non si mihi tigridis horror aequoreasque super rigeant praecordia cautes, ferre queam; tu solus opem, tu summa medendi iura tenes; da bella, pater, generique iacentis aspice res humiles, atque hanc, pater, aspice prolem exsulis; huic olim generis pudor.
Not if I were a bristling tigress or my heart harder than the cliffs of the sea could I bear it. Only you can aid, yours is the high authority to heal. Give war, father; regard the lowly fortunes of your fallen son-in-law and this child of an exile. One day he will be ashamed of his birth.
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book3.json