Shall this man's elegies and t'other's play Whose wards, by want betray'd, to crimes are led
Unpunish'd murder a long summer's day? Too foul to name, too fulsomne to be read!
Huge Telephus, a formidable page,

When he who pillid bis province scapes the laws, Cries vengeance; and Orestes' bulky rage, And keeps his money, though he lost bis cause: Unsatisiy'd with margins closely writ,

His fine begy'd off, contenuns his infamy, Foams o'er the covers, and not finish'd yet. Can rise at twelve, and get bim drunk ere three: No man can take a more familiar note

Enjoys his exile, and, condempu'd in vain, Of his own home, than I of Vulcan's grot, Leaves thee, prevailing province, to complain? Or Mars his grove, or hollow winds that blow Such villainies rous'd Horace into wrath: From Ætna's top, or tortur'd ghosts below. And 'tis more noble to pursue his path, I know by rote the fam'd exploits of Greece; Than an old tale of Diomede repeat, 'The Centaurs' fury, and the golden fleece ; Or labouring after Hercules to sweat, Through the thick shades th' eternal scribbler Or wandering in the winding maze of Crete; bawls,

Or with the winged smith aloft to fly, And shades the statues on their pedestals. Or fluttering perish with his foolish boy. The best and worst on the same theme employs With what impatience must the Muse behold His Muse, and plagues us with an equal noise. The wife, by her procuring husband sold ! Provok'd by these incorrigible fools,

For though the law makes null th' adulterer's deed I left declaiming in pedantic schools ;

Of lands to her, the cuckold may succeed; Where, with men-boys, I strove to get renown, Who his taught eyes up to the cieling throws, Advising Sylla to a private gown.

And sleeps all over but his wakeful nose. But, since the world with writing is possest, When he dares hope a colonel's command, I'll versify in spite ; and do my best,

Whose coursers kept, ran out his father's land; To make as much waste paper as the rest. Who yet a stripling, Nero's chariot drove, But why I lift aloft the Satire's rod,

Whirl'd o'er the streets, while his vain master And tread the path which fam’d Lucilius trod,

strove Attend the causes which my Muse bave led : With boasted art to please his eunuch-love. When sapless eunuchs mount the marriage-bed, Would it not make a modest author dare When mannish Mevia, that two-handed whore, To draw his table-book within the square, Astride on horse-back hunts the Tuscan boar, And fill with notes, when, lolling at his ease, When all our lords are by his wealth outvy'd, Mæcenas-like, the happy rogue be sees Whose razor on my callow beard was try'd; Borne by six weary'd slaves in open view, When I behold the spawn of conquer'd Nile, Who cancel'd an old will, and forg'd a new : Crispinus, both in birth and manners vile, Made wealthy at the small expense of signing Pacing in pomp, with cloke of Tyrian dye, With a wet seal, and a fresh interlining? Chang'd oft a-day for needless luxury;

The lady, next, requires a lashing line, And finding oft occasion to be fann'd,

Who squeez'd a toad into ber husband's wines Ambitious to produce his lady-hand;

So well the fashionable medicine thrives, Charg'd with light summer-rings his fingers That now 'tis practis'd ev'n by country wives:sweat,

Poisoning, without regard of fame or fear : Unable to support a gem of weight :

And spotted corpse are frequent on the bier. Such fulsome objects meeting every where, Would'st thou to honours and preferments climb ? "Tis hard to write, but harder to forbear.

