Now in hot haste fierce Turnus dons the mail, Eager for battle.

On his breast he laced The corselet, rough with many a brazen scale.
Around his legs the golden greaves he placed, His brow yet bare, and at his side he braced, The trusty sword.

All golden is the glow Of burnished arms, as down the height in haste He flies exulting to the field below.
High leaps his heart, and hope anticipates the foe.
LXIV.

So, free at length, his tether snapt in twain, Swift from his stall, in eager joy, the steed Bounds forth and, master of the open plain, Now seeks the mares that in the pastures feed, Now towards the well-known river scours the mead, Wont there to cool his glowing sides, and neighs With head erect and glories in his speed, While o'er his collar and his shoulders plays The waving mane, flung loose in many a wandering maze.
LXV.

Him meets Camilla, with her Volscian train, And by the gate dismounting then and there (Down likewise leap her followers to the plain), "Turnus," she cries, "if confidence can e'er Befit the brave, I venture and I swear Singly to face yon Trojans in the fray, And stem the Tuscan cavalry.