sic proxima turba, sed ardens ecce aderat luctu dicturusque omnia belli libertate Creon: urit fera corda Menoeceus, nulla patri requies, illum quaeritque tenetque, illum sanguineos proflantem pectore rivos aspicit et saeva semper de turre cadentem.
Thus the throng closest by; but see, here comes Creon passionate with grief and ready to speak his whole mind in the licence of war. Menoeceus chafes his fierce heart, the father has no peace, him he seeks and holds, him he sees breathing streams of blood out from his breast, ever falling from the cruel tower.
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book11.json