Then arose the blessed Augustus, when his turn
 came, and spoke with much eloquence. The speech seems to contain a parody of
 Augustus's style and sayings. 
 I call you to witness, my lords and gentlemen, said he, " that since
 the day I was made a god I have never uttered one word. I always mind my own
 business. But now I can keep on the mask no longer, nor conceal the sorrow which
 shame makes all the greater. Is it for this I have made peace by land and sea? For
 this have I calmed intestine wars? For this, laid a firm foundation of law for Rome,
 adorned it with buildings, and all that—gentlemen, words fail me; there
 are none can rise to the height of my indignation. I must borrow that saying of the
 eloquent Messala Corvinus, I am ashamed of my authority. M. Valerius Messalas
 Corvinus, appointed praefectus urbi, resigned within a week. This man, my
 lords, who looks as though he could not worry a fly, used to chop off heads as
 easily as a dog sits down. But why should I speak of all those men, and such men?
 There is no time to lament for public disasters, when one has so many private
 sorrows to think of. I leave that, therefore, and say only this; for even if my
 sister knows no Greek, I do: The knee is nearer than the shin. A proverb, like
 Charity begins at home. The reading of the passage is
 uncertain; sister" is only a conjecture, and it is hard to see why his sister
 should be mentioned. This man you see, who for so many 
 years has been masquerading under my name, has done me the favour of murdering two
 Julias, greatgranddaughters of mine, one by cold steel and one by starvation; and
 one great-grandson, L. Silanus. See, Jupiter, whether in a bad cause (at least it is
 your own) you will be fair. Come tell me, blessed Claudius, why of all those you
 killed, both men and women, without a hearing, why you did not hear their side of
 the case first, before putting them to death? Where do we find that custom? It is
 not done in heaven. Look at Jupiter: all these years he has been king, and never did more than once to break Vulcan's
 leg, Whom seizing by the foot he cast from the threshold of the sky,' Iliad i, 591 and once he fell in a rage with his wife and
 strung her up: did he do any killing? You killed Messalina, whose great-uncle I was
 no less than yours. 'I don't know,' did you say? Curse you! that is just it: not to
 know was worse than to kill. Caligula he went on persecuting even when he was dead.
 Caligula murdered his father-in-law, Claudius his son-in-law to boot. Caligula would
 not have Crassus' son called Great; Claudius gave him his name back, and took away
 his head. In one family he destroyed Crassus, Magnus, Scribonia, the Tristionias,
 Assario, noble though they were; Crassus indeed such a fool that he might have been
 emperor. Is this he you want now to make a god? Look at his body, born under the
 wrath of heaven! In fine, let him say as many as three words quickly, and he may
 have me for a slave. God! who will worship this god, who will believe him? While you
 make gods of such as he, no one will believe you to be gods. To be brief, my lords:
 if I have lived honourably among you, if I have never given plain
 speech to any, avenge my wrongs. This is my motion": then he read out his amendment,
 which he had committed to writing: Inasmuch as the blessed Claudius murdered
 his father-in-law Appius Silanus, his two sons-in-law, Pompeius Magnus and L.
 Silanus, Crassus Frugi his daughter's father-in-law, as like him as two eggs in
 a basket, Scribonia his daughter's mother-in-law, his wife Messalina, and others
 too numerous to mention; I propose that strong measures be taken against him,
 that he be allowed no delay of process, that immediate sentence of banishment be
 passed on him, that he be deported from heaven within thirty days, and from
 Olympus within thirty hours. A division was taken upon this without further debate. Not a moment was lost: Mercury
 got a grip of his throat, and haled him to the lower regions, to that bourne from
 which they say no traveller returns." Catullus iii, 12. As they passed downwards along the Sacred Way,
 Mercury asked what was that great concourse of men? could it be Claudius' funeral?
 It was certainly a most gorgeous spectacle, got up regardless of expense, clear it
 was that a god was being borne to the grave: tootling of flutes, roaring of horns,
 an immense brass band of all sorts, such a din that even Claudius could hear it. Joy
 and rejoicing on every side, the Roman people walking about like free men. Agatho
 and a few pettifoggers were weeping for grief, and for once in a way they meant it.
 The Barristers were crawling out of their dark corners, pale and thin, with hardly a
 breath in their bodies, as though just coming to life again. One of them when he saw
 the pettifoggers putting their heads together, and lamenting
 their sad lot, up comes he and says: Did not I tell you the Saturnalia could
 not last for ever? When Claudius saw his own funeral train, he realized that he was dead. For they were
 chanting his dirge in anapaests, with much mopping and mouthing: "Pour forth your laments, your sorrow declare, Let the sounds of grief rise high in the air: For he that is dead had a wit most keen, Was bravest of all that on earth have been. Racehorses are nothing to his swift feet: Rebellious Parthians he did defeat; Swift after the Persians his light shafts go: For he well knew how to fit arrow to bow, Swiftly the striped barbarians fled: With one little wound he shot them dead. And the Britons beyond in their unknown seas, Blue-shielded Brigantians too, all these He chained by the neck as the Romans' slaves. He terrified Ocean with all his waves, Made fear a new master to lay down the law. O weep for the man! This world never saw One quicker a troublesome suit to decide, When only one part of the case had been tried, (He could do it indeed and not hear either side). Who'll now sit in judgment the whole year round? Now he that is judge of the shades underground Once ruler of fivescore cities in Crete, Must yield to his better and take a back seat. Mourn, mourn, pettifoggers, ye venal crew, And you, minor poets, woe, woe is to you! And you above all, who get rich quick By the rattle of dice and the three card trick."