tunc tristes socii cupidum bellare (quis ardor!) et poscentem hastas mediaque in morte negantem exspirare trahunt, summique in margine campi effultum gemina latera inclinantia parma ponunt, ac saevi rediturum ad proelia Martis promittunt flentes.
Then his sad comrades drag him away, longing to fight (what passion!), demanding spears, and in the throes of death refusing to expire. They set him down at the plains edge, propped up on either side as he leans upon two shields, and tearfully promise that he will return to the battles of cruel Mars.
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book8.json