Thus nor the day with brightness, nor the nightWith darkness gave them peace. The very earthOn which they lay they feared; nor leaves nor strawThey piled for couches, but upon the groundUnshielded from the fates they laid their limbs,Cherished beneath whose warmth in chill of nightThe frozen pests found shelter; in whose jawsHarmless the while, the lurking venom slept.Nor did they know the measure of their marchAccomplished, nor their path; the stars in heavenTheir only guide. ' Return, ye gods,' they cried,In frequent wail, ' the arms from which we fled.' Give back Thessalia. Sworn to meet the sword' Why, lingering, fall we thus? In Caesar's place' The thirsty Dipsas and the horned snake' Now wage the warfare. Rather let us seek' That region by the horses of the sun' Scorched, and the zone most torrid: let us fall'Slain by some heavenly cause, and from the sky' Descend our fate! Not, Africa, of thee' Complain we, nor of Nature. From mankind' Cut off, this quarter, teeming thus with pests' She gave to snakes, and to the barren fields' Denied the husbandman, nor wished that men'Should perish by their venom. To the realms' Of serpents have we come. Hater of men,' Receive thy vengeance, whoso of the gods' Severed this region upon either hand,' With death in middle space. Our march is set'Through thy sequestered kingdom, and the host' Which knows thy secret seeks the furthest world.' Perchance some greater wonders on our path' May still await us; in the waves be plunged' Heaven's constellations, and the lofty pole'Stoop from its height. By further space removed' No land, than Juba's realm; by rumour's voice' Drear, mournful. Haply for this serpent land' There may we long, where yet some living thing' Gives consolation. Not my native land' Nor European fields I hope for now' Lit by far other suns, nor Asia's plains.' But in what land, what region of the sky,' Where left we Africa? But now with frosts' Cyrene stiffened: have we changed the laws' Which rule the seasons, in this little space?' Cast from the world we know, 'neath other skies' And stars we tread; behind our backs the home' Of southern tempests: Rome herself perchance' Now lies beneath our feet. Yet for our fates' This solace pray we, that on this our track' Pursuing Caesar with his host may come.'Thus was their stubborn patience of its plaintsDisburdened. But the bravery of their chiefForced them to bear their toils. Upon the sand,All bare, he lies and dares at every hourFortune to strike: he only at the fateOf each was present, flew to every call;And roused their hearts to fight the poison germ.Not life he brings them, but the strength in deathTo die without a groan-to groan were shameWhen he was witness-over him what powerHad plague or venom? In a comrade's breastThey see him conquer anguish; and they learn,Gazing on him, how weak the power of pain.Some aid from Fortune, weary of their woes,At length they gained. Of all who till the earthThe Psyllians only are by snakes unharmed.Potent as herbs their song; safe is their blood,Nor gives admission to the poison germE'en when the chant has ceased. Their home itselfPlaced in such venomous tract and serpent-throngedGained them this vantage, and a truce with death,Else could they not have lived. Such is their trustIn purity of blood, that newly bornEach babe they prove by test of deadly aspFor foreign lineage. So the bird of JoveTurns his new fledglings to the rising sunAnd such as gaze upon the beams of dayWith eyes unwavering, for the use of heavenHe rears; but such as blink at Phoebus' raysCasts from the nest. Thus of unmixed descentThe babe who, dreading not the serpent touch,Plays in his cradle with the deadly snake.Nor with their own immunity from harmContented do they rest, but watch