Socrates to Alcibiades

Strong passions but rouse the unwise senses
from their right and peaceful slumber. Sweet boy,
you know nothing of this, still resplendent
in your youth, and your eyes wander with satyric lust
over breast and fruit alike.
                                    Your soul is appetite —
here at table we do not speak of sin,
nor ruined virtue; upon the Sea
a battle rages, a hundred ships sunk,
our brethren drowned. Yet, you would have me
adore you as I smile at the host
for the quality of wine he serves
as recompense for the truth —
                       Let us recline, sweet youth,
upon the cushions; let us sink into them
and ask no favor of life: for in my old, ugly age,
how could I love Thee above so much food and drink
and good conversation?