This champion of the gate. No fragile wall

Stands here for Caesar, blocking with its bulk

Pompeius' way to freedom. Now he trusts

His shield no more, lest his sinister hand,

Idle, give life by shame; and on his breast

Bearing a forest of spears, though spent with toil

And worn with onset, falls upon his foe

And braves alone the wounds of all the war.

(Editor：music)