Odes 1.8 (Martin): Lydia, Dic Per Omnes

Why, Lydia, why,
I pray, by all the gods above,
Art so resolved that Sybaris should die,
And all for love?

Why doth he shun
The Campus Martius' sultry glare?
He that once reck'd of neither dust nor sun,
Why rides he there,

First of the brave,
Taming the Gallic steed no more?
Why doth he shrink from Tiber's yellow wave?
Why thus abhor

The wrestlers' oil,
As 't were from viper's tongue distill'd?
Why do his arms no livid bruises soil,
He, once so skill'd,

The disc or dart
Far, far beyond the mark to hurl?
And tell me, tell me, in what nook apart,
Like baby girl.

Lurks the poor boy,
Veiling his manhood, as did Thetis' son,
To 'scape war's bloody clang, while fated Troy
Was yet undone?