qualem te funere summo atque rogum iuxta, Melior placidissime quondam, extimui! tune ille hilaris comisque videri? unde animi saevaeque manus et barbarus horror, dum modo fusus humi lucem aversaris iniquam, nunc torvus pariter vestes et pectora rumpis dilectosque premis visus et frigida labris oscula? erant illic genitor materque iacentis maesta, sed attoniti te spectavere parentes.
Melior, once most equable of men, how I feared you at the final rite, hard by the pyre! Is this the cheerful, friendly face I know? Whence that passion, those cruel hands, that outlandish shaking? Now prostrate on the ground you shun the cruel daylight, now fiercely you tear your dress and breast alike, pressing with your mouth the beloved eyes and the cold lips. The father and sad mother of the dead were present, but the parents gazed on you dumbfounded.
final_alignments\Statius_Silvae_Book2.json