of the ship provided them
with the best supper he could, and when it was almost ready, Pompey, for
want of a servant, was going to wash himself, but Favonius, seeing it,
stepped up, and both washed and anointed him. All the time he was on
board, he continued to wait upon him in all the offices of a servant,
even to the washing of his feet and providing his supper; insomuch, that
one who saw the unaffected simplicity and sincere attachment with which
Favonius performed these offices, cried out--

The generous mind adds dignity
To every act, and nothing misbecomes it.

Pompey, in the course of his voyage, sailed by Amphipolis, and from
thence steered for Mitylene, to take up Cornelia and his son. As soon
as he reached the island, he sent a messenger to the town with news far
different from what Cornelia expected. For, by the flattering accounts
which many officious persons had given her, she understood that the
dispute was decided at Dyrrhachium, and that nothing but the pursuit of
Caesar remained to be attended to. The messenger, finding her possessed
with such hopes, had not power to make the usual salutations; but
expressing the greatness of Pompey's misfortunes by his tears rather
than words, only told her she must make haste if she had a mind to see
Pompey with one ship only, and that not his own.

At this news Cornelia threw herself upon the ground, where she lay a
long time insensible and speechless. At last, coming to herself, she
perceived there was no time to be lost in tears and lamentations, and
therefore hastened through the town to the sea. Pompey ran to meet her,
and received her to his arms as she was just going to fall. While she
hung upon his neck, she thus addressed him: "I see, my dear husband,
your present unhappy condition is the effect of my ill fortune, and not
yours. Alas! how are you reduced to one poor vessel, who, before your
marriage with Cornelia, traversed the sea with 500 galleys! Why did you
come to see me, and not rather leave me to my evil destiny, who have
loaded you, too, with such a weight of calamities? How happy had it been
for me to have died before I heard that Publius, my first husband, was
killed by the Parthians! How wise, had I followed him to the grave, as
I once intended! What have I lived for since, but to bring misfortunes
upon Pompey the Great?"

Such, we are assured, was the speech of Cornelia; and Pompey answered:
"Till this moment, Cornelia, you have exp