Twelve foals produced, and all so light of foot, That when they wanton’d in the fruitful field They swept, and snapp’d it not, the golden ear; And when they wanton’d on the boundless deep,285 They skimm’d the green wave’s frothy ridge, secure. From Ericthonius sprang Tros, King of Troy, And Tros was father of three famous sons, Ilus, Assaracus, and Ganymede Loveliest of human kind, whom for his charms290 The Gods caught up to heaven, there to abide With the immortals, cup-bearer of Jove. Ilus begat Laomedon, and he Five sons, Tithonus, Priam, Clytius, Lampus, and Hicetaon, branch of Mars.295 Assaracus a son begat, by name Capys, and Capys in due time his son Warlike Anchises, and Anchises me. But Priam is the noble Hector’s sire.[6] Such is my lineage, and such blood I boast;300 But valor is from Jove; he, as he wills, Increases or reduces it in man, For he is lord of all. Therefore enough— Too long like children we have stood, the time Consuming here, while battle roars around.305 Reproach is cheap. Easily might we cast Gibes at each other, till a ship that asks A hundred oars should sink beneath the load. The tongue of man is voluble, hath words For every theme, nor wants wide field and long,310 And as he speaks so shall he hear again. But we—why should we wrangle, and with taunts Assail each other, as the practice is Of women, who with heart-devouring strife On fire, start forth into the public way315 To mock each other, uttering, as may chance, Much truth, much falsehood, as their anger bids? The ardor of my courage will not slack For all thy speeches; we must combat first; Now, therefore, without more delay, begin,320 That we may taste each other’s force in arms.[7] So spake Æneas, and his brazen lance Hurl’d with full force against the dreadful shield. Loud roar’d its ample concave at the blow. Not unalarm’d, Pelides his broad disk325 Thrust farther from him, deeming that the force Of such an arm should pierce his guard with ease. Vain fear! he recollected not that arms Glorious as his, gifts of the immortal Gods, Yield not so quickly to the force of man.330 The stormy spear by brave Æneas sent, No passage found; the golden plate divine Repress’d its vehemence; two folds it pierced, But three were still behind, for with five folds Vulcan had fortified it; two were brass;335 The two interior, tin; the midmost, gold; And at the golden one the weapon stood.[8] Achilles next, hurl’d his long shadow’d spear, And struck Æneas on the utmost verge Of his broad shield, where thinnest lay the brass,340 And thinnest the ox-hide. The Pelian ash Started right through the buckler, and it rang. Æneas crouch’d terrified, and his shield Thrust farther from him; but the rapid beam Bursting both borders of the ample disk,345 Glanced o’er his back, and plunged into the soil. He ’scaped it, and he stood; but, as he stood, With horror infinite the weapon saw Planted so near him. Then, Achilles drew His falchion keen, and with a deafening shout350