your left shoulder. You had the weakness to bind your rude locks with a mitre; a garland of poplar would have better adorned the temples of Hercules. Nor did you think it a dishonor to confine your waist with the girdle of Omphale, after the manner of a wanton maid. The image of barbarous Diomedes, who savagely fed his mares with human flesh, was not then, surely, in your mind. Had Busiris beheld you in that unmanly attire, the conquered would have been ashamed of his conqueror. Antæus would have torn the pearls from your nervous neck, ashamed to submit to so effeminate a victor. You are said to hold the basket amidst the other attendants of Omphale, and tremble at the threats of a mistress. Degenerate Alcides, are you not ashamed to employ in
