To this the god: “'T is yours, O queen, to will
The work which duty binds me to fulfil.
These airy kingdoms, and this wide command,
Are all the presents of your bounteous hand:
Yours is my sov'reign's grace; and, as your guest,
I sit with gods at their celestial feast;
Raise tempests at your pleasure, or subdue;
Dispose of empire, which I hold from you.”
This text is part of:
Vergil. Aeneid. John Dryden. trans. XXX. XXX. XXX.
The National Endowment for the Humanities provided support for entering this text.
