"Spare, ye gods," he said, "Nor lay whole peoples low; my fall attained, The world and Rome may stand.

And if ye need More bloodshed, here on me, my wife, and sons Wreak out your vengeance -- pledges to the fates Such have we given.

Too little for the war Is our destruction?
Doth the carnage fail, The world escaping?
Magnus' fortunes lost, Why doom all else beside him ?" Thus he cried, And passed amid his standards, and recalled His vanquished host that rushed on fate declared.
Not for his sake such carnage should be wrought.
So thought Pompeius; nor the foeman's sword He feared, nor death; but lest upon his fall To quit their chief his soldiers might refuse, And o'er his prostrate corpse a world in arms Might find its ruin: or perchance he wished From Caesar's eager eyes to veil his death.
In vain, unhappy! for the fates decree He shall behold, shorn from the bleeding trunk, Again thy visage.

And thou, too, his spouse, Beloved Cornelia, didst cause his flight; Thy longed-for features; yet he shall not die When thou art present.

(25) Then upon his steed, Though fearing not the weapons at his back, Pompeius fled, his mighty soul prepared To meet his destinies.