uir Celtiberis non tacende gentibus
nostraeque laus Hispaniae,
uidebis altam, Liciniane, Bibilin,
equis et armis nobilem,
senemque Caium niuibus, et fractis sacrum
et delicati dulce Boterdi nemus,
Pomona quod felix amat.
tepidi natabis lene Congedi uadum
mollesque Nympharum lacus,
quibus remissum corpus adstringes breui
Salone, qui ferrum gelat.
praestabit illic ipsa figendas prope
Voberca prandenti feras;
aestus serenos aureo franges Tago
obscurus umbris arborum;
auidam rigens Dercenna placabit sitim
et Nutha, quae uincit niues.
at cum December canus et bruma impotens
Aquilone rauco mugiet,
aprica repetes Tarraconis litora
ibi inligatas mollibus dammas plagis
mactabis et uernas apros
leporemque forti callidum rumpes equo,
ceruos relinques uilico.
uicina in ipsum silua descendet focum
infante cinctum sordido;
uocabitur uenator et ueniet tibi
conuiua clamatus prope;
lunata nusquam pellis et nusquam toga
olidaeque uestes murice;
procul horridus Liburnus et querulus cliens,
imperia uiduarum procul;
non rumpet altum pallidus somnum reus,
sed mane totum dormies.
mereatur alius grande et insanum sophos:
miserere tu felicium
ueroque fruere non superbus gaudio,
dum Sura laudatur tuus.
non inpudenter uita quod relicum est petit,
cum fama quod satis est habet.
You are a man about whom the Celtiberian peoples should not keep quiet; you are the glory of our Spain: you will see, Licinianus, lofty Bilbilis renowned for horses and weapons; and old Caius with his snows; and sacred Vadavero with its jagged mountains; and the sweet grove of dainty Boterdus, which fertile Pomona loves. You will swim the smooth shallows of warm Congedus and the soft lakes of the Nymphs, and when your body has been relaxed by them you will brace it in the narrow Salo, which freezes iron. There Voberca itself will provide wild beasts for you to shoot from close by while you lunch. Sheltered by the trees' shade you will break up the serene heat with the golden Tagus. Chilly Derceita will satisfy your greedy thirst, and Nutha too, which beats the snow. But when grey December and the violent midwinter howl with the hoarse North Wind, you will seek again the sunny shores of Tarraco and your Laletania. There you will slaughter deer entangled in soft nets, and home-born boars, and you will burst the cunning hare on your strong horse - stags you will leave for the bailiff. The neighbouring wood will come down into your hearth, girdled with dirty infants. The huntsman will be invited and will come when you have hollered to him from nearby. Nowhere is the crescent-shaped leather shoe, nowhere a toga, and nowhere clothes that smell of the murex. Far away are the shaggy Liburnian and the querulous client, far away are the commands of widows. No pallid defendant will break in to your deep slumber, but you will sleep the whole morning. Let someone else earn the loud mad 'bravo!': as for you, pity the successful and modestly enjoy true joy, while your friend Sura is praised. Life may without shame seek what remains, once fame possesses what is enough.