Grieved though I am an ancient friend to lose, } I like the solitary seat he chose, } In quiet Cumæ[78] fixing his repose: } Where, far from noisy Rome, secure he lives, And one more citizen to Sybil gives; The road to Baiæ,[79] and that soft recess Which all the gods with all their bounty bless; Though I in Prochyta[80] with greater ease Could live, than in a street of palaces. What scene so desert, or so full of fright, } As towering houses, tumbling in the night, } And Rome on fire beheld by its own blazing light? } But worse than all the clattering tiles, and worse Than thousand padders, is the poet's curse; Rogues, that in dog-days cannot rhyme forbear,[81] But without mercy read, and make you hear. Now while my friend, just ready to depart, Was packing all his goods in one poor cart, He stopt a little at the Conduit-gate, Where Numa modelled once the Roman state,[82] In mighty councils with his nymph retired;[83] Though now the sacred shades and founts are hired By banished Jews, who their whole wealth can lay In a small basket, on a wisp of hay;[84] Yet such our avarice is, that every tree Pays for his head, nor sleep itself is free; Nor place, nor persons, now are sacred held, From their own grove the muses are expelled. Into this lonely vale our steps we bend, I and my sullen discontented friend; The marble caves and aqueducts we view; But how adulterate now, and different from the true! How much more beauteous had the fountain been Embellished with her first created green, Where crystal streams through living turf had run, Contented with an urn of native stone! Then thus Umbritius, with an angry frown, And looking back on this degenerate town:-- Since noble arts in Rome have no support, And ragged virtue not a friend at court, No profit rises from the ungrateful stage, My poverty encreasing with my age; 'Tis time to give my just disdain a vent, And, cursing, leave so base a government. Where Dædalus his borrowed wings laid by,[85] To that obscure retreat I chuse to fly: While yet few furrows on my face are seen, } While I walk upright, and old age is green, } And Lachesis has somewhat left to spin.[86] } Now, now 'tis time to quit this cursed place, And hide from villains my too honest face: Here let Arturius live,[87] and such as he; Such manners will with such a town agree. Knaves, who in full assemblies have the knack Of turning truth to lies, and white to black, Can hire large houses, and oppress the poor By farmed excise; can cleanse the common-shore,