from his own confines, torn from his Iulus’ arms, he may
pray for succour, and see his friends dying miserably round 35
him! Nor when he has yielded to the terms of an unjust
peace, may he enjoy his crown, or the life he loves; but
may he fall before his time, and lie unburied in the midst
of the plain! This is my prayer—these the last accents
that flow from me with my life-blood. And you, my
Tyrians, let your hatred persecute the race and people for
all time to come. Be this the offering you send down to
my ashes: never be there love or league between nation 5