It is a new crime, and one never heard of before this day, O Caius Caesar, which my relation Quintus Tubero has brought before you, when he accuses Quintus Ligarius with having been in Africa; and that charge Caius Pansa, a man of eminent genius, relying perhaps on that intimacy with you which he enjoys, has ventured to confess. Therefore I do not know which way I had best proceed. For I had come prepared, as you did not know that fact of your own knowledge, and could not have heard it from any other quarter, to abase your ignorance in order to further the safety of a miserable man. But, however, since that which was previously unknown has been ferreted out by the diligence of his enemy we must, I suppose, confess the truth; especially as my dear friend Caius Pansa has so acted that it would not now be in my power to deny it. Therefore, abandoning all dispute of the fact, all my speech must be addressed to your mercy; by which many have already been preserved, having besought of you, not a release from all guilt, but pardon from admitted error.

You, therefore, O Tubero, have that which is of all things most desirable for a prosecutor, a defendant who confesses his fault; but still, one who confesses it only so far as he admits that he was of the same party as you yourself, O Tubero, were, and as that man worthy of all praise, your father, also was. Therefore you must inevitably confess yourselves also to be guilty, before you can find fault with any part of the conduct of Ligarius.

Quintus Ligarius, then, at a time when there was no suspicion of war, went as lieutenant into Africa with Caius Considius, in which lieutenancy he made himself so acceptable, both to our citizens there and to our allies, that Considius on departing from the province could not have given satisfaction to those men if he had appointed any one else to govern it. Therefore, Quintus Ligarius, after refusing it for a long time without effect, took upon himself the government of the province against his will. And while peace lasted, he governed it in such a manner that his integrity and good faith were most acceptable both to our citizens and to our allies. On a sudden, war broke out, which those who were in Africa heard of as being actually raging before any rumour of its preparation had reached them. But when they did hear of it, partly out of an inconsiderate eagerness, partly out of some blind apprehension, they sought for some one as a leader, at first only with the object of securing their safety, and afterwards with that of indulging their party-spirit; while Ligarius, keeping his eyes fixed on home, and wishing to return to his friends, would not allow himself to be implicated in any business of the sort. In the meantime, Publius Attius Varus, who as praetor had obtained the province of Africa, came to Utica. Every one immediately flocked to him, and he seized on the government with no ordinary eagerness, if that may be called government which was conferred on him, while a private individual, by the clamour of an ignorant mob, without the sanction of any public council. Therefore, Ligarius, who was anxious to avoid being mixed up in any transactions of the sort remained quiet for some time on the arrival of Varus.

Up to this point, O Caius Caesar, Quintus Ligarius is free from all blame. He left his home, not only not for the purpose of joining in any war, but when there was not even the slightest suspicion of war. Having gone as lieutenant in time of peace, he behaved himself in a most peaceable province in such a manner that it wished that peace might last for ever. Beyond all question, his departure from Rome with such an object ought not to be and cannot be offensive to you. Was, then, his remaining there offensive? Much less. For if it was no discreditable inclination that led to his going thither, it was even an honourable necessity which compelled him to remain. Both these times, then, are free from all fault—the time when he first went as lieutenant and the time when, having been demanded by the province, he was appointed governor of Africa.

There is a third time that during which he remained in Africa after the arrival of Varus; and if that is at all criminal, the crime is one of necessity, not of inclination. Would he, if he could possibly have escaped thence by any means whatever, would he rather have been at Utica than at Rome,—with Publius Attius, in preference to his own most united brothers,—would he rather have been among strangers, than with his own friends? When his lieutenancy itself had been full of regret and anxiety on account of the extraordinary affection subsisting between him and his brothers, could he possibly remain there with any equanimity when separated from those brothers by the discord of war?

You have, therefore, O Caesar, no sign as yet of the affections of Quintus Ligarius being alienated from you. And observe, I entreat you, with what good faith I am defending his cause. I am betraying my own by so doing. O the admirable clemency, deserving to be celebrated by all possible praise, and publicity, and writings, and monuments! Marcus Cicero is urging in Ligarius's defence before you, that the inclinations of another were not the same as he admits his own to have been; nor does he fear your silent thoughts, nor is he under any apprehension as to what while you are hearing of the conduct of another, may occur to you respecting his own.

