illos tamen aequa duelli fors tulit ad manes: at tu (pudet) hostia regni, hostia, nate, iaces, ceu mutus et e grege sanguis (ei mihi!) primitiis ararum et rite nefasto libatus iussusque mori: et cunctabitur ultra iste nec, adverso nunc saltem Marte vocatus, stabit? an in pugnas alium iubet ire profanus Tiresias iterumque meos oracula nectit in gemitus? quid enim misero super unicus Haemon? ille iube subeat, tuque hinc spectator ab alta turre sede! quid saeva fremis famulamque cohortem respectas? hi te ire volunt, hi pendere poenas; ipsa etiam genetrix ipsaeque odere sorores.
But these the fair chance of war brought to their death. Whereas (oh shame!) you, my son, lie a royal sacrifice, ay, a sacrifice, like a dumb beast of the flock (woe is me!), sprinkled with the altars first-fruits in an unholy rite and ordered to die. And shall this man delay longer, shall he not now at least, summoned by opposing Mars, stand fast? Or does unclean  Tiresias order another to go to battle and again weave oracles for my groaning? For why, alas, is Haemon left me, he alone? Tell him to go, and do you sit and watch from this high tower. Why this fierce rage, why do you look back to your troop of lackeys? They would have you go and pay the penalty, they. Even your mother, even your sisters hate you.
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book11.json