University of Virginia Library

Mæcenas , born of Royal Blood,
My noblest Patron, sweetest Good!
There are who all their Pleasure place
In Chariots, and the rapid Race,
Who in Olympick Plains contend,
And joy to see the Dust ascend.
These, when they win the Field and Prize,
Grow into Gods, and reach the Skies.
Another courts the People's Voice,
And doats on Offices and Noise:
The Farmer from the Libyan Plains
Gathers the Product of his Pains:
No Promises of Wealth prevail
To make him hoist a doubtful Sail,
To trust the Winds, and try the Flood,
And leave the Fields his Father plow'd.
The Merchant, when by Storms beset,
Commends a Country Life and Seat:
But when the sudden Danger's o'er,
Refits his Bark, and tries once more,
And hates the Crime of being poor.
The Toper underneath the Shade,
Or near some Spring supinely laid,
There all the Evening cheers his Soul,
And crowns with Massic Wine the Bowl.
The Soldier loves to shine in Arms,
And hear the Trumpets shrill Alarms,
That bid him to the Camp repair,
The Hero's Sport and Matron's Fear.
Unmindful of his tender Spouse,
The Hunter roves through Frosts and Snows
He spreads his Toils, his Dogs pursue
The flying Boar, and Stag in view.

For me, a Poet's sacred Name,
And Ivy Crown, is all I claim;
In Pindus' breezy Shades I stray,
Where Nymphs and Satyrs dance and play;
Then all the Vulgar I despise,
And to immortal Glory rise,
If the indulgent Muses deign
To let me sing in Lyric Strain,
The Hero's Praise and Lover's Pain.
Rank me amidst that Sacred Quire,
Nor Men nor Gods can lift me higher.