atque ubi visa procul socias liquisse malorum, anne, ait, hostiles ego te tabente per agros (heu dolor!) exspectem quaenam sententia lenti Theseos, an bello proceres, an dexter haruspex annuat? interea funus decrescit; et uncis alitibus non hos potius supponimus artus.
When she thought she had left afar the companions of her woes: Am I to wait (ah grief!) for tardy Theseus decision while you moulder in enemy land?  Will his nobles, will his skilful  soothsayer assent to war? Meanwhile the body diminishes; and I do not expose my own limbs to the hooked birds rather than yours!
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book12.json