for guestsWho need their help against the noisome plague.Now to the Roman standards are they come,And when the chieftain bade the tents be fixed,First all the sandy space within the linesWith song they purify and magic wordsFrom which all serpents flee: next round the campIn widest circuit from a kindled fireRise aromatic odours: danewort burns,And juice distils from Syrian galbanum;Then mournful tamarisk, costum from the East,Strong panacea mixed with centauryFrom Thrace, and leaves of fennel feed the flames,And thapsus brought from Eryx: and they burnLarch, southern-wood and antlers of a deerWhich lived afar. From these in densest fumes,Deadly to snakes, a pungent smoke arose;And thus in safety passed the night away.But should some victim feel the fatal fangUpon the march, then of this magic raceWere seen the wonders; with saliva firstThey smear the limb, whose silent working keepsThe venom in the wound. From foaming mouthNext with continuous cadence would they pourUnceasing chants-nor breathing space nor pause-Else spreads the poison: nor does fate permitA moment's silence. Oft from the black fleshFlies forth the pest beneath the magic song:But should it linger nor obey the voice,Repugnant to the summons, on the woundProstrate they lay their lips and from the depthsNow paling draw the venom. In their mouths,Sucked from the freezing flesh, they hold the death,Then spew it forth; and from the taste shall knowThe nature of the snake whose bite they cure.
Sic nec clara dies nec nox dabat atra quietemSuspecta est miseris in qua tellure iacebant.Nam neque congestae struxere cubilia frondesNec culmis crevere tori: sed corpora fatisExpositi volvuntur humo, calidoque vaporeAdliciunt gelidas nocturno frigore pestes:Innocuosque diu rictus torpente venenoInter membra fovent. Nec, quae mensura viarum,Quisve modus, norant, coelo duce. Saepe querentes,Reddite, di, clamant, miseris, quae fugimus, arma:Reddite Thessaliam. Patimur cur segnia fataIn gladios iurata manus? Pro Caesare pugnantDipsades, et peragunt civilia bella cerastae.Ire libet, qua zona rubens atque axis inustusSolis equis: iuvat aetheriis adscribere caussis,Quod peream, coeloque mori. Nil, Africa, de te,Nec de te, natura, queror: tot monstra ferentem,Gentibus ablatum, dederas serpentibus orbem:Impatienseque solum Cereris, cultore negato,Damnasti, atque homines voluisti deesse venenis.In loca serpentum nos venimus: accipe poenas,Tu, quisquis superum, commercia nostra perosus,Hinc torrente plaga, dubiis hinc Syrtibus orbemAbrumpens, medio posuisti limite mortes.Per secreta tui bellum civile recessusVadit; et arcani miles tibi conscius orbisClaustra petit mundi. Forsan maiora supersuntIngressis. Coeunt ignes stridentibus undis,Et premitur natura poli. Sed longius istaNulla iacet tellus, quam fama cognita nobisTristia regna Iubae. Quaeremus forsitan istasSerpentum terras; habet et solatia coelum:Vivit adhuc aliquid. Patriae non arva requiro,Europamque, alios soles, Asiamque, videntem:Qua te parte poli, qua te tellure reliqui,Africa? Cyrenis etiam nunc bruma rigebat.Exiguane via legem convertimus anni?Imus in adversos axes: evolvimur orbe:Terga damus ferienda Noto. Nunc forsitan ipsa estSub pedibus iam Roma meis. Solatia fatiHaec petimus: veniant hostes, Caesarque sequatur,Qua fugimus. Sic dura suos patienia questusExonerat: cogit tantos tolerare laboresSumma ducis virtus, qui nuda fusus arenaExcubat, atque omni Fortunam provocat hora.Omnibus unus adest fatis; quocumque vocatur,Advolat, atque ingens meritum maiusque saluteContulit, in letum vires: puduitque gementemIllo teste mori. Quod ius habuisset in ipsumUlla lues? Casus alieno pectore vincitSpectatorque docet, magnos nil posse dolores.Vix miseris serum tanto lassata pericloAuxilium Fortuna