XL. "What hope ye had in Diomede, give o'er; Each for himself must be his hope and stay. This hope how slender, and our straits how sore, Ye see; the general ruin and decay Is open, palpable and clear as day. Yet blame I none; what valour could, was done. Our country's strength, our souls were in the fray. Hear then in brief, and ponder every one, What wavering thoughts have shaped, our present fate to shun. XLI. "Far-stretching westward, past Sicania's bound, By Tiber's stream, an ancient tract is mine. Auruncans and Rutulians till the ground; Their ploughshares cleave the stubborn slopes, their kine Graze on the rocks. This tract, these hills of pine Let Latins yield the Trojans for their own, And both, as friends, in equal league combine And share the realm. Here let them settle down, If so they love the land, and build the wished-for town. XLII. "But if new frontiers, and another folk, They fain would look for, and can leave our shore, Then twice ten ships of tough Italian oak Build we, nor only let us build a score Can they but man them (by the stream good store Of timber is at hand); let them decide The form, the number, and the size. What more Is wanting, we will grudge not to provide, Gold, labour, brass, and docks, and naval gear beside. XLIII. "Nay more, to strike the proffered league, 'twere good That chosen envoys to their camp should fare, A hundred Latins of the noblest blood, The peaceful olive in their hands to bear, With gifts, the choicest that the realm can spare, Talents of gold and ivory, just in weight, The royal mantle, and the curule chair, The marks of rule. With freedom now debate, Consult the common weal, and help the sickly state." XLIV. Up rose then Drances, with indignant mien, Whom, spiteful still, the fame of Turnus stung With carping envy, and malignant spleen; Lavish of wealth, and fluent with his tongue, No mean adviser in debate, and strong In faction, but in battle cold and tame. From royal seed his mother's race was sprung, His sire's unknown. He thus with words of blame Piles up the general wrath, and fans resentment's flame. XLV. "Good king, the matter--it is plain, for each Knows well our needs, but hesitates to say. Let _him_ cease blustering, and allow free speech, Him, for whose pride and sullen temper, yea, I say it, let him threaten as he may-- Quenched is the light of many a chief, that lies In earth's cold lap, and mourning and dismay Have filled the town, while, sure of flight, he tries To storm the Trojan camp, and idly flouts the skies.