it crashes with giant impulse, that reckless stone, bounding
over the ground and rolling along with it trees, herds, 35
and men: so, dashing the ranks apart, rushes Turnus to
the city walls, where the earth is wet with plashy blood,
and the gale hurtles with spears: he beckons with his
hand, and cries with a mighty voice: “Have done, ye
Rutulians! ye Latians, hold back your darts! whatever
Fortune brings she brings to me: ’tis juster far that I in
your stead should singly expiate the treaty’s breach and
try the issue of the steel.” All at the word part from the 5