Mean-while thy Manhood, fit for Toils and Wars,
Patient of Seas, and Storms, and Houshold Cares,
Ebbs out apace, and all thy Strength impairs.
Old Age, with filent Pace, comes creeping on,
Nauseates the Praise, which in her Youth she won,
And hates the Muse, by which she was undone.
The Tricks of thy base Patron now behold,
To fpare his Purfe, and fave his darling Gold;
In his own Coin the starving Wit he treats;
Himself makes Verses, which himself repeats;
And yields to Homer on no other score,
Than that he liv'd a thousand Years before.
But if to Fame alone thou dost pretend,
The Mifer will his empty Palace lend;
Set wide his Doors, adorn'd with plated Brass,
Where Droves, as at a City Gate may pass;
A fpacious Hall afford thee, to rehearse,
And fend his Clients to applaud thy Verse;
But not one Farthing to defray the Cofts
Of Carpenters, the 2 Pulpit, and the Pofts.
House-room, that costs him nothing, he bestows:
Yet ftill we fcribble on, tho' ftill we lose;
We drudge, and cultivate with Care, a Ground
Where no Return of Gain was ever found:
The Charms of Poetry our Souls bewitch
The Curfe of Writing is an endless Itch.
But he whofe noble Genius is allow'd,
Who with ftretch'd Pinions foars above the Croud,
Who mighty Thought can clothe with manly Dress,
He, whom I fanfy, but can ne'er express :
Such, fuch a Wit, tho' ready to be found,
Must be fecure from Want, if not abound.
Nice is his Make, impatient of the War,
Avoiding Bus'nefs, and abhorring Care;
2 Pulpit. In which the Poets rehears'd,
He must have Groves, and lonely Fountains chufe,
And eafie Solitudes to bait his Mufe;
Unvex'd with Thought of Wants, which may betide
Or for to-morrow's Dinner to provide.
Horace 3 ne'er wrote but with a rofie Cheek,
His Belly pamper'd, and his Sides were fleek.
A Wit should have no Care, or this alone,
To make his rifing Numbers juftly run.
Phebus and Bacchus, those two jolly Gods,
Bear no ftarv'd Poets to their bleft Abodes.
'Tis not for hungry Wit, with Wants controll'd,
The Face of Jove in Council to behold:
Or Fierce 4 Alecto, when her Brand she tofs'd
Betwixt the Trojan and Rutilian Hoft.
If Virgil's Suit Mecenas had not sped,
And fent Alexis to the Poet's Bed;
The crefted Snakes had dropt upon the Ground,
And the loud Trumpet languifh'd in the Sound.
Yet we expect that " Lappa's Mufe fhould please,
As much as did immortal 8 Sophocles;
When he his Dishes and his Cloaths has fent
To pawn, for Payment of a Quarter's Rent;
His Patron 9 Numitor will nothing lend,
Pleads Want of Money to his wretched Friend,
Yet can large Presents to his Harlot fend;
Can purchase a tame Lion, and can treat
The Kingly Slave with fev'ral Sorts of Meat:
It seems he thinks th'Expence is more, to feast
The famish'd Poet, than the hungry Beast.
Lucan 1°, content with Praise, may lie at ease In coftly Grotts, and Marble Palaces:
But to poor 11 Baffus what avails a Name;
To ftarve on Compliments and empty Fame?
All Rome is pleas'd, when 12 Statius will rehearse,
And longing Crowds expect the promis'd Verse :
His lofty Numbers with so great a Gust
They hear, and fwallow with fuch eager Luft:
But, while the common Suffrage crown'd his Cause,
And broke the Benches with their loud Applaufe ;
His Mufe had starv'd, had not a Piece unread,
And by a 13 Player bought, fupply'd her Bread.
He could difpofe of Honours, and Commands,
The Power of Rome was in an Actor's Hands,
The peaceful Gown, and military Sword:
The bounteous Play'r out-gave the pinching Lord.
And wouldst thou, Poet, rife before the Sun,
And to his Honour's Lazy Levee run?
Stick to the Stage, and leave thy fordid Peer;
And yet, Heav'n knows, 'tis earn'd with Hardship there. The former Age did one Mecenas sec,
One giving Lord of happy Memory.
