tantane me decuit vulgari gaudia fama noscere? cumque tibi vagiret tertius infans, protinus ingenti non venit nuntia cursu littera, quae festos cumulare altaribus ignes et redimire chelyn postesque ornare iuberet Albanoque cadum sordentem promere fumo et creta signare diem, sed tardus inersque nunc demum mea vota cano? tua culpa tuusque hic pudor.
Was it fitting that I hear of such joy by common report? When your third child was wailing, did no letter come straightway posthaste to bring me word, telling me to heap my altar with festal fire and wreathe my lyre and decorate my doorway and bring out a jar begrimed with Alban smoke and mark the day with chalk? Only now, slow and sluggish, do I sing my vows? Yours is the fault, yours this shame.
final_alignments\Statius_Silvae_Book4.json