My prayers with this I used to charge,-- A piece of land not over large, Wherein there should a garden be, A clear spring flowing ceaselessly, And where, to crown the whole, there should A patch be found of growing wood. All this and more the gods have sent, And I am heartily content. O son of Maia,[B] that I may These bounties keep is all I pray. If ne'er by craft or base design I've swelled what little store is mine, Nor mean it ever shall be wrecked By profligacy or neglect; If never from my lips a word Shall drop of wishes so absurd As, "Had I but that little nook, Next to my land, that spoils its look!" Or, "Would some lucky chance unfold A crock to me of hidden gold, As to the man whom Hercules Enriched and settled at his ease, Who, with the treasure he had found, Bought for himself the very ground Which he before for hire had tilled!" If I with gratitude am filled For what I have--by this I dare Adjure you to fulfil my prayer, That you with fatness will endow My little herd of cattle now, And all things else their lord may own Except what wits he has, alone, And be, as heretofore, my chief Protector, guardian, and relief! So, when from town and all its ills I to my perch among the hills Retreat, what better theme to choose Than Satire for my homely muse? No fell ambition wastes me there, No, nor the south wind's leaden air, Nor Autumn's pestilential breath, With victims feeding hungry death. [B] Mercury, the god of gain, and protector of poets. The poet proceeds to contrast with his restful country life the vexatious bustle of the city, and the officious attentions which people thrust upon him because of his supposed influence with Mæcenas.