Book IX, 322

These spoils are not mine. Who hung this unwelcome gift on the walls of Ares? Unbruised are the helmets, unstained by blood the polished shields, and unbroken the frail spears. My whole face reddens with shame, and the sweat, gushing from my forehead, bedews my breast. Such ornaments are for a lady’s bower, or a banqueting-hall, or a court, or a bridal chamber. But blood-stained be the cavalier’s spoils that deck the temple of Ares; in those I take delight.