See how entirely free from fear I am. See how brilliantly the light of your liberality and wisdom rises upon me while speaking before you. As far as I can, I will lift up my voice so that the Roman people may hear me. When the war began, O Caesar, when it was even very greatly advanced towards its end, I, though compelled by no extraneous force, of my own free judgment and inclination went to join that party which had taken up arms against you. Before whom now am I saying this? Forsooth, before the man who, though he was acquainted with this, nevertheless restored me to the republic before he saw me; who sent letters to me from Egypt, to desire me to behave as I always had behaved; who, when he himself might have been the sole leader of the Roman people in the whole empire, still permitted me to be the other; by whose gift it was, (this very Caius Pansa, who is here present, bringing me the news,) that I retained the fasces wreathed with laurel, as long as I thought it becoming to retain them at all, and who would not have considered that he was giving me safety at all, if he did not give it me without my being stripped of any of my previous distinctions.

Observe, I pray you, O Tubero, how I, who do not hesitate to speak of my own conduct, do not venture to make any confession with respect to Ligarius: and I have said thus much respecting myself, to induce Tubero to excuse me when I say the same things of him. For I look in the forum on his industry and desire of glory, either on account of the nearness of our relationship, or because I am delighted with his genius and with his earnestness, or because I think that the praises of a young man who is my relative redound somewhat to my own credit. But I ask this—Who is it who thinks that it was any crime in Ligarius to have been in Africa? Why, the very man who himself also wished to be in Africa, and who complains that he was prevented by Ligarius from going there, and who certainly was in arms and fought against Caesar. For, O Tubero, what was that drawn sword of yours doing in the battle of Pharsalia? against whose side was that sword-point of yours aimed? What was the feeling with which you took up arms? What was your intention? Where were your eyes? your hands? your eagerness of mind? what were you desirous of? What were you willing for? I am pressing you too hard. The young man appears to be moved. I will return to myself. I also was in arms in the same camp.

But what other object had we, O Tubero, except to be able to do what this man can do now? Shall, then, O Caesar, the speech of those men spur you on to deeds of cruelty whose impunity is the great glory of your clemency? And in this cause, in truth, O Tubero, I am somewhat at a loss to discern your usual prudence, but much more so to see the sagacity of your father, since that man, eminent both for genius and erudition, did not perceive what sort of case this was. For if he had perceived it, he would, I doubt not, have preferred that you should conduct it in any manner in the world, rather than as you did.

You are accusing one who confesses the facts which you allege against him. That is not enough. You are accusing one who has a case, as I say, better than your own, or, as you yourself allow, at least as good as yours. This is strange though; but what I am about to say is a perfect miracle. That accusation of yours does not tend to the point of procuring the condemnation of Quintus Ligarius, but of causing us death. And this is an object which no Roman citizen has ever pursued before you. That way of acting is quite foreign. It is the hatred of fickle Greeks or of savage barbarians that is usually excited to the pitch of thirsting for blood. For what else is your object? To prevent him from being at ionic? To deprive him of his country? To hinder him from living with his excellent brothers, with this Titus Brocchus, whom you see in court, his uncle, or with Brocchus's son, his cousin? To prevent his appearing in his country? Was that it? Can he be more deprived of all these things than he is already? He is prevented from approaching Italy; he is banished. You, therefore, do not wish to deprive him of his country, of which he already is deprived, but of his life.

But even in the time of that dictator who punished with death every one whom he disliked, no one ever proceeded in that manner to accomplish such an end. He himself ordered men to be slain, without any one asking him; he even invited men to slay them by rewards; and that cruelty of his was avenged some years afterwards by this selfsame man whom you now wish to become cruel!

“But I am not asking for his death,” you will say. I think indeed that you do not intend to do so, O Tubero, for I know you, I know your father, I know your birth and your name, and the pursuits of your race and family; our love of virtue, and civilization, and learning; your many admirable qualities,—all are known to me. Therefore I know for a certainty that you are not thirsting for blood, but you give no heed to the effect of your prosecution. For the transaction has this tendency, to make you seem not contented with that punishment under which Quintus Ligarius is at present suffering. What further punishment then is there but death? For if he is in exile, as he is, what more do you require? That he may never be pardoned? But this is much more bitter and much harsher. That which we begged for at his house with prayers and tears, throwing ourselves at his feet, trusting not so much to the strength of our cause as to his humanity, will you now struggle to prevent our obtaining? Will you interrupt our weeping? and will you forbid us to speak, lying at his feet with the voice suppliants? If, when we were doing this at his house, as and as I hope we did not do in vain, you had all on a sudden burst in, and had begun to cry out “O Caius Caesar, beware how you pardon, beware how you pity brothers entreating you for the safety of their brother,” would you not have renounced all humanity by such conduct? How much harder is this, for you to oppose in the forum what we begged of him in his own house! and while numbers are in this distress, to take away from them the refuge which they might find in his clemency!