dedit. Gens unica terrasIncolit a saevo serpentum innoxia morsu,Marmaridae Psyili: par lingua potentibus herbis:Ipse cruor tutus, nullumque admittere virus,Vel cantu cessante, potest. Natura locorumIussit, ut immunes mixti serpentibus essentProfuit in mediis sedem posuisse venenisPax illis cum morte data est. Fiducia tanta estSanguinis: in terras parvus cum decidit infans,Ne qua sit externae Veneris mixtura timentes,Letifera dubios explorant aspide partus.Utque Iovis volucer, calido cum protulit ovoImplumes natos, solis convertit ad ortus:Qui potuere pati radios, et lumine rectoSustinuere diem coeli, servantur in usus;Qui Phoebo cessere, iacent: sic pignora gentisPsyllus habet, si quis tactos non horruit angues,Si quis donatis lusit serpentibus infans.Nec solum gens illa sua contenta salute:Excubat hospitibus, contraque nocentia monstraPsyllus adest populis. Qui, tunc Romana secutusSigna, simul iussit statui tentoria ductor,Primum, quas valli spatium comprendit, arenasExpurgat cantu, verbisque fugantibus angues.Ultima castrorum medicatus circuit ignis.Hic ebulum stridet, peregrinaque galbana sudant,Et tamarix non laeta comis, Eoaque costus,Et panacea potens, et Thessala centaurea:Peucedanumque sonat flammis, Erycinaque thapsos;Et larices fumoque gravem serpentibus uruntAbrotanum, et longe nascentis cornua cervi.Sic nox tuta viris. At si quis peste diurnaFata trahit, tunc sunt magicae miracula gentis,Psyllorumque ingens et rapti pugna veneni.Nam primum tacta designat membra saliva,Quae cohibet virus, retinetque in vulnere pestem.Plurima tum volvit spumanti carmina linguaMurmure continuo, nec dant suspiria cursusVulneris, aut minimum patiuntur fata tacere.Saepe quidem pestis nigris inserta medullisExcantata fugit: sed si quod tardius auditVirus, et elicitum iussumque exire repugnat,tunc superincumbens pallentia vulnera lambit,Ore venena trahens, et siccat dentibus artus,Extractamque tenens gelido de corpore mortemExspuit: et cuius morsus superaverit anguis,Iam promtum Psyllis vel gustu nosse veneni.
Thus helped, the Roman host with lighter heartTrod through the barren fields in lengthy march.Twice veiled the moon her light and twice renewed;Yet still, with waning or with growing orbSaw Cato's steps upon the sandy waste.But more and more beneath their feet the dustBegan to harden, till the Libyan tractsOnce more were earth, and in the distance roseSome groves of scanty foliage, and hutsOf plastered straw unfashioned: and their heartsLeaped at the prospect of a better land.How fled their sorrow! how with growing joyThey met the savage lion in the path!In tranquil Leptis first they found retreat:And passed a winter free from heat and rain.When Caesar sated with Emathia's slainForsook the battlefield, all other caresNeglected, he pursued his kinsman fled,On him alone intent: by land his stepsHe traced in vain; then, rumour for his guide,He crossed the sea and reached the Thracian straitFor love renowned; where on the mournful shoreRose Hero's tower, and Helle born of cloudTook from the rolling waves their former name.Nowhere with shorter space the sea dividesEurope from Asia; though Pontus partsBy scant division from Byzantium's holdChalcedon oyster-rich: and small the straitThrough which Propontis pours the Euxine wave.Then marvelling at their ancient fame, he seeksSigeum's sandy beach and Simois' stream,Rhoeteum noble for its Grecian tomb,And all the heroes' shades, the theme of song.Next by the town of Troy burnt down of oldNow but a memorable name, he turnsHis steps, and searches for the mighty stonesRelics of Phoebus' wall. But bare with ageForests of trees and mouldering trunks oppressedAssaracus' palace, and with wearied rootsPossessed the ancient temples of the gods.All Pergamus with densest brake