Then to the ftatues; where amidst the race

Of conqu❜ring Rome, fome Arab fhews his face,
Infcrib'd with title, and profanes the place;
Fit to be pifs'd againft, and fomewhat more.
The great man, home conducted, fhuts his door;
Old clients, weary'd out with fruitless care,
Difmifs their hopes of eating, and despair.
Tho much against the grain forc'd to retire,
Buy roots for fupper, and provide a fire.

Mean time his lordship lolls within at ease,
Pamp'ring his paunch with foreign rarities;
Both fea and land are ranfack'd for the feaft
And his own gut the fole invited guest.
Such plate, fuch tables, dishes dreft fo well,
That whole eftates are swallow'd at a meal.
Ev'n parafites are banish'd from his board:
(At once a fordid and luxurious lord :)
Prodigious throat, for which whole boars are dreft;
(A creature form'd to furnish out a feaft.)
But prefent punishment pursues his maw,
When furfeited and fwell'd, the peacock raw
He bears into the bath; whence want of breath,
Repletions, apoplex, inteftate death.

His fate makes table-talk, divulg'd with fcorn,
And he, a jeft, into his grave is born.

No age can go beyond us; future times
Can add no farther to the present crimes.
Our fons but the fame things can wish and do;
Vice is at stand, and at the highest flow.
Then fatire spread thy fails; take all the winds
can blow.

Some may, perhaps, demand what Mufe can yield
Sufficient ftrength for such a spacious field?
From whence can be deriv'd fo large a vein,
Bold truth to fpeak, and spoken to maintain ?
When god-like freedom is fo far bereft

The noble mind, that scarce the name is left?
Ere fcandalum magnatum was begot,

No matter if the great forgave or not:
But if that honeft licence now you take,
If into rogues omnipotent you rake,

}

Death is your doom, impail'd upon a stake;
Smear'd o'er with wax, and fet on fire, to light
The streets, and make a dreadful blaze by night.
Shall they who drench'd three uncles in a draught
Of pois'nous juice be then in triumph brought,
Make lanes among the people where they go,
And, mounted high on downy chariots, throw
Difdainful glances on the crowd bełow?
Be filent, and beware, if fuch you

fee;

'Tis defamation but to fay, That's he!

}

Against bold Turnus the great Trojan arm,
Amidst their strokes the poet gets no harm:
Achilles may in epique verse be slain,
And none of all his myrmidons complain:
Hylas may drop his pitcher, none will cry;
Not if he drown himself for company:
But when Lucilius brandishes his pen,
And flashes in the face of guilty men,
A cold sweat stands in drops on ev'ry part;
And rage fucceeds to tears, revenge to fmaft:
Mufe, be advis'd; 'tis paft confid'ring time,
When enter'd once the dang'rous lifts of rhime:
Since none the living villains dare implead,
Arraign them in the perfons of the dead.

THE ARGUMENT.

The ftory of this fatire speaks itself. Umbritius, the fuppofed friend of Juvenal, and himself a poet, is leaving Rome, and retiring to Cumæ. Our author accompanies him out of town. Before they take leave of each other, Umbritius tells his friend

the reafons which oblige
life, in an obfcure place.

boneft man cannot get his

him to lead a private He complains that an bread at Rome. That

none but flatterers make their fortunes there: that Grecians and other foreigners raise themfelves by thofe fordid arts which he defcribes, and against which he bitterly inveighs. He reckons up the feveral inconveniencies which arife from a city life; and the many dangers which attend it. Upbraids the noblemen with covetousness, for not rewarding good poets; and arraigns the government for flarving them. The great art of this

fatire is particularly shown, in common places; and drawing in as many vices, as could naturally fall into the compass of it.

Riev'd tho I am an ancient friend to lofe,

GR

I like the folitary feat he chose:

In quiet Cumæ fixing his repofe :

Where, far from noify Rome fecure he lives,
And one more citizen to Sybil gives.

The road to Baja, and that soft recefs
Which all the Gods with all their bounty bless.
Tho I in Prochyta with greater ease

Could live, than in a street of palaces.
What scene fo defert, or fo full of fright,
As tow'ring houses tumbling in the night,
And Rome on fire beheld by its own blazing light?
But worse than all the clatt'ring tiles; and worfe
Than thousand padders, is the poet's curse.
Rogues that in dog-days cannot rhime forbear:
But without mercy read, and make

you

hear.

Now while my friend, juft ready to depart, Was packing all his goods in one poor cart; He stopp'd a little at the Conduit-gate, Where Numa modell'd once the Roman ftate,