In mighty councils with his nymph retir'd:
Tho now the facred fhades and founts are hir'd
By banish'd Jews, who their whole wealth can lay
In a small basket, on a wifp of hay;
Yet fuch our av'rice is, that ev'ry tree
Pays for his head; nor fleep itself is free:
Nor place, nor perfons, now are facred held,
From their own grove the Muses are expell'd.
Into this lonely vale our steps we bend,
I and my fullen discontented friend:
The marble caves, and aquæducts we view;
But how adult'rate now, and different from the
How much more beauteous had the fountain been Embellish'd with her firft created green,
Where chrystal ftreams thro living turff had run, Contented with an urn of native ftone!
Then thus Umbritius (with an angry frown, And looking back on this degen'rate town,) Since noble arts in Rome have no fupport, And ragged virtue not a friend at court, No profit rifes from th' ungrateful stage, My poverty encreafing with my age, 'Tis time to give my just difdain a vent, And, curfing, leave so base a government.
Where Dedalus his borrow'd wings laid by,
To that obfcure retreat I chufe to fly:
While yet few furrows on my face are seen,
While I walk upright, an old age
And Lachefis has fomewhat left to spin.
Now, now 'tis time to quit this curfed place,
And hide from villains my too honest face:
Here let Arturius live, and fuch as he;
Such manners will with fuch a town agree.
Knaves who in full affemblies have the knack
Of turning truth to lies, and white to black;
Can hire large houfes, and opprefs the poor
By farm'd excife; can cleanse the common-fhoar;
And rent the fishery; can bear the dead;
And teach their eyes diffembled tears to shed,
All this for gain; for gain they fell their very
head.
These fellows (see what fortune's power can do)
Were once the minstrels of a country fhow:
Follow'd the prizes thro each paltry town,
By trumpet-cheeks and bloated faces known.
But now, grown rich, on drunken holidays,
At their own cofts exhibit public plays:
Where influenc'd by the rabble's bloody will,
With thumbs bent back, they popularly kill.
From thence return'd, their fordid avarice rakes
In excrements again, and hires the jakes.
Why hire they not the town, not ev'ry thing,
Since fuch as they have fortune in a string?
Who, for her pleasure, can her fools advance;
And tofs 'em topmoft on the wheel of chance.
What's Rome to me, what bus'ness have I there,
I who can neither lie nor falfly fwear?
Nor praise my patron's undeferving rhimes,
Nor yet comply with him, nor with his times;
Unfkill'd in fchemes by planets to forefhow,
Like canting rafcals, how the wars will go:
I neither will, nor can prognofticate
To the young gaping heir, his father's fate:
Nor in the intrails of a toad have pry'd,
Nor carry'd bawdy presents to a bride:
For want of thefe town-virtues, thus, alone,
go conducted on my way by none:
Like a dead member from the body rent;
Maim'd, and unufeful to the government.
Who now is lov'd, but he who loves the times,
Confcious of close intrigues, and dipt in crimes;
Lab'ring with fecrets which his bofom burn,
Yet never muft to public light return?
They get reward alone who can betray:
For keeping honeft counfels none will
He who can Verres when he will, accufe,
The purfe of Verres may at pleasure use:
But let not all the gold which Tagus hides,
And pays the fea in tributary tides,
Be bribe fufficient to corrupt the breast;
Or violate with dreams thy peaceful rest.
Great men with jealous eyes the friend be
Whofe fecrefy they purchase with their gold.
I hafte to tell thee, nor fhall fhame oppose What confidence our wealthy Romans chose: And whom I most abhor: to speak my mind, I hate, in Rome, a Grecian town to find: To see the scum of Greece tranfplanted here, Receiv'd like Gods, is what I cannot bear. Nor Greeks alone, but Syrians here abound, Obfcene Orontes diving under ground, Conveys his wealth to Tyber's hungry fhores, And fattens Italy with foreign whores: Hither their crooked harps and customs come: All find receipt in hofpitable Rome.
The barbarous harlots crowd the public place: Go, fools, and purchase an unclean embrace; The painted mitre court, and the more painted face.
Old Romulus, and father Mars look down, Your herdsman primitive, your homely clown Is turn'd a beau in a loose tawdry gown.
His once unkem'd, and horrid locks, behold Stilling fweet oil: his neck inchain'd with gold: Aping the foreigners in ev'ry dress;
Which, bought at greater coft, becomes him lefs.
Mean time they wifely leave their native land,
From Sycion, Samos, and from Alaband,
And Amydon, to Rome they fwarm in fhoals:
So fweat and easy is the gain from fools.
Poor refugees at first, they purchase here:
And, foon as denizen'd, they domineer.
Grow to the great, a flatt'ring fervile rout:
Work themselves inward, and their patrons out.
Quick-witted, brazen-fac'd, with fluent tongues,
Patient of labours, and diffembling wrongs.
Riddle me this, and guess him if you can,
Who bears a nation in a fingle man?
A cook, a conjurer, a rhetorician,
A painter, pedant, a geometrician,
A dancer on the ropes, and a physician.
All things the hungry Greek exactly knows:
And bid him go to heav'n, to heav'n he
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