ut stetit adversisque impegit pectora frenis (ille ad humum pallens): unde haec furibunda cupido, nate, tibi, teneroque unde improba pectore virtus? tu bellis aptare viros, tu pondera ferre Martis et ensiferas inter potes ire catervas? quamquam ubinam vires? nuper te pallida vidi, dum premis obnixo venabula comminus apro, poplite succiduo resupinum ac paene ruentem; et ni curvato torsissem spicula cornu, nunc ubi bella tibi? nil te mea tela iuvabunt nec teretes arcus maculis nec discolor atris hic, cui fidis, equus; magnis conatibus instas, vix Dryadum thalamis Erymanthiadumque furori Nympharum mature puer.
Anon she halts and thrusts her bosom against his bridle (he pale and downcast):  Whence this mad desire, my son? Whence this unconscionable valour in your youthful breast? Can you train men for war? Can you bear the burdens of Mars and move among sword-bearing squadrons? But where the strength? Only lately I turned pale to see you pressing your hunting spear against a thrusting boar in close combat, forced back upon bent knee and near collapse; and if I had not shot an arrow from my curving bow, where would your war be now? My shafts will not avail you nor the smooth bow nor this piebald horse with the black spots, in whom you trust. You embark on a great enterprise, a boy scarce ripe for the chambers of Dryads and the passion of Erymanthian Nymphs
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book4.json