XLVI. "One gift, O best of monarchs, add, to crown Thy bounty to the Dardans,--one, beside These many, nor let bluster bear thee down. A worthy husband for thy child provide, And peace shall with the lasting pact abide. Else, if such terror doth our souls enslave, Him now, in hope to turn away his pride, Him let us pray his proper right to waive, And, pitying, deign to yield what king and country crave. XLVII. "O Turnus, cause of all our ills to-day, Why make the land these miseries endure? The war is desperate; for peace we pray, And that one pledge, inviolably sure, Naught else but which can make the peace secure. Thy foeman, I--nor be the fact concealed, For so thou deem'st--entreat thee and adjure. Blood flows enough on many a wasted field. Relent, and spare thine own, and, beaten, learn to yield. XLVIII. "Or, if fame tempt, and in thy bosom glow Such fire, and so thou hankerest to gain A kingdom's dower, take heart and face the foe. Must we, poor souls, that Turnus may obtain A royal bride, like carrion strew the plain, Unwept, unburied? If thine arm hath might, If but a spark of native worth remain, Go forth this hour; in arms assert thy right, And meet him, face to face, who calls thee to the fight." XLIX. Fierce blazed the wrath of Turnus, and he wrung Speech from his breast, deep groaning in his gall. "Glib art thou, Drances, voluble of tongue, When hands are needed, and the trumpets call. The council summoned, thou art first of all. Not this the hour thy vapouring to outpour, Though big thy talk, and brave the words, that fall From craven lips, while ramparts stand before, To guard thee safe from foes, nor trenches swim with gore. L. "Rave on, and thunder in thy wonted strain, And brand me coward, thou whose hands can slay Such Trojan hosts, whose trophies grace the plain. What worth can do, and manhood can essay, We twain may venture. Sooth, not far away Need foes be sought; around the walls they throng. March we to meet them! Dotard, why delay? Still dwells thy War-God in a windy tongue, And flying feet, and knees all feeble and unstrung? LI. "I beaten? Who, foul spawn of earth, shall call Me beaten? who, that saw swoln Tiber flow Red with the blood of Trojans, ay, and all Evander's house and progeny laid low, And fierce Arcadians vanquished at a blow? Not such dead Pandarus and Bitias found This right hand, nor those thousands hurled below In one short day, when battlement and mound Hemmed me in hostile walls, and foemen swarmed around.