sed te victa situ verique effeta senectus, o mater, curis nequiquam exercet, et arma regum inter falsa vatem formidine ludit.
But you, mother, old age, enfeebled by decay and barren of truth, frets with vain distress, and amid the feuds of kings mocks your prophetic soul with false alarms.
final_alignments\Virgil_Aeneid_Book7.json