the rake, or shakes the city’s walls with battle. All our
life we ply the steel; with the butt of our spears we belabour
our cattle; old age, which dulls all else, impairs
not the force of our hearts or changes our fresh vigour; 25
the hoary head is clasped by the helmet; our constant
joy is to bring home new booty and live by rapine. Yours
are embroidered garments of saffron and gleaming purple;
sauntering and sloth are your delight; your pleasure is to
indulge the dance; your tunics have sleeves and your turbans 30
strings. Phrygian dames in sooth—for Phrygian