But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost? Who eats and drinks with his domestic slaves, A verier hind than any of his knaves? Born with the curse and anger of the gods, And that indulgent genius he defrauds? At harvest-home, and on the shearing-day, When he should thanks to Pan and Pales pay, And better Ceres,[225] trembling to approach The little barrel, which he fears to broach; He 'says the wimble, often draws it back, And deals to thirsty servants but a smack. To a short meal he makes a tedious grace, Before the barley-pudding comes in place: Then bids fall on; himself, for saving charges, A peeled sliced onion eats, and tipples verjuice.-- Thus fares the drudge: but thou, whose life's a dream Of lazy pleasures, takest a worse extreme. 'Tis all thy business, business how to shun; To bask thy naked body in the sun; Suppling thy stiffened joints with fragrant oil: Then, in thy spacious garden walk a while, To suck the moisture up, and soak it in; And this, thou think'st, but vainly think'st, unseen. But know, thou art observed; and there are those, Who, if they durst, would all thy secret sins expose; The depilation of thy modest part; } Thy catamite, the darling of thy heart, } His engine-hand, and every lewder art, } When, prone to bear, and patient to receive, Thou tak'st the pleasure which thou canst not give. With odorous oil thy head and hair are sleek, And then thou kemb'st the tuzzes on thy cheek; Of these thy barbers take a costly care, While thy salt tail is overgrown with hair. Not all thy pincers, nor unmanly arts, Can smooth the roughness of thy shameful parts. Not five, the strongest that the Circus breeds,[226] From the rank soil can root those wicked weeds, Though suppled first with soap, to ease thy pain; The stubborn fern springs up, and sprouts again. Thus others we with defamations wound, While they stab us, and so the jest goes round. Vain are thy hopes, to 'scape censorious eyes; Truth will appear through all the thin disguise: Thou hast an ulcer which no leach can heal, Though thy broad shoulder-belt the wound conceal. Say thou art sound and hale in every part, We know, we know thee rotten at thy heart. We know thee sullen, impotent, and proud: Nor canst thou cheat thy nerve, who cheat'st the crowd.-- But when they praise me in the neighbourhood, When the pleased people take me for a god, Shall I refuse their incense? Not receive The loud applauses which the vulgar give?-- If thou dost wealth with longing eyes behold, And greedily art gaping after gold; If some alluring girl, in gliding by, } Shall tip the wink, with a lascivious eye, }