But choice to die Is thrust not on the mind -- we cannot flee; See at our throats, e'en now, our kinsmen's swords.
Then choose for death; desire what fate decrees.
At least in war's blind cloud we shall not fall; Nor when the flying weapons hide the day, And slaughtered heaps of foemen load the field, And death is common, and the brave man sinks Unknown, inglorious.

Us within this ship, Seen of both friends and foes, the gods have placed; Both land and sea and island cliffs shall bear, From either shore, their witness to our death, In which some great and memorable fame Thou, Fortune, dost prepare.

What glorious deeds Of warlike heroism, of noble faith, Time's annals show! All these shall we surpass.
True, Caesar, that to fall upon our swords For thee is little; yet beleaguered thus, With neither sons nor parents at our sides, Shorn of the glory that we might have earned, We give thee here the only pledge we may.
Yet let these hostile thousands fear the souls That rage for battle and that welcome death, And know us for invincible, and joy That no more rafts were stayed.

They'll offer terms And tempt us with a base unhonoured life.
Would that, to give that death which shall be ours The greater glory, they may bid us hope For pardon and for life! lest when our swords Are reeking with our hearts'-blood, they may say This was despair of living.

Great must be The prowess of our end, if in the hosts That fight his battles, Caesar is to mourn This little handful lost.