— — Though my small incomes never can afford,
Like wealthy Celsus to regale a Lord;
No ivory tables groan beneath the weight
Of sumptuous dishes, serv'd in massy plate;
The forest ne'er was search'd for food for me,
Not from my hounds the timorous hare does flee:
No leaden thunder strikes the fowl in air,
Nor from my shaft the winged death do fear:
With silken nets I ne'er the lake despoil,
Nor with my bait the larger fish beguile.
No luscious sweet-meats, by my servants plac'd
In curious order, e'er my table grac'd:
To please the taste, no rich Burgundian wine,
In crystal glasses on my side-board shine;
The luscious sweets of fair Canaries' Isle
Ne'er fill'd my casks, nor in my flagons smile:
No wine, but what does from my apples flow,
My frugal house on any can bestow:
Except when Cesar's birth-day does return,
And joyful fires throughout the village burn;
The moderate each takes his cheerful glass,
And our good wishes to Augustus pass.