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the rustic crew: Now they give SHOWS themselves; and, at the will Of the base rabble, raise the sign--to kill, Ambitious of their voice: then turn, once more, To their vile gains, and farm the common shore! 60 And why not every thing?--since Fortune throws Her more peculiar smiles on such as those, Whene'er, to wanton merriment inclined, She lifts to thrones the dregs of human kind! But why, my friend, should I at Rome remain? 65 I can not teach my stubborn lips to feign; Nor, when I hear a great man's verses, smile, And beg a copy, if I think them vile. A sublunary wight, I have no skill To read the stars; I neither can, nor will, 70 Presage a father's death; I never pried, In toads, for poison, nor--in aught beside. Others may aid the adulterer's vile design, And bear the insidious gift, and melting line, Seduction's agents! I such deeds detest; 75 And, honest, let no thief partake my breast. For this, without a friend, the world I quit; A palsied limb, for every use unfit. Who now is loved, but he whose conscious breast Swells with dark deeds, still, still to be supprest? 80 He pays, he owes, thee nothing (strictly just), Who gives an honest secret to thy trust; But, a dishonest!--there, he feels thy power, And buys thy friendship high from hour to hour. But let not all the wealth which Tagus pours 85 In Ocean's lap, not all his glittering stores, Be deemed a bribe, sufficient to requite The loss of peace by day, of sleep by night:-- Oh take not, take not, what thy soul rejects, Nor sell the faith, which he, who buys, suspects! 90 The nation, by the GREAT, admired, carest, And hated, shunned by ME, above the rest, No longer, now, restrained by wounded pride, I haste to show (nor thou my warmth deride), I can not rule my spleen, and calmly see, 95 A GRECIAN CAPITAL, IN ITALY! Grecian? O no! with this vast sewer compared, The dregs of Greece are scarcely worth regard: Long since, the stream that wanton Syria laves Has disembogued its filth in Tiber's waves, 100 Its language, arts; o'erwhelmed us with the scum Of Antioch's streets, its minstrel, harp, and drum. Hie to the Circus! ye who pant to prove A barbarous mistress, an outlandish love; Hie to the Circus! there, in crowds they stand, 105 Tires on their head, and timbrels in their hand. Thy rustic, Mars, the trechedipna wears, And on his breast, smeared with ceroma, bears A paltry prize, well-pleased; while every land, Sicyon, and Amydos, and Alaband, 110 Tralles, and Samos, and a thousand more, Thrive on his indolence, and daily pour Their starving myriads forth: hither they come, } And batten on the genial soil of Rome; } Minions, then lords, of every princely dome! } 115 A flattering, cringing, treacherous, artful race, Of torrent tongue, and never-blushing face; A Protean tribe, one knows not what to call, Which shifts to every form, and shines in all: Grammarian, painter, augur, rhetorician, 120 Rope-dancer, conjurer, fiddler, and physician, All trades his own, your hungry Greekling counts; And bid him mount the sky--the sky he mounts! You smile--was't a barbarian, then, that flew? No, 'twas a Greek! 'twas an ATHENIAN, too! 125 --Bear with their state who will: for I disdain To feed their upstart pride, or swell their train: Slaves, that in Syrian lighters stowed, so late, With figs and prunes (an inauspicious freight), Already see their faith preferred to mine, 130 And sit above me! and before me sign!-- That on the Aventine I first drew air, And, from the womb, was nursed on Sabine fare, Avails me not! our birthright now is lost, And all our privilege, an empty boast! 135 For lo! where versed in every soothing art, The wily Greek assails his patron's heart, Finds in each dull harangue an air, a grace, And all Adonis in a Gorgon face; Admires the voice that grates upon the ear, 140 Like the shrill scream of amorous chanticleer; And equals the crane neck, and narrow chest, To Hercules, when, straining to his breast The giant son of Earth, his every vein Swells with the toil, and more than mortal pain. 145 We too can cringe as low, and praise as warm, But flattery from the Greeks alone can charm. See! they step forth, and figure to the life, The naked nymph, the mistress, or the wife, So just, you view the very woman there, 150 And fancy all beneath the girdle bare! No longer now, the favorites of the stage Boast their exclusive power to charm the age: The happy art with them a nation shares, GREECE IS A THEATRE, WHERE ALL ARE PLAYERS. 