Polydorus

"Spare, O AEneas, spare a wretch, nor shame / thy guiltless hands, but let the dead repose. / From Troy, no alien to thy race, I came. / O, fly this greedy shore, these cruel foes! / Not from the tree – from Polydorus flows / this blood, for I am Polydorus. Here / an iron crop o'erwhelmed me, and uprose / bristling with pointed javelins."

This Polydorus Priam from the war / to Thracia's King in secret had consigned / with store of gold, when, girt with siege, he saw / Troy's towers, and trust in Dardan arms resigned.

But when our fortune and our hopes declined, / the treacherous King the conqueror's cause professed, / and, false to faith, to friendship and to kind, / slew Polydorus, and his wealth possessed. / Curst greed of gold, what crimes thy tyrant power attest!