"Watch thou, lest hand be lifted in the rear.
There, flanked with swaths of corpses, will I reap Thy pathway; broad shall be the lane and clear." So saying, he checks his voice, and, aiming steep, Drives at proud Rhamnes.

On a piled-up heap Of carpets lay the warrior, and his breast Heaved with hard breathing and the sounds of sleep: Augur and king, whom Turnus loved the best.
Not all his augur's craft could now his doom arrest.
XLII.

Three slaves beside him, lying heedless here Amidst their arms, he numbers with the slain, Then Remus' page, and Remus' charioteer, Caught by their steeds.

The weapon, urged amain, Swoops down, and cleaves their drooping necks in twain.
Their master's head he severs with a blow, And leaves the trunk, still heaving, on the plain, And o'er the cushions and the ground below, Wet with the warm, black gore, the spouting streams outflow.
XLIII.

Lamus and Lamyras he slew outright, And fair Serranus, as asleep he lay, Tamed by the God; for long and late that night The youth had gamed.