your sister’s eye, are you to pine and grieve in loneliness 10
through life’s long spring, nor know aught of a mother’s
joy in her children, nor of the prizes Venus gives? Think
you that dead ashes and ghosts low in the grave take this
to heart? Grant that no husbands have touched your
bleeding heart in times gone by, none now in Libya, none 15
before in Tyre; yes, Iarbas has been slighted, and the
other chieftains whom Afric, rich in triumphs, rears as
its own—will you fight against a welcome, no less than
an unwelcome passion? Nor does it cross your mind in