To-day, Maecenas, knight and patron dear,
Thou'lt quaff from homely mugs a modest wine,
Mere Sabine growth, but by these hands of mine
In Grecian jar sealed and laid down that year
When in the theatre burst upon the ear
Shouts greeting thee, and from the heights that line
Thy fathers' stream, and Vatican Mount's incline
The frolic echo sent an answering cheer.
Choice brands at home shall thine own table grace,
Of vintage Caecuban, and that rich juice
Crushed from the grape in Calene vats to flow;
At my dessert Falernian finds no place,
Nor aught those vines contribute to my use,
Upon the hills of Formiae that grow.