was veiledAnd even her stones were perished. He beheldThy rock, Hesione; the hidden grove,Anchises' nuptial chamber; and the caveWhere sat the arbiter; the spot from whichWas snatched the beauteous youth; the mountain lawnWhere mourned OEnone. Not a stone but toldThe story of the past. A little streamScarce trickling through the arid plain he passed,Nor knew 'twas Xanthus: deep in grass he placed,Careless, his footstep; but the herdsman criedThou tread'st the dust of Hector.' Stones confusedLay at his feet in sacred shape no more:'Look on the altar of Jove,' thus spake the guide,God of the household, guardian of the home.'O sacred task of poets, toil supreme,Which rescuing all things from allotted fateDost give eternity to mortal men!Grudge not the glory, Caesar, of such fame.For if the Latian Muse may promise aught,Long as the heroes of the Trojan timeShall live upon the page of Smyrna's bard,So long shall future races read of theeIn this my poem; and Pharsalia's songLive unforgotten in the age to come.When by the ancient grandeur of the placeThe chieftain's sight was filled, of gathered turfAltars he raised: and as the sacred flameCast forth its odours, these not idle vowsGave to the gods, 'Ye deities of the dead,' Who watch o'er Phrygian ruins: ye who nowLavinia's homes inhabit, and Alba's height:Gods of my sire AEneas, in whose fanesThe Trojan fire still burns: pledge of the past'Mysterious Pallas, of the inmost shrine,Unseen of men! here in your ancient seat,'Most famous offspring of Iulus' race,'I call upon you and with pious handBurn frequent offerings. To my empriseGive prosperous ending! Here shall I replace'The Phrygian peoples, here in glad return'Italia's sons shall build a PergamusAnd from these stones shall rise a Roman Troy.'He seeks his fleet, and eager to regainTime spent at Ilium, to the favouring breezeSpreads all his canvas. Past rich Asia borne,Rhodes soon he left while foamed the sparkling mainBeneath his keels; nor ceased the wind to stretchHis bending sails, till on the seventh nightThe Pharian beam proclaimed Egyptian shores.But day arose, and veiled the nightly lampEre rode his barks on waters safe from storm.Then Caesar saw that tumult held the shore,And mingled voices of uncertain soundStruck on his ear: and trusting not himselfTo doubtful kingdoms, of uncertain troth,He kept his ships from land. But from the kingCame his vile minion forth upon the wave,Bearing his dreadful gift, Pompeius' head,Wrapped in a covering of Pharian wool.First took he speech and thus in shameless wordsCommends the murder: ' Conqueror of the world,First of the Roman race, and, what as yetThou dost not know, safe by thy kinsman slain;This gift receive from the Pellaean king,Sole trophy absent from the Thracian field,'To crown thy toils on land and on the deep.Here in thine absence have we placed for thee'An end upon the war. Here Magnus cameTo mend his fallen fortunes; on our swords'Here met his death. With such a pledge of faithHere have we bought thee, Caesar; with his bloodSeal we this treaty. Take the Pharian realmSought by no bloodshed, take the rule of Nile,Take all that thou wouldst give for Magnus' life:And hold him vassal worthy of thy camp'To whom the fates against thy son-in-law'Such power entrusted; nor hold thou the deed'Lightly accomplished by the swordsman's stroke,And so the merit. Guest ancestral heWho was its victim; who, his sire expelled,' Gave back to him the sceptre. For a deed' So great, thou'lt find a name-or ask the world.' If 'twas a crime, thou must confess the debt'To us the greater, for that from thy hand' We took the doing.'Then he held and showedUnveiled the head. Now had the hand of deathPassed with its changing touch upon the face:Nor at first sight did Caesar