1. Delighted with poetry's praise, denied
Its rewards by the fear of flattery’s stain,

2. O Father of true praise that purifies
Speech with a nicety its margins contain!

3. You and praise are as a maiden who takes pleasure
In men's touch yet it grieves her heart full sore;

4. With joy displaying what in fear she’d treasure
As the snake fears the charmer's touch before.

5. But craving praise from the chief whose wont no blaming
Nor evil tongues of men could e'er malign,

6. Whose very home to eulogists seems claiming
That here their honest praises they enshrine -

7. No trace of him eludes us, his least sign
Seen when the tent-pegs loosen and flap in the gale.

8. When wealth avails not, accoutrements fine,
Naught but the spear, the coat of mail.

9. Now with the spear he charges, strikes amain,
Now greets with honor's kiss the necks they yield.

10. So free your open hand, your nature's train,
Your door stands gateway-less the folk to shield.

11. Though yearning unto these a visit to pay,
I fold my clothes thereof, of care to rid,

12. Lest, search revealing rents concealed away,
I stand in shame, of subterfuge amid.

13. A robe one day too ample I cast aside,
Another don, most miserly mean its cut.

14. My soul I pamper, yet it is dissatisfied,
Parched were I, yet clear drink I'd never touch.