I will speak plainly, O Caius Caesar, what I feel. If in this splendid fortune of yours your lenity had not been as great as you of your own accord—of your own accord, I say, (I know well what I am saying,) make it, that victory of yours would have been pregnant with the bitterest grief to the state. For how many of the conquering party must have been found who would have wished you to be cruel, when some of even the conquered party are found to wish it! how many who, wishing no one to be pardoned by you, would have thrown obstacles in the way of your clemency, when even those men whom you yourself have pardoned are unwilling that you should be merciful to others

But if we could prove to Caesar that Ligarius was actually not in Africa at all, if we wished to save an unfortunate citizen by an honourable and merciful falsehood; still it would not be the act of a man, in a case of such danger and peril to a fellow-citizen, to contradict and refute our falsehood; and if it were decent for any one to do so, it would certainly not be so for one who had himself been in the same case and condition But, however, it is one thing to be unwilling that Caesar should make a mistake, and another to be unwilling he should be merciful. Then you would say, “Beware, O Caesar, of believing all this—Ligarius was in Africa. He did bear arms against you.” But now what is it that you say “Take care you do not pardon him.” This is not the language of a man but he who uses it to you, O Caius Caesar, will find it an easier matter to abjure his own humanity than to strip you of yours.

And the first beginning, and the first proposition of Tubero, I imagine, was this; that he intended to speak of wickedness of Quintus Ligarius. I make no doubt that you wondered how it was that no one made this statement respecting some one else, or how it was that he made it who had been in the same condition himself, or what new crime it was which he was bringing forward. Do you call that wickedness, Tubero? Why so? For that cause has not as yet been wicked by that name. Some call it mistake; some call it fear; those who give it a harder name term it hope, ambition, hatred, obstinacy; those who use the hardest language style it rashness. But up to this time no one except you has ever called it wickedness. My own opinion is, if any one seeks for a proper and accurate name for our misfortune, that some disaster sent by destiny descended upon and occupied the provident minds of men; so that no one ought to wonder that human counsels were overruled by divine necessity.

Let it be allowed to us to be miserable, although that cannot be when this man is our conqueror. But I am not speaking of those who have perished. Grant that they were ambitious, that they were angry, that they were obstinate men; but still let Cnaeus Pompeius, for he is dead, and let any others with him, be free from the imputation of wickedness, of insanity, of parricide. When did any one hear such expression from you, O Caius Caesar? or what other object did your arms propose to themselves except the repelling insult from yourself? What was it that was accomplished by that invincible army of yours; beyond the preservation of its own rights, and of your dignity? What? when you were anxious for peace, was it your object to be able to come to terms of agreement with the wicked, or with the virtuous part of the citizens? To me, of a truth, O Caesar, your services towards me, immense as they are, would certainly not appear so great, if I thought that I had been preserved by you while you considered me a wicked man. And how could you possibly have deserved well of the republic, if you had wished so many wicked men to remain with all their dignity unimpaired? Originally, O Caesar, you considered that as a secession, not as a declaration of war; you considered it as a demonstration not of hostile hatred, but of civil dissension, in which both parties desired the safety of the republic, but some departed from measures calculated for the general welfare out of an error of judgment, and some out of party spirit. The dignity of the leaders was nearly on a par; but that of those who followed them was perhaps not quite equal; the justice of the cause, too, was at that time doubtful, because there was something on each side which deserved to be approved of; but now that is unquestionably entitled to be thought the better cause which even the gods assisted. But now that your clemency is known; who is there who does not think well of that victory, in which no one has fallen except those who fell with arms in their hands?

