Horat. Lib 1. Carmin. Ode 8 — Ad Lydia

Tell me, for God's sake, Lydia, why
Thy Sabaris thou do'st with love destroy.
The Glorious Field why should he shun,
Grown now impatient of the Dust, and Sun
Why not in War-like bravery ride,
Curbing with bits the Gallick Horses pride
Why fears he Tybers yellow Floud,
And flies the Olive more than Vipers Bloud
Why not still crusht with Arms, whose art
Was fam'd for clean delivery of his Dart?
Why does he, Lydia, now lye hid,
As once, they say, the Son of Thetis did
Before Troy's wept for Funerall,
Lest in his own Apparel he might fall
Subject to Slaughter, and the Harms
Of bloudy Lycians unrelenting Arms.