Classic Poem

Fain, Florus, would I understand,
Where Claudius now has got command,
Ev'n Caesar's gallant son-in-law.
Does Thrace, or snows, that never thaw
In Hebrus, now detain your pow'rs ,
Or seas that run between the tow'rs,
Or in those Asiatic plains
And hills, where such abundance reigns,
Are you compell'd to take your rout?
What are the courtly wits about?
For this I'm anxious too to ask —
Who dares to undertake the task
Great Caesar's history to write,
And eternize each glorious fight,
And happy peace? — Is Titius there?
For whom all Rome their praise prepare;
Who fills his cup devoid of dread
At the Pindaric fountain-head,
Lakes, streams, and all the rural scene
Disdaining, as for him too mean.
Is he in perfect health, and kind
Enough to bear me in his mind?
Does he the Theban lays aspire
To render on the Roman lyre,
Or rants he with the Muse, his guide,
In all the tragic pomp and pride?
On Celsus does my council gain?
So often urg'd, and urg'd in vain,
To strike out matter of his own
And by all means to let alone
Such books as have arrang'd themselves
On Palatine Apollo's shelves:
Lest if the feather'd flock come there,
And each demand his proper share,
The vain jack-daw shou'd cause a roar,
Strip'd of the borrow'd plumes he wore;
What heights do you attempt to climb,
And active on the flowery thyme,
Whence balmy sweetness do you cull?
For far from mean, and far from dull
Your cultivated genius tow'rs:
Whether in keen rhetoric pow'rs
You at the bar attention draw,
Or answer in the civil law,
Or in sweet verse you build renown,
And conquer for the ivy crown.
Now cou'd you find it in your heart,
From care's cold comforts to depart,
Then you divinely shou'd proceed
Where'er philosophy wou'd lead.
This work, this way shou'd be embrac'd
By great and small, with eager haste,
If we wou'd pass our season here
Or to ourselves, or country dear.
Of this too you must write me word,
Whether Munatius is preferr'd
To such degree of your esteem
As I most necessary deem,
Or, if the wound ill set to rights,
For little purpose re-unites,
And is at point to gape again —
Now whether madness of the brain,
Or ignorance of things disturb
Your minds, like colts no skill can curb,
Where'er you live, it is most true
No brothers ought to love like you.
However by these presents learn,
I feed with tenderest concern,
A votive runt for your return.