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Count from the time, since old Deucalion's boate
Raisd by the flood, did on Parnaffus float;
And, scarcely mooring on the cliff, implorid
An oracle how man might be restor'd;
When soften'd stones and vital breath ensued,
And virgins naked were by lovers view'd ;
What ever since that golden age was done,
What human kind desires, and what they shun,
Rage, paflions, pleasures, impotence of will,
Shall this fatirical collection fill.
What so large a crop of vice's bore,
Or when was avarice extended more ?
When were, the dice with more profusion thrown?
The well-fill'd fob not empty'd now alone,
But gamesters for whole patrimonies play;
The steward brings the deeds which must convey
.The lost estate : what more than madness reigns,
When one short fitting many hundreds drains,
- And not enough is left him to supply
Board-wages, or a footman's livery?
summer-feats did fee?
Or which of our forefathers far'd so well,
As on seven dishes, at a private meal ?
Clients of old were feafted; now a poor
Divided dole is dealt at th' outward door;
Which by the hungry rout is soon dispatch'd:
The paltry largess, too, severely watch'd,
Ere given ;
face observ'd with care,
That no intruding guests usurp a hare,
Known, you receive : the crier calls aloud
Our old nobility of Trojan-blood,
Who gape among the crowd for their precarious food.
The prætors, and the tribunes voice is heard;
The freedman juftles, and will be preferr'd;
First come, first servd, he cries; and I, in spight
Of your great Lordships, will maintain my right.
Though born a llave, though my torn ears are bor’d,
"Tis not the birth, 'tis money makes the Lord.
The rent of five fair houses I receive;
What greater honours can the purple give?
The poor patrician is reduc'd to keep,
In melancholy walks, 2 grazier's sheep :
Not Pallus nor Licinius had my treasure;
Then let the sacred tribunes wait my leisure.
Once a poor rogue, 'tis true, I trod the street,
And trudy'd to Rome upon my naked feet:
Gold is the greatest God; though yet we see
No temples rais d to money's majesty,
No altars fuming to her power divine,
Such as to valour, peace, and virtue shine,
And faith, and concord: where the stork on high
Seems to falute her infant progeny:
Prefaging pious love with her auspicious cry.
But since our knights and senators account,
To what their foruid begging vails amount,
Judge what i wretched fhare the poor attends,
Whose whole sublistence on those alms depends !
Their houshold fire, their .raiment, and their fool,
Prevented by those harpies ; when a wood
Of litters thick besiege the donor's gate,
And begging lords and teeming ladies wait
The promis'd dole: nay, some have learn'd the trick
To beg for abfent persons; feign them fick,
Close mew'd in their fedans, for fear of air:
And for their wives produce an empty chair.
This is my spouse : dispatch her with her fare.
'Tis Galla.: let her ladyship but peep:
No, Sir, 'tis pity to disturb her Neep.
Such fine employments our whole days divide :
The falutations of the morning-tide
Call up the sun; those ended, to the hall
We wait the patron, hear the lawyers baul;
Then to the statues; where, amidst the race
Of conquering Rome, fome Arab Ihcws his face,
Inscrib'd with titles, and profanes the place ;
Fit to be piss'd against, and somewhat more.
The great man, home-conducted, shuts his door;
old clients, weary'd out with fruitless care,
Difmiss their hopes of eating, and despair.
Though much against the grain forc'd to retire,
Buy roots for supper, and provide a fire.
Meantime his lordship lolls within at ease,
Pampering his paunch with foreign rarities;
Both sea and land are ransack'd for the feast;
And his own gut the sole invited guest.
Such plate, such tables, difies dreft so well,
That whole estates are swallow'd at a meal.
Ey'n parasites are banish'd from his board
(At once a sordid and luxurious lord):
Prodigious throat, for which whole boars are drest
(A creature form'd to furnish out a feast).
But present punishment pursues his maw,
When surfeited and swell’d, the peacock raw
He bears into the bath; whence want of breath,
Repletions, apoplex, intestate death.
His fate makes table-talk, divulg’d with scorn,
And he, a jest, into his grave is born.
No age can go beyond us; future times
Can add no farther to the present crimes.
Our sons but the same things can with and do;
Vice is at stand, and at the highest flow.
Then, Satire, spread thy fails; take all the winds can
Some may, perhaps, demand what Muse can yield
Sufficient strength for such a spacious field?
From whence can be deriv'd fo large a vein,
Bold truth to speak, and spoken to maintain ?
When god-like Freedom is fo far bereft
The noble mind, that scarce the name is left?
Ere sandalum magnatum was begot,
No matter if the great forgave or not:
But if that honeft licence now you rake;
If into rogues omnipotent you take,
Death is your doom, impal'd upon a stake;
Smear'd o'er with wax, and set on blaze, to light,
The streets, and make a dreadful fire by night
Shail they who drench'd three uncles in a draugļi
Of poisonous juice be then in triumph brought,
Make lanes among the people where they go,
And, mounted high on downy chariots, throw
Disdainful glances on the crowd below ?
Be silent, and beware, if such you
'Tis defamation but to say, That's he!
Against bold Turnus the great Trojan arm,
Amidst their strokes the poet gets no harm :
may in epic 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 every part;
And rage succeeds to tears, revenge to smart:
Mufe, be advis'd; 'tis past considering-time,
When enter'd once the dangerous lists of rhime:
Since none the living villains dare implead,
Arraign them in the persons of the dead.