Classic Poem

Caesar (of whom but now 'twas said,
That, like Amphytrion's son,
He went, at hazard of his head,
To buy a wreath from Spain) is sped,
And has the battle won.
Let her come forth, whose faithful heart
Is center'd in her spouse,
So great in military art,
Having to heav'n perform'd her part,
In rend'ring of her vows.
And let Octavia too be there,
And, with neat fillets bound,
The mothers of the Roman fair,
And youths the gods have deign'd to spare,
In triumph to be crown'd.
O lads and lasses newly bless'd,
That have your bridegrooms known,
Let not a word be now express'd,
But in such decency is dress'd,
As modesty may own.
This day my festival indeed
Shall banish care and pain,
Nor will I fear by force to bleed,
But from all trouble shall be freed,
In Caesar's peaceful reign.
Perfumes and garlands bring today,
And for a measure call,
Whose date preserves the Marsian fray,
If Spartacus, in quest of prey,
Has not secur'd them all.
Quick, with her hair set off with myrrh,
Let me Neaera see,
And bring her lute along with her;
If that cross porter should demur,
Come back again to me.
A hoary head dispute abates,
Though tempted to be sour,
Nor appetite for wrath creates —
I had not borne it, by the fates!
When Plancus was in pow'r.