Come and see our Spaniards, Lician,—
Other lands shall never shame us;
Come, and see my Bilbilis,
Both for arms and horses famous.
Come to craggy Vadavero;
Come, and rest you in the groves
Of my dainty, sweet Botrodes,
Which the blithe Pomona loves.
You shall bathe in warm Congedus,
Which the water-nymphs environ,
Or in freezing Salo cool you,
Where we cool our blades of iron.
Beasts and birds shall make your dinner,
As you cross Vobisca's meadows;
Golden Tagus shall refresh you,
Underneath her leafy shadows.

Are you thirsty? Here's Dircenna,
And Nemea's melted snows;
Or when fierce December rages,
And the Gallic north-wind blows,
We'll go down to Tarragona,
To Laletania repair,—
You shall shoot the does with arrows,
You shall shoot the wild boar there;
The keeper shall bring home the stag,
And you, on horseback, course the hare.

Far away be squabbling clients,
Far away Liburnus, too;
Not a dun shall break your slumbers,—
You shall sleep the morning through.
You shall hear no woman whimper,
And no senator debate;
Other men to bores shall listen,
Others hear the fools dilate.
You know how to taste the pleasure
When your Sura wins his meed;
We know how to keep the treasure,—
How to live, and live indeed.