155 For lo! their patron smiles,--they burst with mirth; He weeps--they droop, the saddest souls on earth; He calls for fire--they court the mantle's heat; 'Tis warm, he cries--and they dissolve in sweat. Ill-matched!--secure of victory they start, 160 Who, taught from youth to play a borrowed part, Can, with a glance, the rising passion trace, And mould their own, to suit their patron's face; At deeds of shame their hands admiring raise, And mad debauchery's worst excesses praise. 165 Besides, no mound their raging lust restrains, All ties it breaks, all sanctity profanes; Wife, virgin-daughter, son unstained before-- And, where these fail, they tempt the grandam hoar: They notice every word, haunt every ear, 170 Your secrets learn, and fix you theirs from fear. Turn to their schools:--yon gray professor see, Smeared with the sanguine stains of perfidy! That tutor most accursed his pupil sold! That Stoic sacrificed his friend to gold! 175 A true-born Grecian! littered on the coast, Where the Gorgonian hack a pinion lost. Hence, Romans, hence! no place for you remains, Where Diphilus, where Erimanthus reigns; Miscreants, who, faithful to their native art, 180 Admit no rival in a patron's heart: For let them fasten on his easy ear, And drop one hint, one secret slander there, Sucked from their country's venom, or their own, That instant they possess the man alone; 185 While we are spurned, contemptuous, from the door, Our long, long slavery thought upon no more. 'Tis but a client lost!--and that, we find, Sits wondrous lightly on a patron's mind: And (not to flatter our poor pride, my friend) 190 What merit with the great can we pretend, Though, in our duty we prevent the day, And, darkling, run our humble court to pay; When the brisk prætor, long before, is gone, And hastening, with stern voice, his lictors on, 195 Lest his colleagues o'erpass him in the street, And first the rich and childless matrons greet, Alba and Modia, who impatient wait, And think the morning homage comes too late! Here freeborn youths wait the rich servant's call, 200 And, if they walk beside him, yield the wall; And wherefore? this, forsooth, can fling away, On one voluptuous night, a legion's pay, While those, when some Calvina, sweeping by, Inflames the fancy, check their roving eye, 205 And frugal of their scanty means, forbear, To tempt the wanton from her splendid chair. Produce, at Rome, your witness: let him boast, The sanctity of Berecynthia's host, Of Numa, or of him, whose zeal divine 210 Snatched pale Minerva from her blazing shrine: To search his rent-roll, first the bench prepares, His honesty employs their latest cares: What table does he keep, what slaves maintain, And what, they ask, and where, is his domain? 215 These weighty matters known, his faith they rate, And square his probity to his estate. The poor may swear by all the immortal Powers, By the Great Gods of Samothrace, and ours, His oaths are false, they cry; he scoffs at heaven, 220 And all its thunders; scoffs--and is forgiven! Add, that the wretch is still the theme of scorn, If the soiled cloak be patched, the gown o'erworn; If, through the bursting shoe, the foot be seen, Or the coarse seam tell where the rent has been. 225 O Poverty, thy thousand ills combined } Sink not so deep into the generous mind, } As the contempt and laughter of mankind! }
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Up! up! these cushioned benches, Lectius cries,
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Befit not your estates: for shame! arise. 230 For
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--but you say well: the pander's heir, The spawn of bulks and stews, is seated there; The crier's spruce son, fresh from the fencer's school, And prompt the taste to settle and to rule.-- So Otho fixed it, whose preposterous pride 235 First dared to chase us from their Honors' side. In these cursed walls, devote alone to gain, When do the poor a wealthy wife obtain? When are they named in Wills? when called to share The Ædile's council, and assist the chair?