The same day continues through this, as through the last book; as it does also through the two following, and almost to the end of the seventh book. The scene is wholly in the field before Troy. BOOK IV. On golden pavement, round the board of Jove, The Gods were gather’d; Hebe in the midst Pour’d the sweet nectar; they, in golden cups, Each other pledg’d, as down they look’d on Troy. Then Jove, with cutting words and taunting tone, Began the wrath of Juno to provoke: “Two Goddesses for Menelaus fight, Thou, Juno, Queen of Argos, and with thee Minerva, shield of warriors; but ye two Sitting aloof, well-pleased it seems, look on; While laughter-loving Venus, at the side Of Paris standing, still averts his fate, And rescues, when, as now, expecting death. To warlike Menelaus we decree, Of right, the vict’ry; but consult we now What may the issue be; if we shall light Again the name of war and discord fierce, Or the two sides in peace and friendship join. For me, if thus your gen’ral voice incline, Let Priam’s city stand, and Helen back To warlike Menelaus be restor’d.” So spoke the God; but seated side by side, Juno and Pallas glances interchang’d Of ill portent for Troy; Pallas indeed Sat silent; and, though inly wroth with Jove, Yet answer’d not a word; but Juno’s breast Could not contain her rage, and thus she spoke: “What words, dread son of Saturn, dost thou speak? How wouldst thou render vain, and void of fruit, My weary labour and my horses’ toil, To stir the people, and on Priam’s self, And Priam’s offspring, bring disastrous fate? Do as thou wilt! yet not with our consent.” To whom, in wrath, the Cloud-compeller thus: “Revengeful! how have Priam and his sons So deeply injur’d thee, that thus thou seek’st With unabated anger to pursue, Till thou o’erthrow, the strong-built walls of Troy? Couldst thou but force the gates, and entering in On Priam’s mangled flesh, and Priam’s sons, And Trojans all, a bloody banquet make. Perchance thy fury might at length be stayed. But have thy will, lest this in future times ’Twixt me and thee be cause of strife renew’d. Yet hear my words, and ponder what I say: If e’er, in times to come, my will should be Some city to destroy, inhabited By men beloved of thee, seek not to turn My wrath aside, but yield, as I do now, Consenting, but with heart that ill consents; For of all cities fair, beneath the sun And starry Heaven, the abode of mortal men, None to my soul was dear as sacred Troy, And Priam’s self, and Priam’s warrior race. For with drink-off’rings due, and fat of lambs, My altar still hath at their hands been fed; Such honour hath to us been ever paid.”