Lydia, speak–I beseech you
Through all the gods, why do you hurry to ruin Sybaris
By loving; why is its
Sunny field hateful, enduring of soil and sun?
Why, when he neither rides
Horseback among his like comrades, nor tempers Gallic
Steeds with sharp bits?
Why does he fear to touch the tawny Tiber? Why does he,
Cautious, avoid the olive
With viper blood, and now not wear his arms bruised by
Sport, often from discus,
Often with javelin loosed clear beyond the mark?
What lies await, as they
Say did the son of sea-born Thetis before the lamentable
Ruin of Troy, lest the manly
Garb rush Achilles to death amid the Lycian troops?
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