Book XX

better know Our lineage, known already far and wide. Jove was the father, cloud-compelling Jove, Of Dardanus, by whom Dardania first Was peopled, ere our sacred Troy was built On the great plain⁠—a populous town; for men Dwelt still upon the roots of Ida fresh With many springs. To Dardanus was born King Erichthonius, richest in his day Of mortal men, and in his meadows grazed Three thousand mares, exulting in their brood Of tender foals. Of some of this vast herd Boreas became enamored as they fed. He came to them in likeness of a steed That wore an azure mane, and they brought forth Twelve foals, which all were females, of such speed That when they frolicked on the teeming earth They flew along the topmost ears of wheat And broke them not, and when they sported o’er The mighty bosom of the deep they ran Along the hoary summits of its waves. To Erichthonius Tros was born, who ruled The Trojans, and from Tros there sprang three sons Of high renown⁠—Ilus, Assaracus, And godlike Ganymede, most beautiful Of men; the gods beheld and caught him up To heaven, so beautiful was he, to pour The wine to Jove, and ever dwell with them. And Ilus had a son, Laomedon, Of mighty fame, to whom five sons were born, Tithonus, Priam, Lampus, Clytius, And Hicetaon, trained to war by Mars. Assaracus begat my ancestor, Capys, to whom Anchises owes his birth. Anchises is my father; Priam’s son Is noble Hector. Such I claim to be My lineage and my blood; but Jove at will Gives in large measure, or diminishes, Men’s warlike prowess; and the power of Jove Is over all. But let us talk no more Of things like these, as if we were but boys, While here in the mid-field we stand between The warring armies. Both of us might cast Reproaches at each other, many and foul, Such as no galley of a hundred oars Could bear and float. Men’s tongues are voluble, And endless are the modes of speech, and far Extends from side to side the field of words. Such as thou utterest it will be thy lot To hear from others. But what profits it For us to rail and wrangle, in high brawl, Like women angered to the quick, that rush Into the middle of the street and scold With furious words, some true and others false, As rage may