To feast on banquets never spread for them.
The homes of captive Trojan chiefs they share
As chance decides the lodgment; there secure
From the cold night-dews and the biting frosts,
Beneath the lordly roof, to their hearts’ content[n36]
They live, and through the watchless night prolong
Sound slumbers. Happy if the native gods
They reverence, and the captured altars spare,[n37]
Themselves not captive led by their own folly!
May no unbridled lust of unjust gain