No, 'tis a Sibyl's leaf what I relate,

As fix'd and fure, as the decrees of fate.

Let none but men of honour you attend; Choose him that has most virtue for your friend, And give no way to any darling youth

To fell your favour, and pervert the truth.
Reclaim your wife from strolling up and down,
To all affizes and through every town,
With claws like harpies, eager for the prey
(For which your juftice and your fame will pay).
Keep yourself free from scandals such as thefe;
Then trace your birth from Picus, if you please:
If he's too modern, and your pride aspire
To feek the author of your being higher,
Choose any Titan who the Gods withstood
To be the founder of your ancient blood,
Prometheus, and that race before the flood,
Or any other story you can find

From heralds, or in poets, to your mind.

But fhould you prove ambitious, lustful, vain; Or could you fee with pleasure and disdain, Rods broke on out affociates bleeding backs,

And heads-men labouring till they blunt their ax; You: ther's glory will your fin proclaim, And to a clearer light expose your shame; "For ftill more public fcandal vice extends, "As he is great and noble who offends."

How dare you then your high extraction plead? Yet blush not when you go to forge a deed,

In the fame temple which your grandfire built;
Making his ftatue privy to the guilt.
Or in a bawdy masquerade are led
Muffled by night to fome polluted bed.
Fat Lateranus does his revels keep
Where his forefathers peaceful ashes sleep;
Driving himself a chariot down the hill,
And (though a conful) links himself the wheel:
To do him justice, 'tis indeed by night,
Yet the moon fees, and every smaller light
Pries as a witness of the shameful fight.
Nay when his year of honour's ended, foon
He'll leave that nicety, and mount at noon;
Nor blush should he fome grave aquaintance meet,
But, proud of being known, will jerk and greet:
And when his fellow-beafts are weary grown,
He'll play the groom, give oats, and rub them down.
If, after Numa's ceremonial way,

He at Jove's altar would a victim flay,
To no clean goddess he directs his prayers,
But by Hippona moft devoutly fwears,
Or fome rank deity, whofe filthy face
We suitably o'er ftinking ftables place.

When he has run his length, and does begin
To steer his course directly for the inn

(Where they have watch'd, expecting him all night),

A greafy Syrian, ere he can alight,

Prefents him effence, while his courteous hoft

(Well knowing nothing by good-breeding 's loft)

Tags ev'ry fentence with fome fawning word,

Such as "My King, My Prince," at leaft " My Lord;"
And a tight maid, ere he for wine can afk,
Gueffes his meaning, and unoils the flask.
Some, friends to vice, industriously defend
Thefe innocent diverfions, and prétend
That I the tricks of youth too roughly blame,
Alledging that when young we did the fame.
I grant we did, yet when that age was past,
The frolic humour did no longer laft;

We did not cherish and indulge the crime:
What 's foul in acting, should be left in time.
'Tis true, fome faults, of courfe, with childhood end,
We therefore wink at wags when they offend,

And spare the boy, in hopes the man may mend.
But Lateranus (now his vigorous age

Should prompt him for his country to engage,
The circuit of our empire to extend,

And all our lives in Cæfar's to defend)
Mature in riots, places his delight

All day in plying bumpers, and at night

Reels to the bawds, over whofe doors are fet

Pictures and bills, with " Here are whores to let."

Should any defperate unexpected fate

Summon all heads and hands to guard the state,

Cæfar, fend quickly to fecure the port;

"But where's the general? where does he refort?” Send to the futler's; there y' are fure to find

The bully match'd with rascals of his kind,

Quacks,

Quacks, coffin-makers; fugitives and failors;

Rooks, common foldiers, hangmen, thieves, and tailors; With Cybele's priests, who, weary'd with proceffions, Drink there, and fleep with knaves of all profeffions, A friendly gang! each equal to the best;

And all, who can, have liberty to jeft:

One flaggon walks the round, that none should think
They either change, or stint him of his drink:
And, left exceptions may for place be found,
Their ftools are all alike, their table round.
What think you, Ponticus, yourself might do,
Should any flave fo lewd belong to you?

No doubt, you'd fend the rogue in fetters bound
To work in Bridewell, or to plough your ground:
But, nobles, you who trace your birth from Troy,
Think, you the great prerogative enjoy

Of doing ill, by virtue of that race;
As if what we esteem in coblers.bafe,
Would the high family of Brutus grace.

Shameful are thefe examples, yet we find
(To Rome's difgrace) far worse than these behind;
Poor Damafippus, whom we once have known
Fluttering with coach and fix about the town,
Is forc'd to make the stage his last retreat,
And pawns his voice, the all he has, for meat :
For now he muft (fince his eftate is loft)
Or represent, or be himself, a ghost:
And Lentulus acts hanging with such art, · -
Were I a judge, he should not feign the part.
T 4

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Nor

Nor would I their vile infolence acquit,
Who can with patience, nay diversion, fit,
Applauding my lord's buffoonry for wit.
And clapping farces acted by the court,
While the peers cuff, to make the rabble sport:
Or hirelings, at a prize, their fortunes try;
Certain to fall unpity'd if they die ;
Since none can have the favourable thought
That to obey a tyrant's will they fought,
But that their lives they willingly expofe,
Bought by the Prætors to adorn their shows.

Yet fay, the stage and lifts were both in fight,
And you must either choose to act, or fight;
Death never fure bears fuch a ghaftly shape,
That a rank coward bafely would escape
By playing a foul harlot's jealous tool,
Or a feign'd Andrew to a real fool.
Yet a peer actor is no monftrous thing,
Since Rome has own'd a fidler for a king:
After fuch pranks, the world itself at best
May be imagin'd nothing but a jest.

Go to the lifts where feats of arms are shown, There 'll find Gracchus (from patrician) grown you

A fencer and the fcandal of the town.

Nor will he the Mirmillo's weapons bear,
The modeft helmet he difdains to wear;
As Retiarius he attacks his foe;

Firft waves his trident ready for the throw,

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