All this is doggrel stuff. FRIEND. What if I bring A nobler verse? "Arms and the man I sing." PERSIUS. Why name you Virgil with such fops as these? He's truly great, and must for ever please: Not fierce, but aweful, is his manly page; Bold is his strength, but sober is his rage. FRIEND. What poems think you soft, and to be read With languishing regards, and bending head? PERSIUS. "Their crooked horns the Mimallonian crew With blasts inspired;[187] and Bassaris, who slew The scornful calf, with sword advanced on high, Made from his neck his haughty head to fly: And Mænas, when with ivy bridles bound, } She led the spotted lynx, then Evion rung around; } Evion from woods and floods repairing echo's sound." } Could such rude lines a Roman mouth become, Were any manly greatness left in Rome? Mænas and Atys[188] in the mouth were bred, And never hatched within the labouring head; No blood from bitten nails those poems drew, But churned, like spittle, from the lips they flew. FRIEND. 'Tis fustian all; 'tis execrably bad; But if they will be fools, must you be mad? Your satires, let me tell you, are too fierce; The great will never bear so blunt a verse. Their doors are barred against a bitter flout; Snarl, if you please, but you shall snarl without. Expect such pay as railing rhymes deserve; You're in a very hopeful way to starve. PERSIUS.