Busy but pleas'd and idly taking pains, Here Lewes Downs I till and Ringmer plains, Names that to each South Saxon well are known, Though they sound harsh to powdered beaux in town. None can enjoy a sounder sleep than mine; I often do not wake till after nine; And midnight hours with interest repay For years in town diversions thrown away. Stranger to finery, myself I dress In the first coat from an old broken press. My fire, as soon as I am up, I see Bright with the ruins of some neighbouring tree. * * * * * Such is my life, a life of liberty; So would I wish to live and so to die. HAY. Martial has a genuine love for the country. Born at a time when detailed descriptions of the charms of scenery had become fashionable, and the cultivated landscape at least found many painters, he succeeds far better than any of his contemporaries in conveying to the reader his sense of the beauties which his eyes beheld. That sense is limited, but exquisite. It does not go deep; there is nothing of the almost mystical background that Vergil at times suggests; there is nothing of the feeling of the open air and the wild life that is sometimes wafted to us in the sensuous verse of Theocritus. But Martial sees what he sees clearly, and he describes it perfectly. Compare his work with the affected prettiness of Pliny's description of the source of the Clitumnus or with the more sensuous, but over-elaborate, craftsmanship of Statius in the _Silvae_. Martial is incomparably their superior. He speaks a more human language, and has a far clearer vision. Both Statius and Martial described villas by the sea. We have already mentioned Statius' description of the villa of Pollius at Sorrento; Martial shall speak in his turn: o temperatae dulce Formiae litus, vos, cum severi fugit oppidum Martis et inquietas fessus exuit curas, Apollinaris omnibus locis praefert. * * * * * hic summa leni stringitur Thetis vento: nec languet aequor, viva sed quies ponti pictam phaselon adiuvante fert aura, sicut puellae lion amantis aestatem mota salubre purpura venit frigus. nec saeta longo quaerit in mari praedam, sed a cubili lectuloque iactatam spectatus alte lineam trahit piscis. * * * * * frui sed istis quando, Roma, permittis? quot Formianos imputat dies annus negotiosis rebus urbis haerenti? o ianitores vilicique felices! dominis parantur ista, serviunt vobis[663] (x. 30).