Be bold in mischief, dare some mighty crime, To view so lewd a town, and to refrain,

Which dungeons, death, or banishment deserves : What hoops of iron could my spleen contain ! For virtue is but drily prais'd, and starves. When pleading Matho, borne abroad for air, Great men, to great crimes, owe their plate embost, With his fat paunch fills his new-fashion'd chair, Fair palaces, and furniture of cost; And, after him, the wretch in pomp convey'd, And high cominands: a sneaking sin is lost. Whose evidence his lord and friend betray'd, Who can behold that rank old letcher keep And but the wish'd occasion does attend,

His son's corrupted wife, and hope to sleep? From the poor nobles the last spoils to rend, Or that male-harlot, or that unfledg'd boy, Whom ev'n spies dread as their superior fiend, Eager to sin, before he can enjoy ? And bribe with presents; or, when presents fail, If nature could not, anger would indite They send their prostituted wives for bail : Such woful stuff as I or Shadwell write. When night-performance holds the place of merit, Count from the time, since old Dencalion's boat, And brawn and back the next of kin disherit; Rais'd by the flood, did on Parnassus float ; For such good parts are in preferment's way, And, scarcely mooring on the cliff, implord The rich old madam never fails to pay

An oracle how man might be restor'd; Her legacies, by nature's standard given,

When soften'd stones and vital breath ensu'd, One gains an ounce, another gains eleven : And virgins naked were by lovers view'd ; A dear-bought bargain, all things duly weigh'd, Whatever siuce that golden age was done, For which their thrice-concocted blood is paid : What human kind desires, and what they shun, With looks as wan, as he who in the brake Rage, passions, pleasures, impotence of will, At unawares has trod upon a snake ;

Shall this satirical collection fill. Or play'd at Lyons a declaiming prize,

Whal age so large a crop of vices bore, For which the vanquish'd rhetorician dies.

Or when was avarice extended more? What indignation boils within my veins, When were the dice with more profusion thrown? When perjur'd guardians, proud with impious The well-bill'd fob not empty'd now alone, gains,

But gamesters for whole patrimonies play ; Ghoke up the streets, too narrow for their trains ! | The steward brings the deeds which must convey.

The lost estate : what more than mad.ess reigns, Snch plate, such tables, dishes drest so well, When one short sitting many hundreds drains, That whole estates are swallow'd at a meal. And not enough is left him to supply

Ev'n parasites are banish'd from his board Board-wages, or a footman's livery?

(At once a sordid and luxurious lord): What age so many summer-seats did see? Prodigious throat, for which whole boars are drest Or which of our forefathers far'd so well,

(A creature form’d to furnish out a feast). As on seven dishes, at a private meal?

But present punishment pursues bis maw, Clients of old were feasted; now a poor

When surfeited and swell'd, the peacock raw Divided dole is dealt at th' outward door ;

He bears into the bath; whence want of breath, Which by the bungły rout is soon dispatch'd : Repletions, apoplex, intestate d ath. The paltry largess, too, severely watch'd,

His fate makes table-talk, divulg'd with scom, Ere given; and every face observ'd with care, And be, a jest, into his grave is borne. That no intruding guests usurp a share.

No age can go beyond ins; future times Known, you receive: the crier calls aloud Can add no farther to the present crimes. Our old nobility of Trojan-blood,

(food. Our sons but the same things can wish and do; Wbo gape among the crowd for their precarious Vice is at stand, and at the highest flow. The pretors, and the tribunes' voice is heard; Then, Satire, spread thy sails; take all the winds The freeman justles, and will be preferr'd;

can blow, First come, first serv'd, he cries; and I, in spite Some may, perhaps, demand what Muse can yield Of your great lordships, will maintain my right. Sufficient strength for such a spacious field? Though born a slave, though my tornears are bord, From whence can be deriv'd so large a vein, "Tis not the birth, 'tis money makes the lord. Bold truth to speak, and spoken to maintain? The rent of five fair houses I receive;

When god-like freedom is so far bereft What greater honours can the purple give? The noble mind, that scarce the name is left? l'hę poor patrician is reduc'd to keep,

Ere scandalum magnatum was begot, In melancholy walks, a grazier's sheep:

No matter if the great forgave or not: Not Pallus nor Licinius bad my treasure ;