on the giftPass condemnation; nor avert his gaze,But dwelt upon the features till he knewThe crime accomplished. Then when truth was sureThe loving father rose, and tears he shedWhich flowed at his command, and glad in heartForced from his breast a groan: thus by the flowOf feigned tears and grief he hoped to hideHis joy else manifest: and the ghastly boonSent by the king disparaging, professedRather to mourn his son's dissevered head,Than count it for a debt. For thee alone,Magnus, he durst not fail to find a tear:He, Caesar, who with mien unaltered spurnedThe Roman Senate, and with eyes undimmedLooked on Pharsalia's field. O fate most hard!Didst thou with impious war pursue the manWhom 'twas thy lot to mourn? No kindred ties,No memory of thy daughter and her sonTouch on thy heart? Didst think perchance that griefMight help thy cause 'mid lovers of his name?Or haply, moved by envy of the king,Griev'st that to other hands than thine was givenTo shed the captive's life-blood? and complain'stThy vengeance perished and the conquered chiefSnatched from thy haughty hand? Whate'er the causeThat urged thy grief, 'twas far removed from love.Was this forsooth the object of thy toilO'er lands and oceans, that without thy kenHe should not perish? Nay! but well was reftFrom thine arbitrament his fate. What crimeDid cruel Fortune spare, what depth of shameTo Roman honour! since she suffered not,Perfidious traitor, while yet Magnus lived,That thou shouldst pity him!Thus by words he daredTo gain their credence in his sembled grief:Hence from my sight with his detested gift,Thou minion, to thy king. Worse does your crimeDeserve from Caesar than from Magnus' hands.The only prize that civil war affordsThus have we lost-to bid the conquered live.If but the sister of this Pharian kingWere not by him detested, by the headOf Cleopatra had I paid this gift.Such were the fit return. Why did he drawHis separate sword, and in the toil that's oursMingle his weapons? In Thessalia's fieldGave we such right to the Pellaean blade?Such licence did your mutual kingdom gain?Magnus as partner in the rule of RomeI had not brooked; and shall I tolerateThee, Ptolemaeus? In vain with civil warsThus have we roused the nations, if there beNow any might but Caesar's, if any landYet owns you masters. From your shore I'd turnThe prows of Latium; but fame forbids,Lest men should whisper that I did not damnThis deed of blood, but feared the Pharian land.Nor think ye to deceive; victorious hereI stand: else had my welcome at your handsBeen that of Magnus; and that neck were mineBut for Pharsalia's chance. At greater riskSo seems it, than we dreamed of, took we arms;Exile, and Magnus' threats, and Rome I knew,Not Ptolemaeus. But we spare the boy:Pass by the murder. Let the princeling knowWe give no more than pardon for his crime.And now in honour of the mighty dead,Not merely that the earth may hide your guilt,Lay ye the chieftain's head within the tomb;' With proper sepulture appease his shade'And place his scattered ashes in an urn.Thus may he know my coming, and may hearAffection's accents, and my fond complaints.Me sought he not, but rather, for his life,This Pharian vassal; snatching from mankindThe happy morning which had shown the worldA peace between us. But my prayers to heavenNo favouring answer found; that arms laid down'In happy victory, Magnus, once againI might embrace thee, begging thee to grant'Thine ancient love to Caesar, and thy life.'Thus for my labours with a worthy prize'Content, thine equal, bound in faithful peace,'I might have brought thee to forgive the gods'For thy disaster; thou hadst gained for me'From Rome forgiveness.'Thus he spake, but foundNo comrade in his tears; nor did the hostGive credit to his grief. Deep in their breastsThey hide their groans, and gaze with joyful front(O famous Freedom! ) on the deed of blood:And dare to laugh when mighty Caesar wept.
