Who ever brought to his rich daughter's bed,
The man that poll'd but twelve pence for his head?
Who ever nam'd a poor man for his heir,
Or call'd him to affift the judging chair?
The poor were wife, who, by the rich op-
prefs'd,
Withdrew, and fought a facred place of rest.
Once they did well, to free themselves from
But had done better never to return.
Rarely they rife by virtue's aid, who lie
Plung'd in the depth of helpless poverty.
At Rome 'tis worfe; where house-rent by
And fervants' bellies coft fo devilish dear;
And tavern-bills run high for hungry chear.
To drink or eat in earthen-ware we fcorn, 2801
Which cheaply country cupboards does adorn:
And coarse blue hoods on holidays are worn.
Some diftant parts of Italy are known,
Where none, but only dead men, wear a gown:
On theatres of turf, in homely ftate,
Old plays they act, old feasts they celebrate :
The fame rude fong returns upon the crowd,
And, by tradition, is for wit allow'd.
Ver. 284. Where none, but only dead men, &c.] The meaning is, that men in fome parts of Italy never wore a gown (the ufual habit of the Romans) till they were buried in one.
The mimic yearly gives the fame delights; And in the mother's arms the clownish infant
Their habits (undistinguish'd by degree)
Are plain, alike; the fame fimplicity,
Both on the stage, and in the pit, you fee.
In his white cloak the magiftrate appears; 294
The country bumpkin the fame liv'ry wears.
But here, attir'd beyond our purse we go,
For useless ornament and flaunting show:
We take on truft, in purple robes to shine;
And poor, are yet ambitious to be fine.
This is a common vice, though all things here
Are fold, and fold unconfcionably dear.
What will you give that Coffus may but view
Your face, and in the crowd diftinguish you;
May take your incenfe like a gracious god,
And anfwer only with a civil nod?
To please our patrons, in this vicious age,
We make our entrance by the fav'rite page:
Shave his firft down, and when he polls his
hair,
The confecrated locks to temples bear:
Pay tributary cracknels, which he fells,
And, with our offerings, help to raise his vails.
Who fears, in country towns, a house's fall,
Or to be caught betwixt a riven wall?
Ver. 302. Coffus] Coffus is here taken for any great man,
But we inhabit a weak city here ;
Which buttreffes and props but scarcely bear:
And 'tis the village mafon's daily calling,
To keep the world's metropolis from falling,
To cleanse the gutters, and the chinks to close,
And, for one night, fecure his lord's repofe. 319
At Cuma we can fleep, quite round the year,
Nor falls, nor fires, nor nightly dangers fear;
While rolling flames from Roman turrets fly,
And the pale citizens for buckets cry.
Thy neighbour has remov'd his wretched ftore
(Few hands will rid the lumber of the poor) 325
Thy own third story smokes, while thou, fupine,
Art drench'd in fumes of undigested wine.
For if the lowest floors already burn,
Cock-lofts and garrets foon will take the turn.
Where thy tame pidgeons next the tiles were
bred,
Which, in their nefts unfafe, are timely fled.
Codrus had but one bed, so short to boot, That his short wife's fhort legs hung dangling
His cupboard's head fix earthen pitchers grac'd, Beneath 'em was his trusty tankard plac'd. 335
Ver. 330. Where thy tame pidgeons &c.] The Romans used to breed their tame pidgeons in their garrets.
Ver. 332. Codrus] A learned man, very poor: by his books fuppofed to be a poet; for, in all probability, the heroic verfes here mentioned, which rats and mice devoured, were Homer's works.
And, to support this noble plate, there lay
A bending Chiron caft from honeft clay ;
His few Greek books a rotten cheft contain'd;
Whofe covers much of mouldinefs complain'd:
Where mice and rats devour'd poetic bread; 340
And with heroic verfe luxuriously were fed.
"Tis true, poor Codrus nothing had to boast,
And yet poor Codrus all that nothing loft.
Begg'd naked through the streets of wealthy
And found not one to feed, or take him home.
But if the palace of Arturius burn,
The nobles change their cloaths, the matrons
The city prætor will no pleadings hear;
The very name of fire we hate and fear:
And look aghaft, as if the Gauls were here.
While yet it burns, th' officious nation flies,
Some to condole, and fome to bring fupplies:
One fends him marble to rebuild, and one
White naked ftatues of the Parian ftone,
The work of Polyclete, that feem to live; 355
While others images for altars give;
One books and fkreens, and Pallas to the breaft;
Another bags of gold, and he gives beft.
Childless Arturius, vaftly rich before,
Thus by his loffes multiplies his ftore:
Sufpected for accomplice to the fire,
That burnt his palace but to build it higher.
But, could you be content to bid adieu To the dear play-house, and the players too: 364 Sweet country-feats are purchas'd every where,) With lands and gardens, at lefs price than here You hire a darkfome doghole by the year. A fmall convenience, decently prepar'd, A fhallow well, that rifes in your yard, That spreads his eafy chrystal streams around, And waters all the pretty spot of ground. There, love the fork, thy garden cultivate,
And give thy frugal friends a Pythagorean
"Tis fomewhat to be lord of some small ground, In which a lizard may, at least, turn round. $75 'Tis frequent, here, for want of fleep to die; Which fumes of undigested feasts deny ; And, with imperfect heat, in languid ftomachs
What house secure from noise the poor can
When ev'n the rich can scarce afford to sleep;
So dear it costs to purchase rest in Rome;
And hence the fources of diseases come.
The drover who his fellow-drover meets
In narrow paffages of winding streets:
The waggoners, that curse their standing teams, Would wake ev'n droufy Drufus from his dreams.
a Pythagorean treat,] He means herbs,
Ver. 373. roots, fruits, and fallads.
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