Pyrrhus, you can’t see how dangerous it is
to touch the Gaetulian lioness’ cub?
Soon you’ll be running from all that hard fighting,
a spiritless thief,

while she goes searching for lovely Nearchus,
through obstructive crowds of young men: ah, surely
the fight will be great, whether the prize is yours,
or, more likely, hers.

Meanwhile, as you produce your swift arrows, as
she is sharpening her fearsome teeth, the battle’s
fine judge is said to have trampled the palm leaf,
beneath his bare foot,

and he’s cooling his shoulders, draped in perfumed
hair, in the gentle breeze, just like Nireus,
or like Ganymede, who was snatched away from
Ida rich in streams.