Pans, cans, and piss-pots, a whole kitchen trade. } Adorn your doors with laurels; and a bull, Milk white, and large, lead to the Capitol; Sejanus with a rope is dragged along, The sport and laughter of the giddy throng! Good Lord! they cry, what Ethiop lips he has; How foul a snout, and what a hanging face! By heaven, I never could endure his sight! But say, how came his monstrous crimes to light? What is the charge, and who the evidence, (The saviour of the nation and the prince?) Nothing of this; but our old Cæsar sent A noisy letter to his parliament. Nay, sirs, if Cæsar writ, I ask no more; He's guilty, and the question's out of door. How goes the mob? (for that's a mighty thing,) When the king's trump, the mob are for the king: They follow fortune, and the common cry Is still against the rogue condemned to die. But the same very mob, that rascal crowd, Had cried Sejanus, with a shout as loud, Had his designs (by fortune's favour blest) Succeeded, and the prince's age opprest. But long, long since, the times have changed their face, The people grown degenerate and base; Not suffered now the freedom of their choice To make their magistrates, and sell their voice. Our wise forefathers, great by sea and land, Had once the power and absolute command; All offices of trust themselves disposed; Raised whom they pleased, and whom they pleased deposed: But we, who give our native rights away, And our enslaved posterity betray, Are now reduced to beg an alms, and go On holidays to see a puppet-show. There was a damned design, cries one, no doubt, For warrants are already issued out: I met Brutidius in a mortal fright, He's dipt for certain, and plays least in sight; I fear the rage of our offended prince, Who thinks the senate slack in his defence. Come, let us haste, our loyal zeal to show, And spurn the wretched corpse of Cæsar's foe: But let our slaves be present there; lest they Accuse their masters, and for gain betray.-- Such were the whispers of those jealous times, About Sejanus' punishment and crimes. Now, tell me truly, wouldst thou change thy fate, To be, like him, first minister of state? To have thy levees crowded with resort, Of a depending, gaping, servile court; Dispose all honours of the sword and gown, Grace with a nod, and ruin with a frown; To hold thy prince in pupillage, and sway That monarch, whom the mastered world obey? While he, intent on secret lusts alone, Lives to himself, abandoning the throne; Cooped in a narrow isle,[144] observing dreams With flattering wizards, and erecting schemes! I well believe thou wouldst be great as he, For every man's a fool to that degree: All wish the dire prerogative to kill;