Would dreadful doom (Heaven send it on _their_ heads) Upon old Priam and his Phrygians come; But if within your walls this sacred horse Should by your voluntary hands be set, Then would all Asia rise with one accord, And sweep in mighty war against the Greeks, And that dire doom upon our grandsons fall. SCENE 3 The Trojans are entirely satisfied with this explanation and treat Sinon with respectful consideration. At this juncture, two huge serpents come up out of the sea, and, while the people flee shrieking away on all sides, they make their way to Laocoön where he stands sacrificing at the altar, and enfold him and his two sons in their deadly coils (195-227). SCENE 4 Great excitement follows. People say that Laocoön has perished justly, since he impiously violated the sacred horse, and loudly demand that the creature be taken within the walls (228-249): _A voice from the crowd_: Oh, dreadful punishment, but well deserved, For with his impious spear he smote the oak, The sacred wood to Pallas consecrate. _Another voice_: Now haste we and within our city lead This horse portentous, and with humble prayer Minerva’s aid and pardoning favor seek. They hastily enlarge the gate, attach ropes to the horse, and put rollers under its feet, many willing hands lay hold of the ropes and pull the horse along. Boys and girls dance and sing around the workers. The horse sticks at the threshold of the gate, and Cassandra, who has been looking on as one entranced, cries out forebodingly. _Cassandra_: O fatherland! O Ilium, home of gods! Ye walls of Troy, in war illustrious! See there, upon the threshold of the gate, The monster halts—again—and yet again! And from its rumbling hold I hear the sound Of clashing arms! O Troy! O fatherland! But the people, not heeding her, press on and disappear within the city walls with the wooden horse, on the way to the citadel. Everywhere are heard sounds of delirious joy. ACT II ACT II. SCENE 1 Night. The chamber of Æneas. He lies sleeping calmly upon his couch. Enter Ghost of Hector, wan and terrible, bearing in his hands the sacred images of the Penates. _Æneas_, starting up to a sitting posture, as if talking in a dream (281-286): O light of Troy, O prop of Trojan hopes, What slow delays have held thee from our sight, O long awaited one? Whence com’st thou here? We see thee now, with hardships overborne, But only after many of thy friends Have met their doom, and after struggles vast Of city and of men.—But what, alas, Has so defiled thy features? Whence these wounds And horrid scars I see? _Hector_, with deep sighs and groans (289-295):