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Classic and Contemporary Poetry


ODES III, 8. TO MAECENAS by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS

First Line: LEARNED MAECENAS, WONDER NOT THAT I
Last Line: FOR WHY SHOULDST THOU LOOK SOUR?

LEARNED Maecenas, wonder not that I
(A Bachelor) invoke that Deity,
Which at this feast the married rout adore,
And yearly do implore.
They pray the gods to make their burthen light,
And that their yoke-fellows may never fight:
I praise them, not for giving me a wife,
But saving of my life.
By heav'n redeem'd, I 'scap'd a falling tree,
And yearly own that strange delivery,
Yearly rejoice, and drink the briskest wine,
Not spill it at their shrine.
Come, my Maecenas, let us drink, and thus
Cherish that life those Pow'rs have given us:
A thousand cups to midwife this new birth,
With inoffensive mirth.
No State-affairs near my Maecenas come,
Since all are fall'n that fought victorious Rome.
By civil broils the Medes, our foes, will fall.
The weakest to the wall.
Our fierce and ancient enemy of Spain
Is now subdu'd, and tamely bears our chain.
The savage Scythian too begins to yield,
About to quit the field.
Bear they the load of government that can;
Thou, since a private, and good-natur'd man,
Enjoy th' advantage of the present hour,
For why shouldst thou look sour?



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