XCIV.

And thus they plod in sluggish misery,[nw] Rotting from sire to son, and age to age,[475] Proud of their trampled nature, and so die,[nx] Bequeathing their hereditary rage To the new race of inborn slaves, who wage War for their chains, and rather than be free, Bleed gladiator-like, and still engage Within the same Arena where they see Their fellows fall before, like leaves of the same tree.