-- 240 Long since should they have risen, thus slighted, spurned, And left their home, but--not to have returned! Depressed by indigence, the good and wise, In every clime, by painful efforts rise; HERE, by more painful still, where scanty cheer, 245 Poor lodging, mean attendance--all is dear. In earthen-ware HE scorns, at Rome, to eat, WHO, called abruptly to the Marsian's seat, From such, well pleased, would take his simple food, Nor blush to wear the cheap Venetian hood. 250 There's many a part of Italy, 'tis said, Where none assume the toga but the dead: There, when the toil foregone and annual play, Mark, from the rest, some high and solemn day, To theatres of turf the rustics throng, 255 Charmed with the farce that charmed their sires so long; While the pale infant, of the mask in dread, Hides, in his mother's breast, his little head. No modes of dress high birth distinguish THERE; All ranks, all orders, the same habit wear, 260 And the dread Ædile's dignity is known, O sacred badge! by his white vest alone. But HERE, beyond our power arrayed we go, In all the gay varieties of show; And when our purse supplies the charge no more, 265 Borrow, unblushing, from our neighbor's store: Such is the reigning vice; and so we flaunt, Proud in distress, and prodigal in want! Briefly, my friend, here all are slaves to gold, And words, and smiles, and every thing is sold. 270 What will you give for Cossus' nod? how high The silent notice of Veiento buy? --One favorite youth is shaved, another shorn; And, while to Jove the precious spoil is borne, Clients are taxed for offerings, and, (yet more 275 To gall their patience), from their little store, Constrained to swell the minion's ample hoard, And bribe the page, for leave to bribe his lord. Who fears the crash of houses in retreat? At simple Gabii, bleak Præneste's seat, 280 Volsinium's craggy heights, embowered in wood, Or Tibur, beetling o'er prone Anio's flood? While half the city here by shores is staid, And feeble cramps, that lend a treacherous aid: For thus the stewards patch the riven wall, 285 Thus prop the mansion, tottering to its fall; Then bid the tenant court secure repose, While the pile nods to every blast that blows. O! may I live where no such fears molest, No midnight fires burst on my hour of rest! 290 For here 'tis terror all; mid the loud cry Of
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the scared neighbors fly, With all their haste can seize--the flames aspire, And the third floor is wrapt in smoke and fire, While you, unconscious, doze: Up, ho! and know, 295 The impetuous blaze which spreads dismay below, By swift degrees will reach the aerial cell, Where, crouching, underneath the tiles you dwell, Where your tame doves their golden couplets rear,
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And you could no mischance, but drowning, fear! 300
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Codrus had but one bed, and that too short For his short wife; his goods, of every sort, Were else but few:--six little pipkins graced His cupboard head, a little can was placed On a snug shelf beneath, and near it lay 305 A Chiron, of the same cheap marble--clay. And was this all? O no: he yet possest A few Greek books, shrined in an ancient chest, Where barbarous mice through many an inlet crept, And fed on heavenly numbers, while he slept.-- 310
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Codrus, in short, had nothing. You say true; And yet poor Codrus lost that nothing too! One curse alone was wanting, to complete His woes: that, cold and hungry, through the street, The wretch should beg, and, in the hour of need, 315 Find none to lodge, to clothe him, or to feed! But should the raging flames on grandeur prey, And low in dust Asturius' palace lay, The squalid matron sighs, the senate mourns, The pleaders cease, the judge the court adjourns; 320 All join to wail the city's hapless fate, And rail at fire with more than common hate. Lo! while it burns, the obsequious courtiers haste, With rich materials, to repair the waste: This, brings him marble, that, a finished piece, 325 The far-famed boast of Polyclete and Greece; This, ornaments, which graced of old the fane Of Asia's gods; that, figured plate and plain; This, cases, books, and busts the shelves to grace, And piles of coin his specie to replace-- 330 So much the childless Persian swells his store, (Though deemed the richest of the rich before,) That all ascribe the flames to thirst of pelf, And swear, Asturius fired his house himself. O, had you, from the Circus, power to fly, 335 In many a halcyon village might you buy Some elegant retreat, for what will, here, Scarce hire a gloomy dungeon through the year! There wells, by nature formed, which need no rope, No laboring arm, to crane their waters up, 340 Around your lawn their facile streams shall shower, And cheer the springing plant and opening flower. There live, delighted with the rustic's lot, And till, with your own hands, the little spot; The little spot shall yield you large amends, 345 And glad, with many a feast, your Samian friends. And, sure,--in any corner we can get, To call one lizard ours, is something yet! Flushed with a mass of indigested food, Which clogs the stomach and inflames the blood, 350 What crowds, with watching wearied and o'erprest, Curse the slow hours, and die for want of rest! For who can hope his languid lids to close, Where brawling taverns banish all repose? Sleep, to the rich alone,
