And now, methinks, from my lofty look-out, as
it were, from whence I survey the matter in hand, I
can descry Fortune and Virtue advancing to be judged
and tried one against the other.
1 The gait of Virtue
is unhurried, her gaze unwavering ; yet the flush of
ambition lends to her countenance some intimation
regarding the contest. She follows far behind
Fortune, who makes great haste, and in a throng
conducting her and guarding her person are
Heroes slain in the conflict, wearing their blood-stained
armour,2
men befouled with wounds in front, dripping blood
with sweat commingled, trampling upon battered
spoils. Is it your desire that we inquire what
men are these? They declare themselves to be
the Fabricii, the Camilli, the Decii, the Cincinnati,
the Fabii Maximi, the Claudii Marcelli, and the
Scipios. I see also Gaius Marius showing anger at
Fortune, and yonder Mucius Scaevola is exhibiting
his burning hand and crying, ‘Do you graciously
attribute this also to Fortune?’ And Marcus
Horatius, the hero of the battle by the Tiber, weighed
down by Etruscan shafts and showing his limping
limb, cries aloud from the deep whirl of the waters,
‘Then am I also maimed by Fortune's will?’ Of
such character is Virtue's choir that advances to the
lists,
Sturdy contender in arms, baleful to all that oppose.3
[p. 331]