at trepida et coeptis immanibus effera Dido, sanguineam volvens aciem, maculisque trementis interfusa genas, et pallida morte futura, interiora domus inrumpit limina, et altos conscendit furibunda rogos, ensemque recludit Dardanium, non hos quaesitum munus in usus.
But Dido, trembling and frantic with her dreadful design, rolling bloodshot eyes, her quivering cheeks flecked with burning spots, and pale at the imminence of death, bursts into the inner courts of the house, climbs the high pyre in a frenzy and unsheathes the Dardan sword, a gift sought for no such purpose.