Peace is the object of my dear delight:
But thou, O tyrant, thou whose breast
Well may I deem by frenzy is possest,
If ’gainst this city thou exert thy might,
Pant’st after trophies which thou ne’er shalt gain.
Bearing targe and brazen lance
Others with equal arms advance.
O thou, who fondly seek’st th’ embattled plain,
Shake not these turrets, spare the haunt
Of every gentle grace.—Thou wretch, avaunt.