(Original Latin--English at bottom)

In Colosseo, lustrum luporem, duo gladiatores stant,
In procintu, aspicentes imperatorum, salutant.
Simul tamen procul, dicunt sacramentum fatalem.
Alter, nomine Marcus Celer, est murmillo scitus;
Alter, retiarius qui irretit homo ut piscem,
est Titus.

Cum stilla manus, saltatus scelerum incepit,
Cumque completio actus, Marcus primus incurrit.
Titus varicus a fuscina avertit gladium Marci,
Utque monitus dat cicatricem triplicem ei
in scapula.
Sanguis primus fusus est, ita clamores laeti
iacuntur a turba.

Ulalatus vulgi veluti pluviam furoris fundant.
Adstantes avidi cladi pravum aspectus recipunt,
Amantes saevitiae, pugnam urgent cum probro,
Strepitus exuviae eos incendent sine modo.
Vae fatuum qui provocat gregem unanimantis!

Pugnatores propter verbem venenatum verborum,
decernere durant.
Etsi bracchia amborum habent vibices vulnerum,
recidere recusant.
Tandem Titus Marcum irretent post motum vanum,
Tumque cum arte letale securem petit.
Victorque valens in pectorem tridentem condit.

Cum casu defensoris, dimidium audentorum demorarunt;
Nam corda degeneria eorum pulsaverant
cum eius pugnis.
Tam corrumpentes cum magnis doloribus decrescunt
sub sole canescito a malis.
Dum caeca alium virum venire exspectant,
Titus in gloria petit puellis, primis, poenis.


(English translation)

A Fight of Two

In the Colosseum, a haunt of wolves, two gladiators stand,
Ready for combat, facing the emperor, they salute.
Together yet far-off, they say the fatal oath,
One, Marcus the Swift by name, is a skilled murmillo,
The other, a retiarius who nets man like fish,
is Titus.

With a drop of a hand, a dance of wicked deeds begins;
And with the completion of the act, Marcus attacks first.
Titus with legs apart parries Marcus' sword by trident,
And as a warning he gives a threefold mark to him
on the shoulder.
The first blood has been shed, so shouts of joy
are thrown by the crowd.

The howls of the rabble pour down like a rain of madness.
The bystanders eager for ruin take in the evil sight,
Lovers of brutality, they spur the fight with abuse;
The crashes of arms inflame them without limit.
Woe to the fool who provokes a herd of one mind!

The combatants on account of the poisonous scourge of words
continue to fight it out.
Although the arms of both have the marks of wounds,
they refuse to fall back.
Finally Titus nets Marcus after a vain move,
And then with lethal skill he aims the mortal blow;
And the strong victor plunges the trident into the breast.

With the fall of a champion, half the audience dies off;
For their degenerate hearts had beaten
with his punches.
So withering they dwindle painfully
under a sun turned gray by grief.
While the aimless ones wait for another hero to come,
Titus in glory seeks girls, the highest places, loss.