Prayer to Terminus, Iuppiter

You set bounds to peoples, cities, great kingdoms: without you every field would be disputed. You curry no favour: you aren't bribed with gold, guarding the land entrusted to you in good faith. If you'd once marked the bounds of Thyrean lands, three hundred men would not have died, nor Othryades' name be seen on the pile of weapons. O how he made his fatherland bleed! What happened when the new Capitol was built? The whole throng of gods yielded to Jupiter and made room: but as the ancients tell, Terminus remained in the shrine where he was found, and shares the temple with great Jupiter. Even now there's a small hole in the temple roof, so he can see nothing above him but stars. Since then, Terminus, you've not been free to wander: stay there, in the place where you've been put, and yield not an inch to your neighbour's prayers, lest you seem to set men above Jupiter: and whether they beat you with rakes, or ploughshares, call out: 'This is your field, and that is his!' The lands of other races have fixed boundaries: the extent of the City of Rome and the world is one.