Integer vitae scelerisque purus

non eget Mauris iaculis neque arcu

nec venenatis gravida sagittis,
Fusce, pharetra,
sive per Syrtis iter aestuosas
sive facturus per inhospitalem
Caucasum vel quae loca fabulosus
lambit Hydaspes.
namque me silva lupus in Sabina,
dum meam canto Lalagen et ultra
terminum curis vagor expeditis,
fugit inermem;
quale portentum neque militaris
Daunias latis alit aesculetis
nec Iubae tellus generat, leonum
arida nutrix.
pone me pigris ubi nulla campis
arbor aestiva recreatur aura,
quod latus mundi nebulae malusque
Iuppiter urget;
pone sub curru nimium propinqui
solis in terra domibus negata:
dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo,
dulce loquentem.
The man of upright life and pure from wickedness, O Fuscus
has no need of the Moorish javelins or bow, or quiver loaded
with poisoned darts. Whether he is about to make his journey
through the sultry Syrtes, or the inhospitable Caucasus, or
those places which Hydaspes, celebrated in story, washes.
For lately, as I was singing my Lalage, and wandered beyond
my usual bounds, devoid of care, a wolf in the Sabine wood
fled from me, though I was unarmed: such a monster, as
neither the warlike Apulia nourishes in its extensive woods,
nor the land of Juba, the dry nurse of the lions, produces. Place
me in those barren plains, where no tree is refreshed by the
genial air; at that part of the world, which clouds and an inclement
atmosphere infest. Place me under the chariot of the
too neighbouring sun, in a land deprived of habitations;
[there] will I love my sweetly-smiling, sweetly-speaking
Lalage.