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355 And hence the seeds of many a dire disease. The carts loud rumbling through the narrow way, The drivers' clamors at each casual stay, From drowsy Drusus would his slumber take, And keep the calves of Proteus broad awake! 360 If business call, obsequious crowds divide. While o'er their heads the rich securely ride, By tall Illyrians borne, and read, or write, } Or (should the early hour to rest invite), } Close the soft litter, and enjoy the night. } 365 Yet reach they first the goal; while, by the throng Elbowed and jostled, scarce we creep along; Sharp strokes from poles, tubs, rafters, doomed to feel; And plastered o'er with mud, from head to heel: While the rude soldier gores us as he goes, 370 Or marks, in blood, his progress on our toes! See, from the Dole, a vast tumultuous throng, Each followed by his kitchen, pours along! Huge pans, which Corbulo could scarce uprear, With steady neck a puny slave must bear, 375 And, lest amid the way the flames expire, Glide nimbly on, and gliding, fan the fire; Through the close press with sinuous efforts wind, And, piece by piece, leave his botched rags behind. Hark! groaning on, the unwieldy wagon spreads 380 Its cumbrous load, tremendous! o'er our heads, Projecting elm or pine, that nods on high, And threatens death to every passer by. Heavens! should the axle crack, which bears a weight Of huge Ligurian stone, and pour the freight 385 On the pale crowd beneath, what would remain, What joint, what bone, what atom of the slain? The body, with the soul, would vanish quite, Invisible as air, to mortal sight!-- Meanwhile, unconscious of their fellow's fate, 390 At home, they heat the water, scour the plate, Arrange the strigils, fill the cruse with oil, And ply their several tasks with fruitless toil: For he who bore the dole, poor mangled ghost, Sits pale and trembling on the Stygian coast, 395 Scared at the horrors of the novel scene, At Charon's threatening voice, and scowling mien; Nor hopes a passage, thus abruptly hurled, Without his farthing, to the nether world. Pass we these fearful dangers, and survey 400 What other evils threat our nightly way. And first, behold the mansion's towering size, Where floors on floors to the tenth story rise; Whence heedless garreteers their potsherds throw, And crush the unwary wretch that walks below! 405 Clattering the storm descends from heights unknown. Plows up the street, and wounds the flinty stone! 'Tis madness, dire improvidence of ill, To sup abroad, before you sign your Will; Since fate in ambush lies, and marks his prey, 410 From every wakeful window in the way: Pray, then--and count your humble prayer well sped, If pots be only--emptied on your head. The drunken bully, ere his man be slain, Frets through the night, and courts repose in vain; 415 And while the thirst of blood his bosom burns, From side to side, in restless anguish, turns, Like Peleus' son, when, quelled by Hector's hand, His loved Patroclus prest the Phrygian strand. There are, who murder as an opiate take, 420 And only when no brawls await them wake: Yet even these heroes, flushed with youth and wine, All contest with the purple robe decline; Securely give the lengthened train to pass, The sun-bright flambeaux, and the lamps of brass.-- 425 Me, whom the moon, or candle's paler gleam, Whose wick I husband to the last extreme, Guides through the gloom, he braves, devoid of fear: The prelude to our doughty quarrel hear, If that be deemed a quarrel, where, heaven knows, 430 He only gives, and I receive, the blows! Across my path he strides, and bids me STAND! I bow, obsequious to the dread command; What else remains, where madness, rage, combine With youth, and strength superior far to mine? 435
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Whence come you, rogue? he cries;