How all your native strength hath turned to shame,
And bears no stamp of Roman but the name.
Seems it, my sons, a manly thing to own,
That when the Roman name towers far and wide,
Within the land of Spain yourselves alone
Should humble it and level down its pride?
What feebleness is this, so strangely grown?
What feebleness? If I may now decide,
It is a feebleness loose living breeds—
The mortal enemy of manly deeds.