at iuvenis vicisse dolo ratus avolat ipse (haud mora), conversisque fugax aufertur habenis quadripedemque citum ferrata calce fatigat.
But the youth, thinking that he had won by guile, himself darts away instantly and, turning his bridle, rushes off in flight, goading his charger to speed with iron spur.
final_alignments\Virgil_Aeneid_Book11.json