Classic Poem

Great Capitolian Jove! thou God, to whom,
Our Cæsar owes that bliss, he sheds on Rome!
While prostrate crowds thy daily bounty tire,
And all thy blessings, for themselves, desire:
Accuse me not of pride, that I, alone,
Put up no pray'r, that may be call'd my own:
For Cæsar 's wants, O Jove! I sue to thee,
Cæsar himself can grant what's fit for me.