nil frangitur heros, ramumque oblatumque manu thoraca repellit vociferans: liceat! non has ego pulvere crasso atque cruore genas, meruit quibus iste favorem semivir, infodiam, mittamque informe sepulcro corpus et Oebalio donem lugere magistro? dicit; at hunc socii tumidum et vicisse negantem avertunt, contra laudant insignis alumnum Taygeti longeque minas risere Lacones.
The hero is nowise mollified. He pushes away the branch and the proffered corselet, bellowing: Let me go! These cheeks with which the half-man won favour,  shall I not gouge with clotted dirt and blood, shall I not send his maimed body to the grave and give it to his Oebalian master to mourn? He spoke, but his comrades turn him away swollen with ire and denying that he has won; whereas the Laconians laud the nursling of illustrious Taygetus and at a distance laugh at the threats.
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book6.json