But if that honest licence now you take, Then let the sacred tribunes wait my leisure. If into rogues omnipotent you rake, Once a poor rogue, 'tis true, I trod the street, Death is your doom, impal'd upon a stake; And trudg'd to Rome upon my naked feet : Sineard o'er with wax, and set on blaze, to light Gold is the greatest god; though yet we see The streets, and make a dreadful fire by night. No temples rais'd to inoney's majesty,

Shall they who drench three uncles in a draught No altars fuming to her power divine,

Of poisonous juice be then in triumph brought, Such as to valour, peace, and virtue shine, Make lanes among the people where they go, And faith, and concord: where the stork on high And, mounted high on downy chariots, throw Seems to salute her infant progeny :

Disdainful glances on the crowd below?
Presaging pious love with her auspicious cry. Be silent, and beware, if such you see ;
But since our knights and senators account, "l'is defamation but to say, That's he!
To what their sordid begging vails amount, Against hold Turnus the great Trojan arm,
Judge what a wretched share the poor attends, Amidst their strokes the poet gets no harm :
Whose whole subsistence on those alms depends ! Achilles may in epic verse he slain,
Their household fire, their raiment, and their food, And none of all his inyrmidons complain:
Prevented by those harpies; when a wood

Hylas may drop his pitcher, none will cry;
Of litters thick besiege the donor's gate,

Not if he drown himself for company : And begging lords and teeming ladies wait

But when Lucilius brandishes his pea, The promis'd dole: nay, some have learn'd the And flashes in the face of guilty men, trick

A cold sweat stands in drops on every part ; To beg for absent persons ; feign them sick, And.rage succeeds to tears, revenge to smart: Close mew'd in their sedans, for fear of air : Muse, be advis'd ; 'tis past considering-time, And for their wives produce an empty chair. When enter'd once the dangerous lists of rhyme: This is my spouse : dispatch her with her share. Since none the living villains dare implead, 'Tis Galla: let her ladyship but peep:

Arraign them in the persons of the dead.
No, sir, 'tis pity to disturb her sleep.

Such fine employments our whole days divide :
The salutations of the morning-tide
Call up the Sun; those ended, to the hall
We wait the patron, hear the lawyers bawl;
Then to the statues; where, amidst the race

Of conquering Rome, some Arab shows his face,
Inscrib'd with titles, and profanes the place ;
Fit to be pist against, and somewhat more.

The great man, home-conducted, shuts his door;
Old clients, weary'd ont with fruitless care, Tke story of this satire speaks itself. Umbritius,
Dismiss their hopes of eating, and despair.

the supposed friend of Juvenal, and himself a Though much against the grain, forrid to retire, poet, is leaving Rome, and retiring to Cume. Buy roots for supper, and provide a fire.

Our author accompanies bim out of town. Be. Meantime his lorviship lolls within at ease,

fore they take leave of each other, Umbritius Pampering his paunch with foreign rarities; tells his friend the reasons which oblige him to Both sea and land are ransack'd for the feast; lead a private life, in an obscure place. He And bis own gut the sole invited guests

complains that an honest man capnot get bis



bread at Rome: that none but fatterers make | Knaves, who in full assemblies have the knack
their fortunes there : tbat Grecians and other Of turning truth to lies, and white to black;
foreigners raise themselves by those sordlid arts Can hire large houses, and oppress the poor
which he describes, and against which he bit-'y farm'd excise ; can cleanse the common shore;
terly inveighs. He reckons np the several in- | And rent the fishery; can bear the dead;
conveniencies which arise froin a city-life; and And teach their eyes dissembled ttars to sbed,
the many dangers which attend it. Upbraids All this for gain ; for gain they sell their very heado
the noble men with covetousness, for not renard. These fellous (see what fortune's power can do)
ing good poets; and arraigns the government Were once the miastrels of a country show :
for starving them. The great art of this satire Follow'd the prizes through each paltry town,
is particularly shown, in common-places; anil | By trumpet-checks and bloated faces known.
& drawing in as many vices, as could naturally But now, grown rich, on drinken holidays,
fall into the compass of it.

