Unless his noisy tongue can only fight,
And feet were given him but to speed his flight.
I beaten from the field? I forced away?
Who, but so known a dastard, dares to say?
Had he but even beheld the fight, his eyes
Had witnessed for me what his tongue denies—
What heaps of Trojans by this hand were slain,
And how the bloody Tyber swelled the main.
All saw, but he, the Arcadian troops retire
In scattered squadrons, and their prince expire.