He rolled his eyes, and every moment felt
His manly soul with more compassion melt;
When, casting down a casual glance, he spied
The golden belt that glittered on his side,
The fatal spoil which haughty Turnus tore
From dying Pallas, and in triumph wore.
Then, roused anew to wrath, he loudly cries,
(Flames, while he spoke, came flashing from his eyes)
"Traitor! dost thou, dost thou to grace pretend,
Clad, as thou art, in trophies of my friend?