before was violent, became now
insupportable: she fainted, and lay without signs of life. At length
recovering, and reflecting that it was no time for vain lamentations,
she fled through the city to the seaside.

17. Pompey received and embraced her, and in silent despair supported
her in his arms. "Alas!" said Corne'lia, "you who, before our
marriage, appeared in these seas as the commander of five hundred
sail, are now reduced to make your escape in a single vessel. Why come
you in search of an unfortunate woman? Why was I not left to a
fate which now you are under the necessity of sharing with me? Happy
for me had I executed, long since, my design of quitting this life!
But fatally have I been reserved to add to Pompey's sorrows."

[Illustration: Death of Pompey.]

18. Pompey instanced the uncertainty of all human affairs, and
endeavoured by every argument to give her comfort; then, taking her
under his protection, he continued his course, stopping no longer than
was necessary for a supply of provisions at the ports which occurred
in his passage. 19. He now determined upon applying to Ptol'emy, king
of Egypt, to whose father he had been a considerable benefactor.
Ptol'emy was yet a minor, and had not the government in his own hands,
but was under the direction of an administration. 20. His council
insidiously contrived that Pompey should be invited on shore, and
murdered before he should come into the king's presence. Achil'las,
commander of the forces, and Septim'ius, a Roman, who had formerly
been a centurion in Pompey's army, undertook to carry the treacherous
design into execution. Attended by three or four more, they put off in
a little bark, and rowed to Pompey's ship, that lay about a mile from
the shore.

21. Pompey now took leave of Corne'lia, repeating to her a verse of
Soph'ocles, signifying, that "he who trusts his freedom to a tyrant,
from that moment becomes a slave." He then gave his hand to Achil'las,
and, with only two of his own attendants, stepped into the bark. 22.
The frantic Corne'lia hung over the side of the deck, weeping and
exclaiming against his separation from her. "Alas!" said she,
"whither art thou going?"

He spoke; but she, unmoved at his commands,
Thus loud exclaiming, stretch'd her eager hands;
"Whither, inhuman! whither art thou gone?
Still must I weep our common griefs alone?"
ROWE'S LUCAN.

In wild astonishment she followed