Page:Virgil's Pastorals, Georgics and Aeneis - Dryden (1709) - volume 2.djvu/192

He still persists, his Reasons to maintain; 885
Our Pray'rs, our Tears, our loud Laments are vain.
 Urg'd by Despair, again I go to try
The fate of Arms, resolv'd in Fight to die.
What hope remains, but what my Death must give?
Can I without so dear a Father live? 890
You term it Prudence, what I Baseness call:
Cou'd such a Word from such a Parent fall?
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$If Fortune please, and so the Gods ordain,
That nothing shou'd of ruin'd Troy remain:
And you conspire with Fortune, to be slain; 895
The way to Death is wide, th' Approaches near:
For soon relentless Pyrrhus will appear,
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$Reeking with Priam's Blood: The wretch who slew
The Son (inhuman) in the Father's view, 899
And then the Sire himself, to the dire Altar drew.
 O Goddess Mother, give me back to fate;
Your Gift was undesir'd, and came too late.
Did you for this, unhappy me convey
Through Foes and Fires to see my House a Prey?
Shall I, my Father, Wife, and Son, behold 905
Welt'ring in Blood, each others Arms infold?
Haste, gird my Sword, tho' spent, and overcome:
Tis the last Summons to receive our Doom.
I hear thee, Fate, and I obey thy Call:
Not unreveng'd the Foe shall see my Fall. 210
Restore me to the yet unfinish'd Fight:
My Death is wanting to conclude the Night.