At their own costs exhibit public plays:
Where, influenc'd by thie rabble's bloody will,
With thumbs b nt back, they popularly kill.

From thence return'd, their sordid avarice rakes
Griev'd though I am an ancient friend to lose,

In excrements again, and bires the jakes. I lik. the solitary seat he chose :

Why hire they not the town, not every thing, In quiet Cumæ fixing his repose :

Since such as they have Fortune in a string? Where far from poisy Pome secure he lives,

Who, for her pleasure, can her fools advance; And one more citizen to Sibyl gives :

And toss them topmost on the wheel of chance. The road to Bijæ, and that soft recess

What's Roine to me, what business have I there, Which all the gols with all their bounty Lless. I who can neither lie, nor falsely swear? Though I in Prochyta with greater ease

Nor praise my patron's undeserving rhymes, Could live, than in a street of palaces.

Nor yet comply with him, nor with his times; What scenes so desert, or so full of fright,

Unskill'd in schemes by planets to foreshow,
As towering houses tumbling in the night,

Like canting rascals, how the wars will go :
And Roine on fire beheld by its own blazing light? I neither will, nor can prognosticate
But worse than all the clattering tiles, and worse

To the young gaping heir, his father's fate: ,Than thousand padders, is the poet's curse. Nor in the entrails of a toad have pry'd, Rogues that in dog-days cannot rhyme forbear:

Nor carry'd bawdy presents to a bride:
But without mercy read, and make you hear. For want of these town-virtues thus, alone,

Now while my friend, just ready to depart, I go conducted on my way by none;
Was packing all his goods in one poor cart; Like a dead membrip from the body rent;
He stopp'd a little at the Con luit-gate,

Maim'd, and unuseful to the government.
Where Numa motel'd once the Roman state,

Who now is lov'd, but he who lores the times, In mighty councils with his nymph retir’d,

Conscious of close intrigues, and dipt in crimes ; Though now the sacred shades and founts are hir'd

Labouring with secrets which his bosom burn, By banish'd Jews, who their whole wealth can lay

Yet never must to public light return? In a small basket, on a whisp of bay;

They get reward alone who can betray: Yet such our avarice is, that every tree

For keeping honest counsels none will pay. Pays for his bead; nor sleep itself is free:

He who can Verres, when he will, accuse, Nor place, nor persons, now are sacred held,

The purse of Verres may at pleasure use: From their own grove the Musés are expell’d. But let not all the gold which Tagus bides, Into this lonely vale our steps we bend,

And pays the sea in tributary tides, I and my sullen discontented friend :

Be bribe sufficient to corrupt the breast; The marble cave, and aqueducts, we view; Or violate with dreams thy peaceful rest. But how adulterate now, and different from the

Great men with jealous eyes the friend behold, true;

Whose secrecy they purchase with their gold. How much more beauteous had the fountain been

I haste to tell thee, nor shall shame oppose Embellish'd with her first created green,

What confidence our wealthy Romans chose : Where crystal streams through living turf had run, And whom I most abhor: to speak my mind, Contented with an urn of native stone !

I hate, in Rome, a Grecian town to find : Then thus Umbritius (with an angry frown, To set the scum of Greece, transplanted here, And looking back on this degenerate town,) Receiv'd like gods, is what I cannot bear. • Since noble arts in Rome bave po support, Nor Greeks alone, but Syrians here abound, And ragged virtue not a friend at court,

Obscene Orontes, diving under ground, No profit rises froin th' ungrateful stage,

Conveys his wealth to Tyber's hungry shores, Miy poverty increasing with my age,

Aud fattens Italy with foreign whores : 'Tis time to give my just disdain a vent,

Hither their crooked harps and customs come: Aud, cursing, leave so base a government.