Hoc igitur melior tandem Romana iuventusAuxilio, late squalentibus errat in arvis.Bis positis Phoebe flammis, bis luce receptaVidit arenivagum surgens fugiensque Catonem.Iamque illis magis atque magis durescere pulvisCoepit, et in terram Libye spissata reverti.Iamque procul rarae nemorum se tollere frondes:Surgere congesto non culta mapalia culmo.Quanta dedit miseris melioris gaudia terrae,Cum primum saevos contra videre leones!Proxima Leptis erat, cuius statione quietamExegere hiemem, nimbis flammisque carentem.Caesar ut Emathia satiatus clade recessit,Caetera curarum proiecit pondera, soliIntentus genero: cuius vestigia frustraTerris sparsa legens, fama duce tendit in undas,Threiciasque legit fauces, et amore notatumAequor, et Heroas lacrimoso litore turres,Qua pelago nomen Nepheleias abstulit Helle.Non Asiam brevioris aquae disterminat usquamFluctus ab Europa, quamvis Byzantion arctoPontus et ostriferam dirimat Chalcedona cursu,Euxinumque ferens parvo ruat ore Propontis.Sigeasque petit famae mirator arenas,Et Simoentis aquas, et Graio nobile bustoRhoetion, et multum debentes vatibus umbras.Circuit exustae nomen memorabile Troiae,Magnaque Phoebei quaerit vestigia muri.Iam silvae steriles et putres robore trunciAssaraci pressere domos, et templa deorumIam lassa radice tenent: ac tota tegunturPergama dumetis: etiam periere ruinae.Adspicit Hesiones scopulos, silvasque latentes,Anchisae thalamos; quo iudex sederit antro:Unde puer raptus coelo: quo vertice NaisLuserit Oenone: nullum est sine nomine saxum.Inscius in sicco serpentem pulvere rivumTransierat, qui Xanthus erat. Securus in altoGramine ponebat gressus; Phryx incola manesHectoreos calcare vetat. Discussa iacebantSaxa, nec ullius faciem servantia sacri;Herceas, monstrator ait, non respicis aras?O sacer et magnus vatum labor, omnia fatoEripis, et populis donas mortalibus aevum.Invidia sacrae, Caesar, ne tangere famae:Nam, si quid Latiis fas est promittere Musis,Quantum Smyrnaei durabunt vatis honore,Venturi me teque legent: Pharsalia nostraVivet, et a nullo tenebris damnabimur aevo.Ut ducis implevit visus veneranda vetustas,Erexit subitas congestu cespitis aras,Votaque thuricremos non irrita fudit in ignes.Di cinerum, Phrygias colitis quicumque ruinas,Aeneaeque mei, quos nunc Lavinia sedesServat et Alba, lares, et quorum lucet in arisIgnis adhuc Phrygius, nullique adspecta virorumPallas, in abstruso pignus memorabile templo,Gentis Iuleae vestris clarissimus arisDat pia tura nepos, et vos in sede prioriRite vocat: date felices in cetera cursus.Restituam populos: grata vice moenia reddentAusonidae Phrygibus, Romanaque Pergama surgent.Sic fatus, repetit classes, et tota secundisVela dedit Coris; avidusque urgente procellaIliacas pensare moras, Asiamque potentemPraevehitur, pelagoque Rhodon spumante reliquit.Septima nox, Zephyro numquam laxante rudentes,Ostendit Phariis Aegyptia litora flammis.Sed prius orta dies nocturnam lampada texit,Quam tutas intraret aquas. Ibi plena tumultuLitora, et incerto turbatas murmure vocesAccipit: ac, dubiis veritus se credere regnis,Abstinuit tellure rates. Sed dira satellesRegis dona ferens, medium provectus in aequor,Colla gerit Magni, Phario velamine tecta,Ac prius infanda commendat crimina voce:Terrarum domitor, Romanae maxime gentis,Et, quod adhuc nescis, genero secure perempto;Rex tibi Pellaeus terrae pelagique laboresDonat et, Emathiis quod solum defuit armis,Exhibet: absenti bellum civile peractum est.Thessalicas Magnus quarens reparare ruinas,Ense iacet nostro: tanto te pignore, Caesar,Emimus: hoc tecum percussum est sanguine foedus.Accipe regna