incipe! an exspectas ut pronus supplice dextra sternar et immitis domini vestigia quaeram? finge autem temptare sines? mihine ulla minaris supplicia aut ullos reris superesse timores? linquere tecta iubes? caelum terramque reliqui sponte, atque ultricem crudelis in ora retorsi non ullo cogente manum: quid tale iubere, rex inimice, potes? fugio excedoque nefandis sedibus; an refert quo funera longa measque transportem tenebras? ne non gens cuncta precanti concedat patriae quantum miser incubo terrae? sed dulces Thebae.
Begin! Or are you waiting for me to fall prostrate and seek the feet of my harsh master with beseeching hand? Suppose I try, will you allow it?  Me do you threaten with any punishment or think that any terrors remain? You bid me leave this roof? I left sky and earth of my own will and turned an avenging hand against my face, none forcing me. King, my enemy, what can you command like that? I fly and leave the accursed dwelling. Or matters it where I take my long death, my darkness? Or am I to fear lest any people refuse my misery the boon of so much ground as I cover in my country? But Thebes is sweet:
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book11.json