"Almighty Jupiter, if of the Teucrians | you are not yet, without reserve, in anger | all the people, and if, as you are, pitiful | aim at human worries, at so much fire | take away, father, the evil woods; | take these few afflicted ones back to death | relics of the Trojans, or what remains | you with your own cloth, and with your own hand | (if such is my merit) strike and extinguish."