But to say no more of the general question, let us come to our own individual case. Which do you think was easiest, O Tubero, for Ligarius to depart from Africa, or for you to abstain from coming into Africa? “Could we so abstain,” you will say, “after the senate had voted that we should do so?” If you ask me, I say, Certainly not. But still the same senate had appointed Ligarius lieutenant. And he obeyed them at a time when men were forced to obey the senate; but you obeyed at a time when no one obeyed them who did not like it. Do I then find fault with you? By no means;—for a man of your family, of your name, of your race, of your hereditary principles, could not act otherwise. But I do not grant that you have a right to reprove in others the very same conduct which you boast of in yourselves.

Tubero's lot was drawn in pursuance of a resolution of the senate when he himself was not present, when he was even hindered by sickness from being present. He had made up his mind to excuse himself. I know all this from the great intimacy which exists between Lucius Tubero and myself: we were brought up together, in our campaigns we were comrades, afterwards we became connected by marriage, and throughout the whole of our lives, in short, we have been friends; it has been, moreover, a great bond between us, that we have been devoted to the same studies. I know, therefore, that Tubero wished to remain at home; but there was a person who contrived matters in such a way, who put forth that most holy name of the republic so artfully, that even had his sentiments been different from what they were, he would not have been able to support the weight of his language. He submitted to the authority of a most distinguished man, or, I should rather say, he obeyed him. He went off at the same time with those men who were already embarked in the same cause, but he made us journey slower than they. Therefore, he arrived in Africa when it was already occupied; and from this it is that the charge against Ligarius, or rather the enmity against him, has its rise. For if it be a crime in him to have wished to hinder you, it is a no less serious one for you to have wished to obtain Africa, the citadel of all the provinces, a land created for the purpose of waging war against this city, than for somebody else to have preferred obtaining it himself,—and that somebody was not Ligarius. Varus kept saying, that he had the command there; the fasces he certainly had. But however the case, as to that part of it may be, what weight is there, O Tubero, in this complaint of yours? “We were admitted into the province.” Well, suppose you had been admitted? was it your object to deliver it up to Caesar, or to hold it against Caesar?

See, O Caesar, what licence, or rather what audacity, your liberality gives us. If Tubero replies that his father would have given up to you that province to which the senate and the lot which be drew had sent him, I will not hesitate in severe language to reprove that design of his before you yourself, to whose advantage it was that he should so. For even if the action had been an acceptable one to you, it would not have been thought an honest one by you. But, however, all these topics I will pass over, not so much for fear of offending your most patient ears, as because that I do not wish that Tubero should appear to have been likely to do what he never thought of.

You two came, then, into the province of Africa,—the province of all others that was most hostile to the views of this victorious party in which there was a most powerful king, an enemy to this cause, and in which the inclinations of a large and powerful body of Roman settlers were entirely adverse to it. I ask what you intended to do? Though I do not really doubt what you intended to do, when I see what you have done. You were forbidden to set foot in your province, and forbidden, as you state yourselves, with the greatest insults. How did you bear that? To whom did you carry your complaints of the insults which you had received? Why, to that man whose authority you had followed when you came to join his party in the war. If it had been in Caesar's cause that you were coming to the province, unquestionably, when excluded from the province, it was to him that you would have gone. But you came to Pompeius. What is the meaning, then, of this complaint which you now urge before Caesar, when you accuse that man by whom you complain that you were prevented from waging war against Caesar? And as to this part of the business you may boast for all I care, even though it will be falsely, that you would have given the province up to Caesar, even if you had been forbidden by Varus, and by some others. But I will confess that the fault was all Ligarius's, who deprived you of an opportunity of acquiring so much glory.

But observe, I pray you, O Caius Caesar, the consistency of that most accomplished man, Lucius Tubero, which even though I thought as highly of it as I do, I still would not mention, if I were not aware that that is a virtue which you are in the habit of praising as much as any. Where, then, was there ever an example of such great consistency in any man? Consistency, do I say? I do not know whether I might not more fitly call it patience. For how few men would have acted in such a manner as to return to that same party by which he had been rejected in a time of civil dissension, and rejected even with cruelty? That is the act of a great mind, and of a man whom no contumely, no violence, and no danger can turn from a side which he has espoused, and from an opinion which he has adopted. Grant that in all other respects Tubero and Varus were on a par, as to honour, that is, and nobleness of birth, and respectability, and genius,—which, however, was by no means the case; at all events, Tubero had this great advantage, that he had come to his own province with a legitimate command, in pursuance of a resolution of the senate. When he was prevented from entering it, he did not betake himself to Caesar, lest he should appear to be in a passion,—he did not go home, lest he should be thought inactive,—he did not go to any other district, lest he might seem to condemn that cause which he had espoused. He came into Macedonia to the camp of Cnaeus Pompeius, to join that very party by whom he had been repulsed with every circumstance of insult.