All find receipt in hospitable Rome.
Where Dædalus his borrow'd wings laid by, The hai barous harlots crowd the public place:
To that obscure retreat I choose to fly:
While yet few furious on my face are seen,

Go, fools, and purchase an onclean embrace:

The painted mitre court, and the more painted While I walk 'upright, and old age is green,

face. And Lachesis has somewhat left to spin.

Old Romulus, and father Mars, look down, Now, now, 'tis time to quit this cursed place,

Your herdsnian primitive, your boinely clown, And hide from villains my too honest face:

Is turu'd a beau in a loose tawdry gorn. Here let Arturins live, and such as he :

His once unkemm'd and horrid lorks behold Such wanners will with such a town agree.

Sulling sweet oil : his neck enchain'd with gold:

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Aping the foreigners in every dress;

If none they find for their lewd purpose fit, Which, bought at greater cost, becomes him less. They with the walls and very floors commit. Meantime they wisely leave their native land, They search the secrets of the house, and so From Sycion, Samos and from Alaband,

Ar worship'd there, and fear'd for what they know. And Amydon, to Rome they swarm in shoals: And, now we talk of Grecians, cast a view So sweet and easy is the gain from fools.

On what, in schools, their men of morals do; Poor refugees at first, thy piirchase here : A rigid stoic his own pupil slew : And, soon as denizen'd, they domineer.

A friend against a friend of his own cloth, Grow to the great, a tattering servile rout: Turn'd evidence, and murder'd on his oath. Work themselves inward, and th«ir patrons out.

What room is left for Ronans in a town Quick-witted, brazen fac'd, with firent tongues, Where Grecians rule, and clokes control the gown? Patient of labours, and dissembling wrongs. Some Diphilus, or some Protogenes, Riidje me this, and guess him if you can,

Look sharply out, our senators to seize : Who bears a nation in a single man?

Engross them wholly, by their native art, A couk, a conjurer, a rhetorician,

And fear'd no rivals in their bubble's heart: A painter, pedant, a geometrician,

One drop of poison in my patron's ear, A dancer on the ropes, and a physician.

One slight suggestion of a senseless fear, All things the hungry Greek exactly knows : Infus'd with cunning, serves to ruin me; And bid him go to Heaven, to Heaven he goes. Disgrac'd, and banish'd from the family. In short, no Scythian, Moor, or Thracian born, In vain forgotten services I boast; But in that town which arms and arts arlorn, My long dependance in an hour is lost : Shail he he plac'd above me at the board, Look round the world, what country will appear, In purple cloth'd, and lolling like a lord ?

Where friends are left with greater ease than here? Shall he before me sign, whom t'other day At Rome (nor think me partial to the poor) A smallcraft vessel hither did convey;

AU offices of ours are out of door : Where stow'd with prıines and rotten figs, he lay? In vain we rise, and to the levees run; How little is the privilege become

My lord himself is up, before, and gone: Of being born a citizen of Rome!

The pretor bids bis lictors mend their pace, The Greeks get all by fulsome flatteries;

Lest his colleague outstrip him in the race: A most peculiar stroke they have at lies.

The childish matrons are, long since, awake: They make a wit of their insipid friend;

And, for affronts, the tardy visits take. His blobber-lip and beetle-brows commend ;

'Tis frequent, here, to see a free-born son His long crane-neck and narrow shoulders praise; On the left hand of a rich hireling run; You'd think they were describing Hercules. Becarise the wealthy rogue can throw away, A creaking voice for a clear treble goes;

Por balf a brace of bouts, a tribune's pay: Though harsher than a cock that treads and crows. But you, poor sinner, though you love the vice, We can as grossly praise ; but, to our grief, And, like the whore, demur upon the price: No flattery but from Grecians gains belief.

