Stubborn Numantia's wars and slow defeat,
Tough Hannibal, and, red with Punic gore,
The sea of Sicily, for themes to treat
In soft lays to the lute, no more,

Maecenas, would you choose than Lapithae rude,
Hylaeus flown with wine, or by the arm
Of Hercules repelled Earth's giant brood,
Whose plot made tremble with alarm

Old Saturn's glittering home. Your pen withal
In prose will better Caesar's fights relate,
And necks of kings, who uttered ere their fall
Great threats, drawn through our ways in state.

Me the Muse bids to pay the tribute due
To your fair queen Licymnia's dulcet strains,
Her brightly shining eyes and bosom true
To love that holds you both in chains.

Her it disparaged not the dancers' choir
To join, nor mingle in the witty fray,
Nor sport arm-linked with girls in trim attire.
When throngs the fane on Dian's day.

Would you for rich Achaemenes' domain,
Or flocks that Mygdon in fat Phrygia bred
Give, or for all that Arab homes contain,
One lock from your Licymnia's head,

While to your burning kisses round she swings
Her neck, now with mock cruelty denies
What, stolen, to her than you more pleasure brings,
And now to snatch ere offered tries?