Synopsis (by C.H. Moore): "The upright man is safe, no matter where he roams. I know that this is true, friend Fuscus, for once in Sabine wood as I sang of Lalage, a monster wolf fled from me, though I was unarmed. Put me in chill northern gloom or beneath the torrid sun, still will I ever sing of my Lalage." Text Crib Integer uitae scelerisque purus non eget Mauris iaculis neque arcu nec uenenatis grauida sagittis, Fusce, pharetra, The man who is upright in life and free of sin has no need of Moorish spears or a bow or a quiver heavy with poisoned arrows, Fuscus, 5 siue per Syrtis iter aestuosas siue facturus per inhospitalem Caucasum uel quae loca fabulosus lambit Hydaspes. whether he's about to embark on a journey through the hot Syrtes or the barren Caucasus or the places which the Hydaspes (famous in story) washes. 10 Namque me silua lupus in Sabina, dum meam canto Lalagen et ultra terminum curis uagor expeditis, fugit inermem, For in the Sabine forest, as I'm singing of Lalage and wandering beyond my boundary marker (without a care in the world), a wolf runs away from me[, although I'm] unarmed, 15 quale portentum neque militaris Daunias latis alit aesculetis nec Iubae tellus generat, leonum arida nutrix. such a monster as warlike Apulia doesn't produce in its broad oak forests and Juba's land (dry nurse of lions) doesn't spawn. 20 Pone me pigris ubi nulla campis arbor aestiua recreatur aura, quod latus mundi nebulae malusque Iuppiter urget; Put me in barren fields where no tree is refreshed by a summer breeze, a corner of the world which clouds and bad weather oppresses; pone sub curru nimium propinqui solis, in terra domibus negata; dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo, dulce loquentem. put me beneath the chariot of the too-close sun, in a land bereft of houses; I'll [still] love Lalage, who laughs sweetly and speaks sweetly.