Odes 1.22 (Creech): Integer Vitae

A Man unstain'd, and pure from Sin,
No Quiver fraught with poyson'd Heads,
No Africk Javelin needs,
He has a Guard and Arms within:

Whether o're Syrtes wandring sands,
Or bruitish Caucasus He goes,
Or where Hydaspes flows
And swiftly cuts the savage Lands:

Of late, when Cares forsook my head,
I stray'd and Sang ith' Sabine Grove
My Lalage, my Love,
A Woolf saw me unarm'd, and fled:

A Beast so large did never roar
Ith' Daunian Woods, and fright the Swains,
Nor in her burning Plains
The Lyons Dry-Nurse Africk bore:

So place me where no Sun appears,
Or wrapt in Clouds or drown'd in tears;
Where Woods with whirling Tempests tost:
Where no relieving Summers breeze
Does murmur thro the Trees,
But all lyes bound and fixt in Frost.

Or place me where the scorching Sun
With beams too near, doth burn the Zone,
Yet fearless there I'le gladly rove,
Let frowning, or let smiling Fate
Or Curse, or Bless my State
Sweet smiling Lalage I'le always love.