thy latest joy, hadst lain stretched on the ground by the
Dardan hand, a piteous spectacle, at rest from the passions
that were ever in thy heart; but thy brethren met
the foe in close band, the progeny of Phorcus: seven their
number, seven the darts they throw; some rebound idly
from shield and helm, some as they grazed the frame were 5
turned aside by Venus’ gentle power. Quick spoke
Æneas to true Achates: “Give me store of weapons; not
one shall my hand hurl in vain against the Rutulians, of
all that have quivered in Grecian flesh on the plains of