388.
Yes, my Lord—but my husband is an old man.
388.
O holy Virgin, how exceeding old he is!
408.
Long live the Holy Father!
_Ibid._
Your blessing, Holy Father.
411.
This triumph, this, on Libya’s utmost bound,
With death and desolation compassed round,
To all thy glories, Pompey, I prefer,
Thy trophies, and thy third triumphal car;
To Marius’ mighty name, and great Jugurthine war.