[7]
But in this glory, O Caius Caesar, which you have just earned, you have no
partner. The whole of this, however great it may be,—and surely it
is as great as possible,—the whole of it, I say, is your own. The
centurion can claim for himself no share of that praise, neither can the
prefect, nor the battalion, nor the squadron. Nay, even that very mistress
of all human affairs, Fortune herself, cannot thrust herself into any
participation in that glory; she yields to you; she confesses that it is all
your own, your peculiar private desert. For rashness is never united with
wisdom, nor is chance ever admitted to regulate affairs conducted with
prudence.
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