Then, then, 'twas worth a Writer's Pains, to pine,
Look pale, and all 14 December tafle no Wine.
Such is the Poet's Lot: What luckier Fate
Does on the Works of grave Hiftorians wait?
10 A great Poet, who was put to Death by Nero, partly out of Envy to his Poetry, partly, for being in a Flot with his Uncle Seneca and Pifo.
II Saleius Baffus, a poor Poet.
12 Statius, Surnam❜d Papinius, a famous Poet in the
Time of Cafar Domitian.
13 Paris, a famous Actor; and Favourite to Domitian; the Patron of Statius.
14 The Romans celebrated their great Holydays, called Saturnalia, in December; when every one drank freely; and the Slaves were, in a manner, Mafters.
More Time they spend, in greater Toils engage;
Their Volumes fwell beyond the thousandth Page:
For thus the Laws of History command;
And much good Paper fuffers in their Hand.
What Harvest rises from this labour'd Ground?
Where they get Pence, as Clerk can get a Pound.
A lazy Tribe, just of the Poet's pitch,
Who think themselves above the growing rich.
Next, shew me the well-lung'd 16 Civilian's Gain,
Who bears in Triumph an Artill'ry Train
Of Chancery Libels: opens the first Cause,
Then with a Pick-lock Tongue perverts the Laws:
Talks loud enough in Conscience for his Fee,
Takes Care his Client all his Zeal may see ;
Twitch'd by the Sleeve, he mouths it more and more,
Till with white Froth his Gown is flaver'd o'er.
Ask what he gains by all this lying Prate,
A Captain's Plunder trebles his Ellate.
The Magistrate affumes his awful Seat;
Stand forth, 17 pale Ajax, and thy Speech repeat:
Affert thy Client's Freedom; bawl, and tear
So loud, thy Country-Judge at least may hear,
If not discern; and when thy Lungs are fore,
Hang up the 18 Victor's Garland at thy Door:
fold:
Ask for what Price thy venal Tongue was
A ruity Gammon of some sev'n Years old:
1ough, wither'd 19 Treuffles; ropy Wine, a Dish
Of thotten Herring, or ftale stinking Fish.
For four times talking, if one Piece thou take,
That must be cantled, and the Judge go fnack.
Is Or rather a publick Notary.
16 In thofe Times the Lawyers got little.
17 Alluding to that of Ovid; Confedere Duces, &c.
18 When an Orator had
won a Caufe, a Garland was hung up before his Door.
19 Treuffles, in English, called Ground Cheft-nuts, or Pignuts: Eut, perhaps, the Author means Onyons, or Scallions.
'Tis true, 2o Emilius takes a five-fold Fee,
"Tho' fome plead better, with more Law than he:
But then he keeps his Coach, fix Flanders Mares
Draw him in State, whenever he appears:
He fhews his Statue too, where plac'd on high,
The Gennet underneath him feems to fly;
While with a lifted Spear, in Armour bright,
His aiming Figure meditates a Fight.
With Arts like these, rich Matho, when he speaks,
Attracts all Fees, and little Lawyers breaks.
Tongillus, very poor, has yet an Itch
Of gaining Wealth, by feigning to be rich;
Bathes often, and in State, and proudly vain,
Sweeps thro' the Streets with a long dirty Train:
From thence, with Lackeys running by his Side,
High on the Backs of brawny Slaves will ride,
In a long Litter, thro' the Market-place;
And with a Nod the distant Rabble grace:
Clad in a Gown, that glows with Tyrian Dye,
Surveys rich.Moveables with curious Eye,
Beats down the Price, and threatens ftill to buy.
Nor can I wonder at fuch Tricks as these :
The purple Garments raise the Lawyer's Fees,
And fell him dearer to the Tool that buys;
High Pomp and State are useful Properties.
The Luxury of Rome will know no End;
For ftill the lefs we have, the more we spend..
Truft Eloquence to fhew our Parts and Breeding!
Not 21 Tully now cou'd get ten Groats by pleading;
Unless the Diamond glitter'd on his Hand:
Wealth's all the Rhet'rick Clients understand:
Without large Equipage, and loud Expence,
The Prince of Orators would scarce speak Sense.
20 Emilius. A rich Lawyer.
21 Marcus Tullius Cicero,
the greatest Orator that ever Rome bred.
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