Have you not made an universal shout,
That[33] Tiber trembled underneath her[34][35] banks
To hear[36] the replication[37] of your sounds
Made in her[34] concave shores?
50And do you now put on your best attire?
And do you now cull out a holiday?[38]
And do you now strew flowers in his way
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood?[39]
Be gone!
55Run to your houses, fall upon your knees,