From Sidicinian champaign-ground,
Who fertile Cales leave behind 20
Or where Vulturnian waters wind,
Saticule’s tenants, rough and rude,
And all the hardy Oscan brood.
Spiked truncheons they are wont to fling,
But fit them with a leathern string: 25
A target shields the good left hand,
And curved like primer’s hook the brand
They wield when foot to foot they stand.