You, too, twin brethren, fell on those Rutulian plains,
Larides and Thymber, Daucus’ resemblant offspring, undistinguished
even by your kin, a sweet perplexity to
those who bore you: but now Pallas has marked you with 35
a cruel difference; for you, poor Thymber, have your
head shorn off by the Evandrian sword; your hand,
Larides, severed from the arm, is looking in vain for you
its master; the fingers, half alive, are quivering yet and
closing again on the steel.
Arcadia’s sons, stung by their chief’s rebuke and gazing