groaning as one man: the whole mountain round
rebellows, and the depths of the forest send back the
sound far and wide. He in lowly suppliance lifts up eye 30
and entreating hand: “It is my due,” he cries, “and I
ask not to be spared it: take what fortune gives you.
Yet, if you can feel for a parent’s misery—your father,
Anchises was once in like plight—have mercy on Daunus’
hoary hairs, and let me, or if you choose my breathless 35
body, be restored to my kin. You are conqueror: the
Ausonians have seen my conquered hands outstretched: