myself in reserve? Did he groan when I wept? did he 20
move those hard eyes? did he yield and shed tears, or
pity her that loved him? What first? what last? Now,
neither Juno, queen of all, nor Jove, the almighty Father,
eyes us with impartial regard. Nowhere is there aught
to trust—nowhere. A shipwrecked beggar, I welcomed 25
him, and madly gave him a share of my realm; his lost
fleet, his crews, I brought back from death’s door. Ah!
Fury sets me on fire, and whirls me round! Now, prophet
Apollo, now the Lycian oracles. Now the messenger of