Fra Marc Antonio Cesti, in his later life a monk in the monastery of Arezzo, and chapel-master of the Emperor Ferdinand III., was a pupil of Carissimi, and devoted much attention to the cantata, the recitative of which he greatly improved. One of his most celebrated compositions of this kind was entitled, "O cara Liberta," and selections from it are given both by Burney and Hawkins. He must have been one of the jolly monks of old, for all his cantatas are secular in character, and he was frequently censured for devoting so much time to theatrical instead of church music. Luigi Rossi was contemporary with Cesti, and has left several cantatas which are conspicuous for length and pedantry rather than for elegance or melodious charm. Giovanni Legrenzi of Bergamo, the master of Lotti and Gasparini, published twenty-four cantatas in Venice between 1674 and 1679, which were great favorites in his time. The celebrated painter Salvator Rosa not only wrote the words for many cantatas by his musical friends, but it is known that he composed both words and music to eight. The texts of these works have preserved for posterity pictures more graphic than any he could paint of his misanthropical character; for when he is not railing against his mistress he is launching satires against Nature and mankind in general. In one of these he complains that the earth is barren and the sun is dark. If he goes out to see a friend, it always rains. If he goes on shipboard, it always storms. If he buys provisions at the market, the bones outweigh the flesh. If he goes to court-- "The attendants at my dress make sport; Point at my garb, threadbare and shabby, And shun me, like a leper scabby." His only wealth is hope, which points to nothing better than "workhouse or a rope." In the heat of summer he has to trudge in winter clothes. He cannot even run away from misfortune. In a word, nothing pleases the poor painter, as is evident from the gloomy moral which "adorns the tale":-- "Then learn from me, ye students all, Whose wants are great and hopes are small, That better 'tis at once to die Than linger thus in penury; For 'mongst the ills with which we're curst, To live a beggar is the worst."