Tibine illa nefanda pocula letalesque manu componere sucos evaluit, qui voce potes praevertere morsus serpentum atque omnes vultu placare novercas? infestare libet manes meritoque precatu pacem auferre rogis.
Had she the heart to mix with her own hand those wicked cups, those deadly juices, for you, who by your voice can forestall the bite of serpents and by your look placate any stepmother? Fain would I vex her shade, robbing her grave of peace with the curse she deserved.
final_alignments\Statius_Silvae_Book5.json