With a ready hand Caesar supplies the weapon and bids strike Full at the visage; and with lance reversed Urges the flagging ranks and stirs the fight.
Where flows the nation's blood, where beats the heart, Knowing, he bids them spare the common herd, But seek the senators -- thus Rome he strikes, Thus the last hold of Freedom.

In the fray, Then fell the nobles with their mighty names Of ancient prowess; there Metellus' sons, Corvini, Lepidi, Torquati too, Not once nor twice the conquerors of kings, First of all men, Pompeius' name except, Lay dead upon the field.
But, Brutus, where, Where was thy sword?
(23) "Veiled by a common helm Unknown thou wanderest.

Thy country's pride, Hope of the Senate, thou (for none besides); Thou latest scion of that race of pride, Whose fearless deeds the centuries record, Tempt not the battle, nor provoke the doom! Awaits thee on Philippi's fated field Thy Thessaly.

Not here shalt thou prevail 'Gainst Caesar's life.

Not yet hath he surpassed The height of power and deserved a death Noble at Brutus' hands -- then let him live, Thy fated victim! There upon the field Lay all the honour of Rome; no common stream Mixed with the purple tide.