness!—But thy Fortune
Is waning now, her glorious phantoms melt
Into dim vapour, and the earthly god,
So worshipp'd once, from his forsaken shrines,
Down to the dust is hurl'd.

Caius. And what of this?
There is no power in Fortune to deprive
Gracchus of Gracchus. Mine is such a heart,
As meets the storm exultingly; a heart
Whose stern delight it is to strive with fate,
And conquer. Trust me, Fate is terrible,
But because man is vile. A coward first
Made her a deity.**
**But say, what thoughts
Are foster'd by the people? Have they lost
The sense of their misfortunes? Is the name
Of Gracchus in their hearts, (reveal the truth,)
Already numbered with forgotten things?

Ful. A breeze, a passing breeze, now here, now there,
Borne on light pinion, such the people's love!
Yet have they claims on pardon, for their faults
Are of their miseries; and their feebleness
Is to their woes proportioned. Haply still,
The secret sigh of their full hearts is thine,
But their lips breathe it not. Their grief is mute;
And the deep paleness of their timid mien,
And eyes in fix'd despondence bent on earth,
And sometimes a faint murmur of thy name,
Alone accuse them. They are hush'd, for now,
Not one, nor two, their tyrants; but a host,
Whose numbers are the numbers of the rich,