Odes 4.8 (Creech): Donarem Pateras

I Would be kind, I would bestow
Dear Censorine, on all I know,
Plate, Statues, Brass prepar'd;
Or Bowls the stoutest Greeks reward:
On You my Friend, and half my heart,
Some curious Piece of noble Art;
Could I the famous Works command
Of Scopa's or Parrhasius hand,
One skill'd in Stone, and one in Paint
To frame a Man, or make a Saint:
The Art declar'd the frame divine,
And God appear'd in every Line.
But I am poor, and your Estate
Too large for these, your Soul too great
To want such Toys: but You delight
In noble Verse, and I can write;
I'me rich in these, can please a Friend,
And show the worth of what I send:
Not stately Pillars rais'd in Brass,
Nor Stones inscrib'd with publick Praise,
Tho such new Heat and Vigor give,
And make the buried Heroes live;
The hasty flight, the wondrous fall,
And threats thrown back on Hannibal,
Not Impious Carthage bright in flames,
His praise, who came increas't in Names
From conquer'd Africk, Vertues show
With half the Glory Verse can do:
If Books were dumb, what small Regard
Would Vertue meet, what mean Reward?
And who had Rome's great Founder known
Tho sprung from Mars, tho Ilia's Son,
If envious silence had with-held,
His great Deserts, and Fame conceal'd?
From Shades below, and gloomy Night
By Poet's power, and force of Wit
Good Eack freed, serenely reigns
A Mighty King in happy Plains:
The Muse forbids great worth to dye;
On whom she will bestows the Sky:
Thus Great Alcides carves the Feast
With Jove himself, a noble Guest:
Thus shining Castor kindly saves
A feeble Ship in roughest Waves;
And Bacchus, crown'd with Ivy, hears
Our modest Vows, and speeds our Prayers.