Classic Poem

These cups of mine are neither large nor rare,
My joys are simple; humble, too, my fare.
That day the theater hailed thee with a sign
Of wildest welcome, this poor Sabine wine,
In Grecian casks, I did myself prepare.

Yet though, my patron knight, thou mayest with prayer
Extol the seasoned Caecuban and swear
To touch no poorer wine; do not decline
These cups of mine.

And though my cellar-shelves are always bare
Of sweet Falernian, and the vessels there
Contain weak juices that may seem like brine
When tasted after vintages like thine—
Come, dear Maecenas; come, and dare to share
These cups of mine.