What? when that affair had had no effect on the mind of man to whom you came, you behaved, after that with a more languid zeal, I suppose, in his cause? You only stayed in some garrison? But your affections were alienated from his cause? Or were we all, as is the case in a civil war, and not more with respect to you two, than with respect to others,—were we all wholly occupied with a desire of victory? I, indeed, was at all times an advocate of peace, but that time was too late. For it was the part of a madman to think of peace when he saw the hostile army in battle array. We all, every one of us, I say, were eager for victory; you most especially, as you had come into a place where you must inevitably perish if your side were not victorious. Although, the result now turns out, I make no doubt that you confer your present safety preferable to what would have been the consequences of victory.

I would not say these things, O Tubero, if you had any reason to repent of your consistency, or Caesar of his kindness. I ask now whether you are seeking to avenge your own injuries, or those of the republic? If those of the republic, what reply can you make with respect to your perseverance in the cause of that other party? If your own, take care that you are not making a great mistake in thinking that Caesar will be angry with your enemies, after he has pardoned his own. Do I, then, appear to you, O Caesar, to be occupied in the use of Ligarius? Do I appear to be speaking of his conduct? In whatever I have said, I have endeavoured to refer everything to the leading idea of your humanity, or clemency, mercy, whichever may be its most proper name. I have, indeed, O Caius Caesar, pleaded many causes with you, while your pursuit of honours detained you in the forum; but certainly I never pleaded in this way, “Pardon my client, O judges; he has erred, he has tripped, he did not think. If ever hereafter” This is the sort of way in which he pleads with a parent; to judges one says, “He never did it, he never thought of it the witnesses are false, the accusation is false.” Say, O Caesar, that you are sitting as judge on the conduct of Ligarius. Ask me in what garrisons he was. I make no reply. I do not even adduce these arguments, which, perhaps, might have weight even with a judge,—“He went as a lieutenant before the war broke out; he was left there in time of peace; he was overtaken by the war; in the war itself he was not cruel; he was in disposition and zeal wholly yours.” This is the way in which men are in the habit of pleading before a judge. But I am addressing a parent. “I have erred; I have acted rashly; I repent; I flee to your clemency; I beg pardon for my fault; I entreat you to pardon me.” If no one has gained such indulgence from you, it is an arrogant address. But if many have, then do you give us assistance who have already given us hope. Is it possible that Ligarius should have no reason for hope, when I am allowed to approach you even for the purpose of entreating mercy for another? Although the hope which we entertain in this cause does not rest upon this oration of mine, nor on the zeal of those who entreat you for Ligarius, intimate friends of your own.

For I have seen and known what it was that you mainly considered when many men were exerting themselves for any one's safety; I have seen that the causes of those who were entreating you had more weight with you than the persons of the advocates, and that you considered, not how much the man who was entreating you was your friend, but how much he was the friend of him for whom he was exerting himself. Therefore, you grant your friends so many favours, that they who enjoy your liberality appear to me sometimes to be happier than you yourself who give them so much. But, however, I see, as I said before, that the causes of those who entreat your mercy have more weight with you than the entreaties themselves; and that you are most moved by those men whose grief, which they display in their petitions to you, is the most genuine.

