Book I, Epigram 77: Ad Flaccum

Flaccus thou greatest of my cares to me,
The heire of old Antenors familie!
Out with these Muses songs, and companie,
No Girle among them will bring ought to thee.
What seekst of Phaebus? tis Minerva's chest
Is full, shee's wise and hoards up all the rest.
What can poor Bacchus wreaths give? Pallas tree
Weighs down her boughs with superfluitie.
Helicon has no more but springs, and bays,
The harps of Goddesses and empty praise.
With th' Sacred Fountains what hast thou to doe?
The Roman Courts more rich, and nearer too.
There the chink gingles, but about our chayr
And pulpits, Kisses only fill the Ayre.