Pity my sire, now sinking to the grave;
And, for Anchises' sake, old Daunus save!
Or, if thy vowed revenge pursue my death,
Give to my friends my body void of breath!
}
{ The Latian chiefs have seen me beg my life:
{ Thine is the conquest, thine the royal wife:
{ Against a yielded man, 'tis mean ignoble strife."
In deep suspense the Trojan seemed to stand,
And, just prepared to strike, repressed his hand.