Horace, Ode 1.29
Iccī, beātīs nunc Arabum invidēs
gāzīs et acrem mīlitiam parās
nōn ante dēvictīs Sabaeae
rēgibus horribilīque Mēdō
nectis catēnās? quae tibi virginum
sponsō necātō barbara serviet?
puer quis ex aulā capillīs
ad cyathum statuētur unctīs,
doctus sagittās tendere Sēricās
arcū paternō? quis neget arduīs
prōnōs relābī posse rīvōs
montibus et Tiberim revertī,
cum tū coēmptōs undique nōbilis
librōs Panāetī Sōcraticam et domum
mūtāre lōrīcīs Hibērīs,
pollicitus meliōra, tendis?
Iccius, are you now jealous of the rich treasures of the Arab?
and are you training for an aggressive military action
and for the kings of Sheba, previously unconquered,
and for the horrible Mede,
are you tying chains? Which female barbarian of virgins
will be a slave to you, having killed her boyfriend?
What young boy, out of a palace,
will be stationed at the wine ladle with his hair scented with oil
having been taught to shoot Seric arrows
on his father’s bow? Who would deny that
down-flowing streams are be able to glide back up
to the steep mountains, and the Tiber to be reversed,
when you, after promising better things, are hellbent
on exchanging the books of famous Paneitius,
having be bought from every place,
and the Socratic house, with Spanish cuirasses.