hunc ubi Sarmaticos etiamnum efflare labores Iuppiter et tota perfusum pectora belli tempestate videt: talis mihi, nate, per Argos, talis abi, sic ense madens, hac nubilus ira.
When Jupiter sees him still breathing out Sarmatian toils, his breast steeped in all the tempest of war: My son, in such sort and no other, I pray you, get you forth through Argos. Let your sword drip so, your wrath so lour.
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book3.json