bellique causas et vitia et modos
ludumque Fortunae gravisque
principum amicitias et arma
nondum expiatis uncta cruoribus,
periculosae plenum opus aleae,
tractas et incedis per ignes
suppositos cineri doloso.
Paulum severae Musa tragoediae
desit theatris; mox, ubi publicas
res ordinaris, grande munus
Cecropio repetes cothurno,
insigne maestis praesidium reis
et consulenti, Pollio, curiae,
cui laurus aeternos honores
Delmatico peperit triumpho.
Iam nunc minaci murmure cornuum
perstringis auris, iam litui strepunt,
iam fulgor armorum fugacis
terret equos equitumque vultus.
Audire magnos iam videor duces,
non indecoro pulvere sordidos,
et cuncta terrarum subacta
praeter atrocem animum Catonis.
Iuno et deorum quisquis amicior
Afris inulta cesserat impotens
tellure victorum nepotes
rettulit inferias Iugurthae.
Quis non Latino sanguine pinguior
campus sepulcris impia proelia
testatur auditumque Medis
Hesperiae sonitum ruinae?
Qui gurges aut quae flumina lugubris
ignara belli? Quod mare Dauniae
non decoloravere caedes?
Quae caret ora cruore nostro?
Sed ne relictis, Musa procax, iocis
Ceae retractes munera neniae,
mecum Dionaeo sub antro
quaere modos leviore plectro.
You handle civil wars from Metellus' consulship
and the causes of war and crime and tactics
and the game of Fortune and important
friendships of leaders and weapons
smeared with not yet expiated blood,
work full of the dangers of dice,
and you are advancing through fire
placed under dreadful ash.
Let the Muse of serious tragedy be
absent from theaters for a short while; soon, when
you will arrange public things, you will return to
your grand calling in a Cecropian boot,
your famous support for sad defendants
and the deciding senate, Pollio,
the laurel has produced the eternal honors
for your Dalmatian triumph.
Even now you deafen ears with the threatening
murmur of the trumpet, now the horns resound,
now the brightness of weapons frightens
swift horses and the faces of horsemen.
Now I seem to hear great leaders,
grimy with not-shameful dust,
and all of the land subdued
except for the stern spirit of Cato.
Juno and whoever of the gods friendly to
Africa had withdrawn helpless from the unpunished
earth, the grandsons of the victorious
brought back sacrifices to Iugurtha.
Which field fatter from Latin blood
does not bear witness to impious battles
from graves and the sound of the fall
of the West approaching to Medis?
Which sea or which rivers are ignorant
of mournful war? Which murder of Daunius
is not in a stained sea?
Which shore is without our blood?
But, impudent Muse, may you reconsider your
gift of Cean incantation with an abandoned joke,
me with Dione under a cave
to seek the measures with a lighter quill.
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