Surely a lioness from the Libystinian mountains
or barking Scylla didn't beget you from the lowest part of her loins,
with such a harsh and ugly mind,
that you hold in contempt the voice of a supplicant in last and final crisis,
oh, from a too savage heart?

Num tē leaena montibus Libystīnīs
aut Scylla lātrāns īnfimā inguinum parte
tam mente dūrā prōcreāvit ac taetrā,
ut supplicis vōcem in novissimō cāsū
contemptam habērēs, ā nimis ferō corde?

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