Quae tibi nunc facies postquam permissa gemendi copia! qui fletus galeis cecidere solutis! nil solitum fessos iuvat; abiecere madentes, sicut erant, clipeos, nec quisquam spicula tersit, nec laudavit equum, nitidae nec cassidis altam compsit adornavitque iubam; vix magna lavare vulnera et efflantes libet internectere plagas: tantus ubique dolor.
Imagine the scene,  now that licence is granted to lament. Helmets loosened, how the tears poured down! In their weariness they have no heart for any of the usual concerns. They throw aside their wet shields, just as they were, none wiped his spear or praised his horse or combed and beautified the lofty crest of a shining helm. They hardly care to wash large wounds and bind up exhaling  blows; so great everywhere the sorrow.
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book8.json