pride, and retire as beaten man should. Routed we are; we have looked on corpses enough, and have left leagues enough of land unpeopled. Or if glory stirs you, if you 15 can call up into your breast the courage needed, if the dowry of a palace lies so near your heart, be bold for once, and advance with bosom manned to meet the foe. What! that Turnus may have the blessing of a queenly bride, are we, poor paltry lives, a herd unburied and unwept, to lie 20 weltering on the plain? It is your turn: if you have any strength, any touch of the War-god of your sires, look him in the face who sends you his challenge.” At these words Turnus’ violence blazed out: heaving a groan, he vents from the bottom of his heart such utterance 25 as this: “Copious, Drances, ever is your stream of speech in the hour when war is calling for hands; when the senate is summoned, you are first in the field. Yet we want not men to fill our court with talk, that big talk which you hurl from a safe vantage-ground, while the rampart 30 keeps off the foe and the moat is not foaming with carnage. Go on pealing your eloquence, as your wont is: let Drances brand Turnus with cowardice, for it is Drances’ hand that has piled those very heaps of Teucrian slaughter, and is planting the fields all over with its trophies. What 35 is the power of glowing valour, experience may show you: enemies in sooth are not far to seek: they are standing all about the walls. Well, are we marching to the encounter? why so slow? will you never lodge the War-god better than in that windy tongue, those flying feet? What? beaten? I? who, foulest of slanderers, will justly brand me as beaten, that shall look on Tiber still swelling with Ilion’s best blood, on Evander’s whole house prostrate 5 root and branch, and his Arcadians stripped naked of their armour? It was no beaten arm that Bitias and giant Pandarus found in me, or the thousand that I sent to death in a single day with my conquering hand, shut up within their walls, pent in by the rampart of the foe. No 10 hope from war? Croak your bodings, madman, in the ears of the Dardan and of your own fortunes. Ay, go on without cease, throwing all into measureless panic, heightening the prowess of a nation twice conquered already, and dwarfing no less the arms of your king. See, 15 now the lords of the Myrmidons[278] are quaking at the martial deeds of Phrygia, Tydeus’ son, Thessalian Achilles, and the rest, and river Aufidus is in full retreat from the Hadrian sea. Or listen when the trickster in his villany feigns himself too weak to face a quarrel with me, and 20 points his charges with the sting of terror. Never, I promise you, shall you lose such life as yours by hand of mine—be troubled no longer—let it dwell with you and