nonne Hyrcanis bellare putatis tigribus, aut saevos Libyae contra ire leones? et nunc ille iacet (pulchra o solacia leti!) ore tenens hostile caput, dulcique nefandus immoritur tabo; nos ferrum immite facesque: illis nuda odia, et feritas iam non eget armis.
Think you not that we war with Hyrcanian tigers, fight fierce lions of Libya? And now he lies (fine comfort in death!) gripping his enemys head with his mouth, expiring in unholy relish of the gore. We use pitiless steel and firebrands; for them there is bare hate, and their savagery no longer needs weapons.
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book9.json