And how he was slain by craft.
I have been slain by great lords;
But a slave shall strike you down,
A slave shall strike you down from behind,
And your strength shall fail, and your sight go blind,
And your body a nameless grave shall find,
You, that strove for a crown!
Pompey, Pompey, turn where you may!
You shall get but little ease.
For whether on sea or whether on land,