In preserving Quintus Ligarius you will do what will be acceptable to numbers of your intimate friends; but, I entreat you, give weight to the considerations which are accustomed to influence you. I can mention to you most brave men, Sabines, men most highly esteemed by you; and the whole of the Sabine district, the flower of Italy and the chief strength of the republic. You are well acquainted with the men. Observe the sadness and grief of all these men. You see yourself the tears and mourning attire of Titus Brocchus, who is here present, and I am in no doubt as to what your opinion of him is: you see the grief of his son. Why need I speak of the brothers of Ligarius? Do not fancy, O Caesar, that we are pleading for the life of an individual only. You must either retain all three of the Ligarii in the city, or banish them all three from the city. Any exile is more desirable for them than their own country, their own house, and their own household gods will be if this their brother is banished by himself. If they act as brothers should,—if they behave with affection and with genuine grief, then let their tears, their affection, and their relationship as brothers move you. Let that expression of yours have weight now which gained the victory; for we heard that you said that we thought all men our enemies, but those who were with us; but that you considered all men as your friends who were not actually arrayed against you. Do you see, then, this most respectable band; do you see the whole house of the Brocchi here present, and Lucius Marcius, and Caius Caesetius, and Lucius Corfidius, and all these Roman knights, who are present here in mourning garments,—men who are not only well known to, but highly esteemed by you? They all were with you then; and we were full of anger against them,—we were attacking them; some even personally threatened them. Preserve, therefore, their friends to your friends; so that, like everything else which has been said by you, this, too, may be found to be strictly true.

But if you were able to look into the hearts of the Ligarii, so as to see the perfect unanimity which subsists between them, you would think that all the brothers were on your side. Can any one entertain a doubt that, if Quintus Ligarius had been able to be in Italy, he would also have adopted the same opinions as his brothers adopted? Who is there who is not acquainted with the harmony existing between them, united and molten together, as I may say, by their nearness of age to one another? Who does not feel that anything in the world was more likely than that these brothers should adopt different opinions and embrace different parties? By inclination, therefore, they are all with you. Owing to the necessity of the times, one was separated from you; but he, even if he had done what he did deliberately, would still have been only like those men whom, nevertheless, you have shown yourself desirous to save.

However, grant that he went up of his own accord to the war, and that he departed, not only from you, but also from his brothers. These friends of your own entreat you to pardon him. I, indeed, at the time when I was present at, and mixed up in, all your affairs, remember well what was the behaviour of Titus Ligarius at that time, when he was city quaestor, with reference to you and your dignity. But it is of no importance for me to remember this. I hope that you, too, who are not in the habit of forgetting anything, except the injuries which have been done to you, since it is a part of your character, a part of your natural disposition, to do so, while you are thinking of the manner in which he conducted himselfThere is some uncertainty as to what Cicero alludes to here. Most of the commentators think that Ligarius must have been quaestor when Metellus and the rest of his colleagues endeavoured to prevent Caesar from taking the money from the public treasury; but Fabritius objects to this view, that at that time Cicero had no connection with Caesar's affairs, which is certainly true, while he says here that he had at the time that he alludes to. He thinks, therefore, that Cicero is alluding to what took place in the consulship of Lentulus and Philippus, (the year of Cicero's recall,) respecting the vote of pay to Caesar's army in Gaul. in the discharge of his duty as quaestor, and while you remember, too, how some other quaestors behaved,—I hope, I say, that you will also recollect this.

This Titus Ligarius, then, who had at that time no other object except to induce you to think him attached to your interests, and a virtuous man also, (for he could never foresee these present circumstances,) now as a suppliant begs the safety of his brother from you. And when, urged by the recollection of his devotion to you, you have granted that safety to these men, you will by so doing have made a present of three most virtuous and upright brothers, not only to themselves, nor to these men, numerous and respectable as they are, nor to us who are their intimate friends, but also to the republic. That, therefore, which in the case of that most noble and most illustrious man, Marcus Marcellus, you lately did in the senate-house, do now also in the forum with respect to these most virtuous brothers, who are so highly esteemed by all the crowd here present. As you granted him to the senate, so grant this man to the people, whose affections you have always considered most important to you. And if that day was one most glorious to you, and at the same time most acceptable to the Roman people, do not, I entreat you,—do not hesitate to earn the praise of a glory like that as frequently as possible.

For there is nothing so calculated to win the affections of the people as kindness. Of all your many virtues, there is none more admirable, none more beloved than your mercy. For there is no action by which men make a nearer approach to the gods, than by conferring safety on others. Fortune has no greater gifts for you than when it bestows on you the ability—nature has no better endowment for you than when it bestows on you the will, to save as many people us possible. The cause of my client, perhaps, requires a longer speech than this a shorter one would certainly be sufficient for a man of your natural disposition. Wherefore, as I think it more desirable for you to converse, as it were, with yourself, than for me or any one else to be speaking to you, I shall now make an end. This only will I remind you of, that if you do grant this protection to him who is absent, you will be giving it also to all these men who are here present.