truth! what fealty!—the man who, they say, carries
about with him the gods of his country, and took up on 15
his shoulders his old worn-out father! Might I not have
caught and torn him piecemeal, and scattered him to the
waves?—destroyed his friends, aye, and his own Ascanius,
and served up the boy for his father’s meal? But the
chance of a battle would have been doubtful. Let it have 20
been. I was to die, and whom had I to fear? I would
have flung torches into his camp, filled his decks with flame,
consumed son and sire and the whole line, and leapt myself