Of ruthless war; he hath survey'd around

The heaps of slain that cover yonder field,

And, touch'd with gen'rous sense of human woe,

Weeps o'er his victories.

Dio. Your leader weeps![Pg 40]

[Pg 40]

Then let the author of those ills thou speak'st of,

Let the ambitious factor of destruction,

Timely retreat, and close the scene of blood.

Why doth affrighted peace behold his standard

Uprear'd in Sicily? and wherefore here

The iron ranks of war, from which the shepherd

Retires appall'd, and leaves the blasted hopes

Of half the year, while closer to her breast

The mother clasps her infant?

Her. 'Tis not mine

To plead Timoleon's cause; not mine the office

To justify the strong, the righteous motives

That urge him to the war: the only scope

My deputation aims at, is to fix

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