To Agrippa — The Sixth Ode of Horace. His First Book of Lyricks

Varius, in living Annals may
To the admiring Universe
Voice out in high Maeonian Verse
Thy Courage, and thy Conquests won,
And what thy Troops by Land, and Sea
Have through thy noble conduct done.
Our Muse, Agrippa, that does fly
An humbler pitch, attempts not these,
T'express Pelides rage; nor fly
Vlysse's tedious Voyages:
Nor dips her Plume in those Red Tydes,
Flow from the Bloody Parricides
Of Pelop's cruel Family:
We nothing to such heights pretend
Since Modesty,
And our weak Muse, who does aspire
No further than the jolly Lyre,
Forbids that we
Should in our vain attempts offend,
And darken with our humble laies,
Thine and great Caesar's Godlike Praise.
Who to his worth can Mars display,
When clad in Arms, whose dreadful Ray,
Puts out the Day?
Or brave Meriones set forth,
When solyl'd in Trojan Dust; or raise[…]
Fit Trophies to Tydides worth,
Who to th' Immortal Gods was maden
A Rival by Minerva's aid?
We Sing of Feasting, and Delights,
Stout Drinking, and the harmless Fights
Of hot young Men, and blushing Maids
Who when the Foe invades,
Make a faint show,
To Guard what they're content
shou'd go.
These are the Subjects of our Song,
In Nights, that else would seem too long,
Did we not wisely prove
The sweets of Jollity, and Love.