And, frighted with the wicked sum, forbear Besides these qualities, we must agree

To lend a hand, and help her from the chair. They mimic better on the stage than we:

Produce a witness of unblemish'd life,
The wife, the whore, the shepherdess, they play, Holy as Numa, or as Numa's wife,
In such a free, and such a graceful way,

Or him whọ bid th' unhallow'd fames retire,
That we believe a very woman shown,

And snatch'd the trembling goddess from the fire ! And fancy something underneath the gown. The question is not put, how far extends But not Antioch'is, dor Stratocles,

His piety, but what he y arly spends : Our ears and ravish'd eyes can only please : Quick to the business; how he lives, and eats; The nation is compos'd of such as these.

How larg. ly gives; how splendidly be treats : All Grerce is one comedian : laugh, and they How many thousand acres feed bis sheep, Return it louder than an ass can bray :

What are his rents, what servants does he keep? Grieve, and they grieve; if you weep silently, Th' account is suon cast up; the judges rate There seems a silent echo in their eye:

Our credit in the court by our estate. They cannot mourn like you, but they can cry. Swear by our gods, or those the Greeks adore, Call for a fire, their winter clothes they take: Thou art as sure forsworn, as thou art poor : Begin but you to shiver, and they shake:

The poor must gain their bread by perjury; In frost and snow, if you complain of heat,

An't ev'n the gorls, that other means deny, They rub th' unsweating brow, and swear they In co iscience must absolve them, when they lye. sweat.

Add, that the rich have still a gibe in store; We live not on the square with such as these,

And will be monstrous witty on the poor : Such are our betters, who can better please : For the torn surtout and the tatter'd vest, Who day and night are like a looking glass ; The wretch and all his wardrobe are a jest: Still ready to reflect their patron's face.

The greasy gown, sully'd with often turning, The panegyric hand, and lifted eye,

Giv s a good hint, to say, “The man's in mouma Prepard for some new piece of flattery.

Or if the shoc be ript, or patches put, [ing: Ev'o nastiness, occasions will afforil;

“ He's wounded ! see the plaister on his foot.” They praise a belching, or well-pissing lord. Want is the scorn of every wealthy fool ; Besides, there's nothing sacred, nothing free And wit in rags is turn’d to ridicule. From bold attempts of their rank letchery. “ Pack hence, and from the cover'd benches rise,"? Through the whole family their labours run ; (The master of the ceremonies cries) The daughter is debauch'd, the wife is won : *This is no place for you, whose small estate Nor 'scapes the bridegroom, or the blooming son, Is not the value of the settled rate :

The sous of happy punks, the pandar's heir, Codrus had but one bed, so short to boot, Are privileged to sit in triumph there,

That his short wife's sbort legs bung dangliug out: To clap the first, and rule the theatre.

His cupboard's head six eartben pitchers grac'd, Up to the galleries, for shame, retrat; (seat.” | Beneath them was his trusty tankard piac'd : For, by the Roscian law, the pop can claiin no And, to support this noble plate, there lay Who ever brought to his rich daughter's bed A bending Chiron cast from honest clay : The man, that pollod but twelve-prince for bis head? His few Greek books a rotten chest contain'd; Who ever nam'd a poor man for his heir,

Whose covers much of mouldiness complain'd: Or call'd him to assist the judging chair?

Where mice and rats devour'd poetic bread; The poor were wise, wlio, by the rich opprest, And with heroic verse luxuriously were fed. Withdrew, and sought a sacred place of rest. 'Tis true, poor Codrus nothing bad to boast, Once they did well, to free themselves from scorn, And yet poor Codrus all that nothing lost : But had done better never to return.

Begg'd naked through the streets of wealthy Rome; Rarely they rise by virtue's aid, who lie

And found not one to feed, or take him home. Plung'd in tlie depth of helpless poverty.

