When Turnus saw the Latins leave the field, Their armies broken, and their courage quelled, Himself become the mark of public spite, His honour questioned for the promised fight-- The more he was with vulgar hate oppressed, The more his fury boiled within his breast: He roused his vigour for the last debate, And raised his haughty soul, to meet his fate. As, when the swains the Libyan lion chase, He makes a sour retreat, nor mends his pace; But, if the pointed javelin pierce his side, The lordly beast returns with double pride: He wrenches out the steel, he roars for pain, His sides he lashes, and erects his mane: So Turnus fares: his eyeballs flash with fire; Through his wide nostrils clouds of smoke expire. Trembling with rage, around the court he ran, At length approached the king, and thus began:-- "No more excuses or delays: I stand } In arms prepared to combat, hand to hand, } This base deserter of his native land. } The Trojan, by his word, is bound to take The same conditions which himself did make. Renew the truce; the solemn rites prepare, And to my single virtue trust the war. The Latians unconcerned shall see the fight: This arm unaided shall assert your right: Then, if my prostrate body press the plain, To him the crown and beauteous bride remain." To whom the king sedately thus replied:-- "Brave youth! the more your valour has been tried, The more becomes it us, with due respect, To weigh the chance of war, which you neglect. You want not wealth, or a successive throne, Or cities which your arms have made your own: My towns and treasures are at your command, And stored with blooming beauties is my land: Laurentum more than one Lavinia sees, Unmarried, fair, of noble families. Now let me speak, and you with patience hear, Things which perhaps may grate a lover's ear, But sound advice, proceeding from a heart Sincerely yours, and free from fraudful art. The gods, by signs, have manifestly shown, No prince, Italian born, should heir my throne: Oft have our augurs, in prediction skilled, And oft our priests, a foreign son revealed. Yet, won by worth that cannot be withstood, Bribed by my kindness to my kindred blood, Urged by my wife, who would not be denied, I promised my Lavinia for your bride: Her from her plighted lord by force I took; All ties of treaties, and of honour, broke: On your account I waged an impious war-- } With what success, 'tis needless to declare; } I and my subjects feel, and you have had your share. } Twice vanquished while in bloody fields we strive, Scarce in our walls we keep our hopes alive: The rolling flood runs warm with human gore; The bones of Latians blanch the neighbouring shore. Why put I not an end to this debate,