Practice Typing

Me too, ye warriors, hear, whose fatal right A world engages in the toils of fight. To me the labour of the field resign; Me Paris injured; all the war be mine. Fall he that must, beneath his rivals arms; And live the rest, secure of future harms. Two lambs, devoted by your countrys rite, To earth a sable, to the sun a white, Prepare, ye Trojans. while a third we bring Select to Jove, the inviolable king.