Vix ea fatus erat: medios volat ecce per hostis vectus equo spumante Saces, adversa sagitta saucius ora, ruitque implorans nomine Turnum: Turne, in te suprema salus, miserere tuorum.
Scarce had he spoken, when borne on a foaming steed through the foemens midst speeds Saces, wounded full in face by an arrow and, rushing on, calls for aid by name on Turnus: Turnus, in you lies our last hope; pity your people!