by a giant wound: he called me by name, he, than whom
I had no dearer friend. Dead, too, is ill-starred Ufens,
all because he would not see me disgraced: his body and
his arms are the Teucrians’ prize. Am I to let the nation’s 25
homes be razed to the ground, the one drop that was
wanting to the cup, and not rather with my own right
hand give Drances’ words the lie? Shall I turn my back?
shall this land see Turnus flying? is death after all so
bitter? Be gracious to me, gentle powers of the grave, 30
since the gods above are against me! Yes, I will come