_Æn._ O, th' enchanting words of that base slave Made him to think Epeus' pine-tree horse A sacrifice t' appease Minerva's wrath! The rather, for that one Laocoon, Breaking a spear upon his hollow breast, Was with two wingèd serpents stung to death. Whereat aghast, we were commanded straight With reverence to draw it into Troy: In which unhappy work was I employed; 170 These hands did help to hale it to the gates, Through which it could not enter, 'twas so huge,-- O, had it never enter'd, Troy had stood! But Priamus, impatient of delay, Enforced a wide breach in that rampired wall Which thousand battering-rams could never pierce, And so came in this fatal instrument: At whose accursèd feet, as overjoyed, We banqueted, till, overcome with wine, Some surfeited, and others soundly slept. 180 Which Sinon viewing, caus'd the Greekish spies To haste to Tenedos, and tell the camp: Then he unlocked the horse; and suddenly, From out his entrails, Neoptolemus, Setting his spear upon the ground, leapt forth, And, after him, a thousand Grecians more, In whose stern faces shined the quenchless[469] fire That after burnt the pride of Asia. By this, the camp was come unto the walls, And through the breach did march into the streets, 190 Where, meeting with the rest; "Kill, kill!" they cried. Frighted with this confusèd noise, I rose, And, looking from a turret, might behold Young infants swimming in their parents' blood, Headless carcases pilèd up in heaps, Virgins half-dead, dragged by their golden hair, And with main force flung on a ring[470] of pikes, Old men with swords thrust through their agèd sides, Kneeling for mercy to a Greekish lad, 200 Who with steel pole-axes dash'd out their brains. Then buckled I mine armour, drew my sword, And thinking to go down, came Hector's ghost,[471] With ashy visage, blueish sulphur eyes, His arms torn from his shoulders, and his breast Furrowed with wounds, and, that which made me weep, Thongs at his heels, by which Achilles' horse Drew him in triumph through the Greekish camp, Burst from the earth, crying "Æneas, fly! Troy is a-fire, the Grecians have the town!" 210 _Dido._ O Hector, who weeps not to hear thy name?