If all is o’er, and Troy is in the dust, Why should I wish to prolong this worthless life In exiled wanderings? Turn ye to flight, Who feel the blood of youth within your veins, Whose sturdy powers still flourish in their prime. If heavenly gods had wished me still to live, They would have saved this home wherein to dwell. Enough and more, that I have seen one fall Of Troy, and once outlived my captured town. Then, even as I lie in seeming death, Address my lifeless body and be gone. I’ll quickly gain the boon of death I seek: The enemy will pity me and slay, Or else will slay me for my noble spoils. As for the loss of burial due the dead, ‘Twill not be hard to bear. Too long on earth I spend my useless years, abhorred of heaven, Since when the sire of gods and king of men Blasted my body with his lightning’s breath, And marked me with his scorching bolt of flame. _Æneas_ and all the household join in entreating Anchises to go with them (651-653): The heavy hand of fate is on us all, But do not thou, O father, seek to add To this our weight of sorrow, and o’erthrow Our fortunes utterly. But the old man stubbornly persists in his refusal. _Æneas_, seeing his father immovable (656-670): And didst thou think that I could leave thee here, O father, and betake myself to flight? And has such monstrous utterance as this Fall’n from a father’s lips? If heaven has willed That nothing from this city vast survive, And if thy mind is firmly set to die, And ‘tis thy pleasure to our ruined Troy To add thyself and all thy family— The door to that destruction opens wide Soon Pyrrhus will be here, his murderous hands Reeking with Priam’s blood, who slays the son Before his father’s eyes, and eke the sire Upon the sacred altar’s very steps Was it for this that thou, through sword and flame, O fostering mother, didst deliver me, That midst the very sanctities of home I should behold the foe, that I should see Ascanius, my father, and my wife All weltering in one another’s blood? Nay rather, arms! My men, in haste bring arms! Attendants bring him his sword and shield which he hurriedly fits in place. The last day calls the vanquished to their death. Let me go forth to meet the Greeks again, Once more sustain the desperate battle shock. We shall not all in helpless slaughter die. Æneas is rushing toward the door, when Creüsa intercepts him, pushing toward him their little son, Ascanius. _Creüsa_, kneeling (675-678): If thou art going forth to seek thy death, Oh, take us, too, with thee to share thy fate; But if thy wisdom bids thee still to hope In sword and shield, here make thy final stand, And guard thy home. To whose protection, pray, Is young Iulus left, to whose thy sire? To whom can I, once called thy wife, appeal?