This spoke, he hides with leaves his omen’d head Then prays; the senate next convenes, and said:

“If augurs can foresee, a wretch is come, Design’d by destiny the bane of Rome. Two horns (most strange to tell) his temples crown: If e’er he pass the walls, and gain the town, Your laws are forfeit that ill-fated hour, And liberty must yield to lawless power. Your gates he might have enter’d; but this arm Seized the usurper, and withheld the harm. Haste, find the monster out, and let him be Condemn’d to all the senate can decree; Or tied in chains, or into exile thrown, Or by the tyrant’s death prevent your own.”

The crowd such murmurs utter as they stand, As swelling surges breaking on the strand: Or as when gathering gales sweep o’er the grove, And their tall heads the bending cedars move. Each with confusion gazed, and then began To feel his fellow’s brows, and find the man. Cippus then shakes his garland off, and cries, “The wretch you want I offer to your eyes.”