He thus with words of blame Piles up the general wrath, and fans resentment's flame.
XLV.

"Good king, the matter--it is plain, for each Knows well our needs, but hesitates to say.
Let _him_ cease blustering, and allow free speech, Him, for whose pride and sullen temper, yea, I say it, let him threaten as he may-- Quenched is the light of many a chief, that lies In earth's cold lap, and mourning and dismay Have filled the town, while, sure of flight, he tries To storm the Trojan camp, and idly flouts the skies.
XLVI.

"One gift, O best of monarchs, add, to crown Thy bounty to the Dardans,--one, beside These many, nor let bluster bear thee down.
A worthy husband for thy child provide, And peace shall with the lasting pact abide.
Else, if such terror doth our souls enslave, Him now, in hope to turn away his pride, Him let us pray his proper right to waive, And, pitying, deign to yield what king and country crave.
XLVII.

"O Turnus, cause of all our ills to-day, Why make the land these miseries endure?
The war is desperate; for peace we pray, And that one pledge, inviolably sure, Naught else but which can make the peace secure.
Thy foeman, I--nor be the fact concealed, For so thou deem'st--entreat thee and adjure.
Blood flows enough on many a wasted field.
Relent, and spare thine own, and, beaten, learn to yield.
XLVIII.

"Or, if fame tempt, and in thy bosom glow Such fire, and so thou hankerest to gain A kingdom's dower, take heart and face the foe.
Must we, poor souls, that Turnus may obtain A royal bride, like carrion strew the plain, Unwept, unburied?
If thine arm hath might, If but a spark of native worth remain, Go forth this hour; in arms assert thy right, And meet him, face to face, who calls thee to the fight." XLIX.