Who of all the gods protects the sacred state,
By barbarian blood made satiate?
Who rises in a rage to overthrow
The foes and hurl them to the shades below?
Whose spear brings peace by bloody battles won?
Tis Mars, you’ll never find another one:
By Mars the foreign hordes that storm the gate
Receive bloody Death for their final fate;
By Mars domestic foes and merchant thieves,
Liars all, from atop the walls he heaves.
Should Bacchus meet him, he’ll soon find the vine
That Mars prefers sheds blood instead of wine.
But once the violent rage of war has passed,
He settles down and lives in peace at last:
The farm is then his every joy and care,
No labor there will great Mars deign to spare;
Then takes he Valor, and makes her his wife
And revels much in the pastoral life.