sought her out. She did not know that he had even better

Thus, in his rage destroyed, his shapeless face

Stood foul with crimson flow. The victors' shout

Glad to the sky arose; no greater joy

A little blood could give them had they seen

That Caesar's self was wounded. Down he pressed

Deep in his soul the anguish, and, with mien,

No longer bent on fight, submissive cried,

"Spare me, ye citizens; remove the war