Original
Modern English
Now, darting Parthia, art thou struck; and now Pleased fortune does of Marcus Crassus’ death Make me revenger. Bear the king’s son’s body Before our army. Thy Pacorus, Orodes, Pays this for Marcus Crassus.
Now, Parthia, you’ve been struck down; and now Fortune, pleased by Marcus Crassus’ death, Makes me his avenger. Carry the king’s son’s body Before our army. Your Pacorus, Orodes, Pays for Marcus Crassus.
Noble Ventidius, Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warm, The fugitive Parthians follow; spur through Media, Mesopotamia, and the shelters whither The routed fly: so thy grand captain Antony Shall set thee on triumphant chariots and Put garlands on thy head.
Noble Ventidius, While your sword is still hot with Parthian blood, The fleeing Parthians follow; ride through Media, Mesopotamia, and the places where The defeated run: then your great captain Antony Will put you on triumphant chariots and Place garlands on your head.
O Silius, Silius, I have done enough; a lower place, note well, May make too great an act: for learn this, Silius; Better to leave undone, than by our deed Acquire too high a fame when him we serve’s away. Caesar and Antony have ever won More in their officer than person: Sossius, One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant, For quick accumulation of renown, Which he achieved by the minute, lost his favour. Who does i’ the wars more than his captain can Becomes his captain’s captain: and ambition, The soldier’s virtue, rather makes choice of loss, Than gain which darkens him. I could do more to do Antonius good, But ’twould offend him; and in his offence Should my performance perish.
Oh Silius, Silius, I’ve done enough; a lesser role, mark this, May lead to greater deeds: for listen, Silius, It’s better to leave things undone, than by our actions Earn too much fame when the one we serve is gone. Caesar and Antony have always gained More from their officers than from themselves: Sossius, A man of my rank in Syria, his lieutenant, Gained renown so quickly that he lost Caesar’s favor. Whoever does more in war than their captain can Becomes their captain’s captain: and ambition, The soldier’s virtue, often prefers loss, Than gain that obscures them. I could do more to help Antony, But it would upset him; and in his anger My efforts would be lost.
Thou hast, Ventidius, that Without the which a soldier, and his sword, Grants scarce distinction. Thou wilt write to Antony!
You’ve got, Ventidius, What Without which a soldier, and his sword, Hardly stand out. You’ll write to Antony!
I’ll humbly signify what in his name, That magical word of war, we have effected; How, with his banners and his well-paid ranks, The ne’er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia We have jaded out o’ the field.
I’ll humbly report what, in his name, That powerful word of war, we’ve accomplished; How, with his banners and his well-paid troops, The never-beaten cavalry of Parthia We’ve worn out and driven from the field.
Where is he now?
Where is he now?
He purposeth to Athens: whither, with what haste The weight we must convey with’s will permit, We shall appear before him. On there; pass along!
He’s headed for Athens: where, as quickly as The burden we must carry will allow, We’ll meet him. On, let’s go!