carrying for gifts weight of gold and ivory, and the chair and striped
robe, our royal array. Give counsel openly, and succour our exhausted
state.'

Then Drances again, he whose jealous ill-will was [337-370]wrought to
anger and stung with bitterness by Turnus' fame, lavish of wealth and
quick of tongue though his hand was cold in war, held no empty
counsellor and potent in faction--his mother's rank ennobled a lineage
whose paternal source was obscure--rises, and with these words heaps and
heightens their passion:

'Dark to no man and needing no voice of ours, O gracious king, is that
whereon thou takest counsel. All confess they know how our nation's
fortune sways; but their words are choked. Let him grant freedom of
speech and abate his breath, he by whose disastrous government and
perverse way (I will speak out, though he menace me with arms and death)
we see so many stars of battle gone down and all our city sunk in
mourning; while he, confident in flight, assails the Trojan camp and
makes heaven quail before his arms. Add yet one to those gifts of thine,
to all the riches thou bidst us send or promise to the Dardanians, most
gracious of kings, but one; let no man's passion overbear thee from
giving thine own daughter to an illustrious son and a worthy marriage,
and binding this peace by perpetual treaty. Yet if we are thus
terror-stricken heart and soul, let us implore him in person, in person
plead him of his grace to give way, to restore king and country their
proper right. Why again and again hurlest thou these unhappy citizens on
peril so evident, O source and spring of Latium's woes? In war is no
safety; peace we all implore of thee, O Turnus, and the one pledge that
makes peace inviolable. I the first, I whom thou picturest thine enemy,
as I care not if I am, see, I bow at thy feet. Pity thine allies;
relent, and retire before thy conqueror. Enough have we seen of rout and
death, and desolation over our broad lands. Or if glory stir thee, if
such strength kindle in thy breast, and if a palace so delight thee for
thy dower, be bold, and advance stout-hearted upon the foe. We verily,
that Turnus [371-406]may have his royal bride, must lie scattered on
the plains, worthless lives, a crowd unburied and unwept. Do thou also,
if thou hast aught of might, if the War-god be in thee as in thy
fathers, look him in the face who challenges. . . .'

At these words Turnus' passion blazed out. He utters a groan, and br