Rome (nor think me partial to the poor) I offices of ours are out of door: vain we rise, and to the levees run; v lord himself is up, before, and gone: e prætor bids his lictors mend their pace, st his colleague outstrip him in the race: e childish matrons are, long since, awake: d, for afront, the tardy visits take.
Tis frequent, here, to see a free-born son
n the left-hand of a rich hireling run;
cause the wealthy regue can throw away,
r half a brace of bouts, a tribune's pay ;
you, poor sinner, tho' you love the vice,
d, like the whore, demure upon the price ;
nd, frighted with the wicked sum, forbear
ɔ lend a hand, and help her from the chair.
Produce a witness of unblemish'd life,
oly as Numa, or as Numa's wife,
'r him who bid th' unhallow'd flames retire,
nd snatch'd the trembling goddess from the fire !
he question is not put, how far extends
is piety, but what he yearly spends;
ick to the business; how he lives, and eats; ow largely gives; how splendidly he treats : Tow many thousand acres feed his sheep, What are his rents? what servants doth he keep, h' account is soon cast up; the judges rate Our credit in the court by our estate.
Swear by our gods, or those the Greeks adore,
Thou art as sure forsworn, as thou art poor :
Ev'n nastiness, occasions will afford;
They praise a belching, or well-pissing lord.
Besides, there's nothing sacred, nothing free
From bold attempts of their rank letchery.
Thro' the whole family their labours run;
The daughter is debauch'd, the wife is won:
Nor 'scapes the bridegroom or the blooming son.
If none they find for their lewd purpose fit,
They with the walls and very floors commit.
They search the secrets of the house, and so
Are worshipp'd there, and fear'd for what they know.
And, now we talk of Grecians, cast à view
On what, in schools, their men of morals do;
A rigid stoic his own pupil slew:
A friend, against a friend of his own cloth,
Turn'd evidence, and murder'd on his oath.
What room is left for Romans in a town
Where Grecians rule, and cloaks control the gown?
Some Diphilus, or some Protogenes,
Look sharply out, our senators to seize:
Engross them wholly, by their native art,
And fear no rivals in their bubble's heart:
One drop of poison in my patron's ear,
One slight suggestion of a senseless fear,
Infus'd with cunning, serves to ruin me;
Disgrac'd, and banish'd from the family.
In vain forgotten services I boast;
My long dependence in an hour is lost;
Look round the world, what country will appear,
Where friends are left with greater ease than here?
At Rome (nor think me partial to the poor)
All offices of ours are out of door:
In vain we rise, and to the levees run;
My lord himself is up, before, and gone:
The prætor bids his lictors mend their pace,
Lest his colleague outstrip him in the race:
The childish matrons are, long since, awake:
And, for affront, the tardy visits take.
'Tis frequent, here, to see a free-born son
On the left-hand of a rich hireling run;
Because the wealthy rogue can throw away,
For half a brace of bouts, a tribune's pay;
But you, poor sinner, tho' you love the vice,
And, like the whore, demure upon the price;
And, frighted with the wicked sum, forbear
To lend a hand, and help her from the chair.
Produce a witness of unblemish'd life,
Holy as Numa, or as Numa's wife,
Or him who bid th' unhallow'd flames retire,
And snatch'd the trembling goddess from the fire!
The question is not put, how far extends
His piety, but what he yearly spends;
Quick to the business; how he lives, and eats;
How largely gives; how splendidly he treats:
How many thousand acres feed his sheep,
What are his rents? what servants doth he keep,
Th' account is soon cast up; the judges rate
Our credit in the court by our estate.
Swear by our gods, or those the Greeks adore,
Thou art as sure forsworn, as thou art poor:
The poor must gain their bread by perjury;
And ev'n the gods, that other means deny,
In consciecce must absolve them, when they lye.)
Add, that the rich have still a gibe in store;
And will be monstrous witty on the poor:
For the torn surtout and the tatter'd vest,
The wretch and all his wardrobe are a jest:
The greasy gown, sully'd with often turning,
Gives a good hint, to say, The man's in mourning:
Or if the shoe be ript, or patches put,
He's wouuded! see the plaister on his foot.
Want is the scorn of every wealthy fool;
And wit in rags is turn'd to ridicule.
Pack hence, and from the cover'd benches rise,
(The Master of the Ceremonies cries)
This no place for you, whose small estate
Is not the value of the settled rate:
The sons of happy punks, the pandar's heir,
Are privileg'd to sit in triumph there,
To clap the first, and rule the theatre.
Up to the galleries, for shame, retreat;
For, by the Roscian law, the poor can claim no seat.
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 assist the judging-chair?
The poor were wise, who, by the rich oppress'd,
Withdrew, and sought a sacred place of rest.
Once they did well, to free themselves from scorn;
But had done better never to return.
Rarely they rise by Virtue's aid, who lie
Plung'd in the depth of helpless poverty.
At Rome 'tis worse; where house-rent by the
And servants bellies cost so devilish dear; [year,
And tavern-bills run high for hungry cheer.
To drink or eat in earthen-ware we scorn,
Which cheaply country cup-boards does adorn:
And coarse blue hoods on holidays are worn.
Some distant parts of Italy are known,
Where none but only dead men wear a gown:
On theatres of turf, in homely state,
Old plays they act, old feasts they celebrate;
The same rude song returns upon the crowd,
And, by tradition, is for wit allow'd.
The mimic yearly gives the same delights;
And in the mother's arms the clownish infant frights.
Their habits (undistinguish'd by degree)
Are plain alike; the same simplicity,
Both on the stage, and in the pit, you see.
In his white cloak the magistrate appears;
The country-bumkin the same livery wears.
But here, attir'd, beyond our purse we go,
For useless ornament and flaunting show:
We take on trust, in purple robes to shine;
And, poor, are yet ambitious to be fine.
This is a common vice, tho' all things here
Are sold, and sold unconscionably dear.
What will you give that Cossus may but view
Your face, and in the crowd distinguish you;
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