To ACCIUS. Ode XXIX.
It was a wonder, that he, laying by Philosophy for love of gain, should turn a Souldier.
Iccius, thou envy'st now so sordid grown,
Th' Arabians wealth, i'th War inrolled one
'Gainst fierce Saban Kings, untam'd;
And chains for dreadful Mede hast fram'd.
Which of their barbarous Girls, her Spouse struck dead,
Shall prove thy Concubine, sing thee to bed?
What Court-youth, perfumed Boy
Thy Page and Skinker's place enjoy?
Whose nimble art makes Seres Shafts to fly
From Father's Bow? that streams, who can deny,
Might lofty mounts climb recoil'd ascend;
And Tiber back his waves extend.
When thou, PANETIUS learned Works each where
Bought up, admir'd Socratick house severe
(Promis'd fairer things) do'st change
For Coat of male, to War must range