But if the palace of Arturius burn, At Rome 'tis worse ; where house-rent by the year, The nobles change their clothes, the matrone And servants' bellies cost so devilish dear;

mourn; And tavern-bills run high for hungry cheer. The city-pretor will no pleadings hear; To drink or eat in earthen.ware we scorn,

'The very name of fire we hate and fear: Which cheaply country-cupboarus does adora: And look aghast, as if the Gauls were here. And coarse blue hoods on holidays are worn. While yet it burus, th' officious nation files, Some distant parts of Italy are known,

Some to condole, and some to bring supplies :
Where none but only dead inen wear a gown : One sends him marble to rebuild, and oue
On theatres of turf, in homely state,

With naked statues of the Parian stone,
Old plays they act, old feasts they celebrate : The work of Polyelete, that seem to live ;
The same rude song returns upon the crowd, While others images for altars give ,
And, by tradition, is for wit allow'd.

One books and skreens, and Pallas to the breast;
The mimic yearly gives the same delights ; Another bags of gold, and he gives best.
And in the mother's arins the clownish infant Childless Arturius, vastly rich before,
Their habits (undistinguish'd by degree) (frights. Thus by his losses multiplies his store:
Are plain alike; the same simplicity,

Suspected for accomplice to the fire,
Buth on the stage, and in the pit, you see. That burnt his palace but to build it higher.
In his white cloak the magistrate appears ;

But, could you be content to bid adieu
The country-bumkin the same livery wears. To the dear play-house, and the players too:
But here, attir'd, beyond our purse we go, Sweet country-seats are purchas'd every where,
For useless ornament and faunting show :

With lands and gardens, at less price than here We take on trust, in purple robes to shine; You hire a darksome dog-hole by the year. And, poor, are yet ambitious to be fae.

A sinall convenience decently prepard, This is a common vice, though all things here A shallow well that rises in your yard, Are sold, and sold unconscionably dear.

That spreads his easy crystal streams around, What will you give that Cossus may but view And waters all the pretty spot of ground. Your face, and in the crowd distinguish you; There, love the fork, thy garden cultivate, May take your incense like a gracious god, And give thy frugal friends a Pythagorean treat: And answer only with a civil nod ?

'Tis somewhat to be lord of some small ground To please our patrons, in this vicious age,

In which a lizard may, at least, turn rouod. We make our entrance by the favourite page: "Tis frequent, here, for want of sleep to die; Shave fris first down, and when he pulls his hair, Which fumes of undigested feasts deny ; The consecrated locks to temples bear:

And, with imperfect heat, in languid stomachs Pay tributary cracknels, which he sells,

fry. And, with our offerings, help to raise his vails. What house secure from noise the poor can keep,

Who fears in country-towns a house's fall, When ev'n the rich can scarce afford to sleep; Or to be caught betwixt a riven wall?

So dear it costs to purchase rest in Rome ; But we inhabit a weak city here;

And hence the sources of diseases come. Which buttresses and props but scarcely bear: The drover who his fellow-drover meets And 'tis the village-mason's daily calling,

In narrow passages of winding streets; 'fo keep the world's metropolis from falling, The waggoners that curse their standing teains, To cleanse the gutters, and the chinks to close; Would wake ev'n drowsy Drusius from his dreams. And, for one night, secure his jord's repose. And yet the wealthy will not brook delay, At Cumæ we can sleep quite round the year, But sweep above our heads, and make their way; Nor falls, nor fires, nor nightly dangers fear ; In lofty litters borne, and read and write, While rolling fames froin Roinan turrets by, Or sleep at ease: the shutters make it night. And the pale citizens for buckets cry.

Yet still he reaches first the public place: 'Thy neighbour has remor'd his wretched store The press before him stops the client's pace. (Few hands will rid the lumber of the poor). The crowd that follows crush his panting sides, Thy own third story smokes, while thou, supine, And trip his heels; he walks not, but he rides. Art drench'd in fumes of updigested wine.

One elbows him, one justles in the shoal : For if the lowest floors already burn,

A rafter breaks his head, or chairman's pole : Cock-loft and garrets soon will take tlie tum; Stocking'd with loads of fat town-dirt he goes ; Where thy tame pigeons next the tiles were bred, And some rogue-soldier, with his hob-nail'd shoes, Which, in their nests unsafe, are timely ded. Indents his legs behind in bloody rows,

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