Ode 1.29
What, Iccius, you, with heart now wholly set
On spoils of Araby, raising troops to lead
Against Sabaean kings unconquered yet,
And forging fetters for the dreaded Mede!
What native princess widowed by your hand,
And captive ta'en, is doomed to serve your will?
What court-bred boy with scented locks will stand
Attendant at your board the cups to fill,
Trained to shoot Seric arrows with the bow
Borne by his fathers? Who untrue will count
The tale that mountain torrents back may flow
Up hill, and Tiber turning seek his fount,
When you who bought the volumes everywhere
Of famed Panaetius, and the school we call
Socratic, haste despite that promise fair
For Spanish corslets to exchange them all?
On spoils of Araby, raising troops to lead
Against Sabaean kings unconquered yet,
And forging fetters for the dreaded Mede!
What native princess widowed by your hand,
And captive ta'en, is doomed to serve your will?
What court-bred boy with scented locks will stand
Attendant at your board the cups to fill,
Trained to shoot Seric arrows with the bow
Borne by his fathers? Who untrue will count
The tale that mountain torrents back may flow
Up hill, and Tiber turning seek his fount,
When you who bought the volumes everywhere
Of famed Panaetius, and the school we call
Socratic, haste despite that promise fair
For Spanish corslets to exchange them all?
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