fling your wretched countrymen again and again into 5
danger’s throat, you, the head and wellspring of the ills
which Latium has to bear? There is no hope from war;
peace we ask of you, one and all—yes, Turnus, peace,
and the one surety that can make peace sacred. See,
first of all I, whom you give out to be your enemy—and 10
I care not though I be—come and throw myself at your
feet. Pity those of your own kin, bring down your
pride, and retire as beaten man should. Routed we are;
we have looked on corpses enough, and have left leagues