Himselfe afoot before his weary'd bands
Marches with pile in hand, and not commands,
But shewes them how to labour: never sits
In coach, or charriot: sleepes the least a nights:
Last tasts the water. When a fountaine's found,
He stayes a foot till all the souldiers round,
And every cullion drinke. If fame be due
To truest goodnesse, if you simply view
Vertue without successe, what ere we call
In greatest Romans great; was fortune all.
Who could deserve in prosperous war such fame?
Or by the nations blood so great a name?
Rather had I this vertuous triumph win
In Libyaes desart sands, then thrice be seene
In Pompey's laurell'd charriot, or to lead
Jugurtha captive. Here behold indeed
Rome, thy true father, by whose sacred name
(Worthy thy Temples) it shall never shame
People to sweare; whom, if thou ere are free,
Thou wilt hereafter make a deity.