Phari, nullo quaesita cruore:Accipe Niliaci ius gurgitis: accipe, quidquidPro Magni cervice dares; dignumque clientemCastris crede tuis, cui tantum fata licereIn generum voluere tuum. Nec vile putarisHoc meritum, nobis facili quod caede peractum est.Hospes avitus erat: depulso sceptra parentiReddiderat. Quid plura feram? tu nomina tantoInvenies operi, vel famam consule mundi.Si scelus est, plus te nobis debere fateris,Quod scelus hoc non ipse facis. Sic fatus, opertumDetexit tenuitque caput. Iam languida morteEffigies habitum noti mutaverat oris.Non primo Caesar damnavit munera vis,Avertitque oculos: vultus, dum crederet, haesit.Utque fidem vidit sceleris, tutumque putavitIam bonus esse socer; lacrimas non sponte cadentesEffudit, gemitusque expressit pectore laeto,Non aliter manifesta putans abscondere mentisGaudia, quam lacrimis: meritumque immane tyranniDestruit, et generi mavult lugere revulsum,Quam debere, caput. Qui duro membra senatusCalcarat vultu, qui sicco lumine camposViderat Emathios, uni tibi, Magne, negareNon audet gemitus. O sors durissima fati!Hunccine tu, Caesar, scelerato Marte petisti,Qui tibi flendus erat? Non mixti foedera tanguntTe generis, nec nata iubet moerere neposque?Credis apud populos Pompeii nomen amantesHoc castris prodesse tuis? Fortasse tyranniTangeris invidia, captique in viscera MagniHoc aliis licuisse doles, quererisque perisseVindictam belli, raptumque e iure superbiVictoris generum. Quisquis te flere coegitImpetus, a vera longe pietate recessit.Scilicet hoc animo terras atque aequora lustras,Necubi suppressus pereat gener? O bene raptaArbitrio mors ista tuo! Quam magna remisitCrimina Romano tristis Fortuna pudori,Quod te non passa est misereri, perfide, MagniViventis! Nec non his fallere vocibus audet,Adquiritque fidem simulati fronte doloris:Aufer ab adspectu nostro funesta, satelles,Regis dona tui: peius de Caesare vestrum,Quam de Pompeio, meruit scelus. Unica belliPraemia civilis, victis donare salutem,Perdidimus. Quodsi Phario germana tyrannoNon invisa foret, potuissem reddere regi,Quod meruit, fratrique tuum pro munere taliMisissem, Cleopatra, caput. Secreta quid armaMovit, et inseruit nostro sua tela labori?Ergo in Thessalicis Pellaeo fecimus arvisIus gladio? vestris quaesita licentia regnis?Non tuleram Magnum mecum Romana regentem:Te, Ptolemaee, feram? Frustra civilibus armisMiscuimus gentes, si qua est hoc orbe potestasAltera, quam Caesar: si tellus ulla duorum est.Vertissem Latias a vestro litore proras:Famae cura vetat, ne non damnasse ruentam,Sed videar timuisse, Pharon. Nec fallere vos meCredite victorem. Nobis quoque tale paratumLitoris hospitium. Ne sic mea colla gerantur,Thessaliae Fortuna facit. Maiore profecto,Quam metui poterat, discrimine gessimus arma;Exsilium generique minas Romamque timebam:Poena fugae Ptolemaeus erat. Sed parcimus annis,Donamusque nefas. Sciat hac pro caede tyrannusNil venia plus posse dari. Vos condite bustoTanti colla ducis: sed non, ut crimina solumVestra tegat tellus; iusto date thura sepulchroEt placate caput, cineresque in litore fusosColligite, atque unam sparsis date manibus urnam.Sentiat adventum soceri, vocesque querentisAudiat umbra pias. Dum nobis omnia praefert,Dum vitam Phario mavult debere clienti,Laeta dies rapta est populis: concordia mundoNostra perit. Caruere deis mea vota secundis,Ut te complexus, positis felicibus armis,Adfectus abs te veteres vitamque rogarem,Magne, tuam: dignaque satis mercede laborumContentus, par esse tibi, tunc pace fideliFecissem, ut victus posses ignoscere divisFecisses, ut Roma mihi. Nec, talia fatus,Invenit fletus comitem, nec turba querentiCredidit: abscondunt gemitus, et pectora laetaFronte tegunt, hilaresque nefas spectare cruentum(O bona libertas!) cum Caesar lugeat, audeat.