centum illi stantes umbrabant ora cerastae, turba minor diri capitis; sedet intus abactis ferrea lux oculis, qualis per nubila Phoebes Atracia rubet arte labor; suffusa veneno tenditur ac sanie gliscit cutis; igneus atro ore vapor, quo longa sitis morbique famesque et populis mors una venit; riget horrida tergo palla, et caerulei redeunt in pectora nodi: Atropos hos atque ipsa novat Proserpina cultus.
One hundred asps erect shaded her face, lesser population of her fearful head.  In her sunken eyes sits a steely glow, as when Atracian art makes labouring Phoebe blush through clouds.  Suffused with venom, her skin stretches and swells with matter. In her black mouth is a fiery vapour, whereby comes long drought and distempers and famine and a common death upon the nations. At her back lies stiffly a horrid mantle and blue-black knots return upon her breast. Atropos and Proserpine herself refurbish her attire.
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book1.json