Lydia, by all above (LYDIA, DIC PER OMNES)

         Lydia, by all above,
     Why bear so hard on Sybaris, to ruin him with love?
         What change has made him shun
     The playing-ground, who once so well could bear the dust and sun?
         Why does he never sit
     On horseback in his company, nor with uneven bit
         His Gallic courser tame?
     Why dreads he yellow Tiber, as 'twould sully that fair frame?
         Like poison loathes the oil,
     His arms no longer black and blue with honourable toil,
         He who erewhile was known
     For quoit or javelin oft and oft beyond the limit thrown?
         Why skulks he, as they say
     Did Thetis' son before the dawn of Ilion's fatal day,
         For fear the manly dress
     Should fling him into danger's arms, amid the Lycian press?

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