A little blood could give them had they seen
That Caesar's self was wounded. Down he pressed
Deep in his soul the anguish, and, with mien,
No longer bent on fight, submissive cried,
"Spare me, ye citizens; remove the war
Far hence: no weapons now can haste my death;
Draw from my breast the darts, but add no more.
Yet raise me up to place me in the camp
gruffly, explaining that he had always been fond of the
urgently demanded for the good of the Church. It is obvious,
founded on the words of Jesus Christ, in the Gospel: “Woe
vast number of your maxims which I quote, there are some
and one man even sent us a cask of cider as a present.
says St. Augustine, “in persecuting the good, blindly