Or drowsy, dreamy, tempting, fresh and fair, Had issued, shyly, from the troubled depths Of rock-bound spring, a nymph but newly born, And shrinking from the glances of the morn. Virginia, child of one Virginius, Centurion of courage and renown,[15] She burst upon me like a revelation Unto a prophet. She is mine as sure As are the stars possessions of the Night. She'll have no will but mine, no choice but mine; She'll yield her body unto me, until I find the chance to win her heart and soul. I'll hold her and I'll kiss her heart away; I'll chain her soul to mine with links of gold. But whether she shall ever love me true I little care, so that her lips are mine. So that I daily touch her hands and feel Her dusky hair blow cloudlike 'gainst my cheek. Marcus, thou art the man to work my weal, By aiding me in this, mine enterprise. Marc. What! Shall I play the game and thou receive The winnings? Appius (haughtily). Ay, assuredly. O, pause, And pausing, see thyself in honest light. Thou art my client; thou to me dost owe Thy safety, standing, possibly thy life. I know the law—I made, the law, the while Thou canst not read a letter; as a pleb Few rights are thine—those few I gave thy class At the expense of the patrician favor. Break with me, and thou'lt break thy fortunes, ope Thy chest of troubles, like the silly maid Who brought untold misfortunes on herself And on the world. Assist me and thou'lt gain My favor, keep my needful, strong protection. Marc. Enough! I follow thee and will obey. Appius. E'en to the letter? Marc. To the letter, lord. Appius. Then hearken. Choose some morning, soon or late,[16] And hasten to the market-place. The maid Receiveth schooling there. When she appears, Spring forward boldly, seize her by the arm, (And yet be not too rude in thy demeanor); When all the multitude around demand An explanation, say to them that she Was born of a slave-woman in thy house, Ere thou a client had become. And add That she had been in secret borne away, And, by the wife of one Virginius, Claimed as a child; her own at birth had died, And he, Virginius, kept in ignorance, Grossly deceived, believeth it his flesh And blood. The tale is wild; no proof hast thou, Nor witnesses; and yet it is enough Seeing that I control the Romans as The Fates control the lives of mortal men, And need the barest shadow of excuse To work my will—I, who am autocrat! Assume a righteous air, if that doth lie Within the limits of thy doubtful, rare Accomplishments. When they protest, then say "To Appius for justice I will go," And leave the rest to me. Marcus. Ay, leave to thee The cowing of the Roman mob, for that Lieth within the limits of thy rare, Doubtful accomplishments. So let it be. I'll serve thee well—will my returns be worthy The peril of my 

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