Grant me fresh soldiers. From what heavy load

Fortune relieves me! for the hands which aimed

At all, to which the world did not suffice,

I now disarm, and for myself alone

Reserve the conflict. Quit ye, then, my camp,

`Quirites', (21) Caesar's soldiers now no more,

And leave my standards to the grasp of men!

Yet some who led this mad revolt I hold,

(Editor：love)