And some divine instinct so presseth me,
That sore I tremble, till I set him free.
PAUSANIUS. The like assaults attain my wand'ring mind,
Seeing our bootless war with matchless fate.
Let us entreat him to forsake our town;
So shall we gain a friend of Rome and him.
[MARIUS _awaketh_.
But mark how happily he doth awake.
MARIUS. What, breathe I yet, poor man, with mounting sighs,
Choking the rivers of my restless eyes?
Or is their rage restrain'd with matchless ruth?
See how amaz'd these angry lords behold
The poor, confused looks of wretched Marius.
Minturnians, why delays your headsman thus
To finish up this ruthful tragedy?
L. FAVORINUS. Far be it, Marius, from our thoughts or hands
To wrong the man protected by the gods:
Live happy, Marius, so thou leave our town.
MARIUS. And must I wrestle once again with fate,
Or will these princes dally with mine age?
PAUSANIUS. No, matchless Roman; thine approved mind,
That erst hath alter'd our ambitious wrong,
Must flourish still, and we thy servants live
To see thy glories, like the swelling tides,
Exceed the bounds of fate and Roman rule.
Yet leave us, lord, and seek some safer shed,
Where, more secure, thou may'st prevent mishaps;
For great pursuits and troubles thee await.
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