quis furor iste novus? quo nunc, quo tenditis, inquit, heu! miserae cives? non hostem inimicaque castra Argivum, vestras spes uritis. en ego vester Ascanius!
What strange madness is this? he cries. Whither now, whither are you bound, my wretched countrywomen? It is not the foe, not the hostile Argive camp you burn, but your own hopes. I am your own Ascanius!