Nor can I make my soul a merchandise, Seeking conceits to suit these artless times; Or deign for base reward to poetise, Soothing the world with oily flatteries. 10 Shall mercenary thoughts provoke me write-- Shall I for lucre be a parasite? Shall I once pen for vulgar sorts applause, To please each hound, each dungy scavenger; To fit some oyster-wench's yawning jaws With tricksey tales of speaking Cornish daws?[483] First let my brain (bright-hair'd Latona's son) Be clean distract with all confusion. What though some John-à-Stile will basely toil, Only incited with the hope of gain: 20 Though roguey thoughts do force some jade-like moil; Yet no such filth my true-born muse will soil. O Epictetus, I do honour thee, To think how rich thou wert in poverty! [482] Motto. [483] "Cornish daws"--jackdaws. _Ad rhythmum._ Come, pretty pleasing symphony of words, Ye well-match'd twins (whose like-tuned tongues affords Such musical delight), come willingly And dance lavoltas in my poesy. Come all as easy as spruce Curio will, In some court-hall, to show his cap'ring skill; As willingly come, meet and jump together As new-join'd loves, when they do clip each other; As willingly as wenches trip around About a May-pole after bagpipe's sound; 10 Come, rhyming numbers, come and grace conceit, Adding a pleasing close, with your deceit Enticing ears. Let not my ruder hand Seem once to force you in my lines to stand; Be not so fearful (pretty souls) to meet As Flaccus is the sergeant's face to greet; Be not so backward, loth to grace my sense, As Drusus is to have intelligence His dad's alive; but come into my head As jocundly as (when his wife was dead) 20 Young Lælius to his home. Come, like-faced rhyme, In tuneful numbers keeping music's time; But if you hang an arse, like Tubered, When Chremes dragg'd him from his brothel bed, Then hence, base ballad-stuff, my poetry Disclaims you quite; for know my liberty Scorns rhyming laws. Alas, poor idle sound! Since I first Phoebus knew I never found Thy interest in sacred poesy; Thou to invention add'st but surquedry, 30 A gaudy ornature, but hast no part In that soul-pleasing high infusèd art. Then if thou wilt clip kindly in my lines, Welcome, thou friendly aid of my designs: If not, no title of my senseless change To wrest some forcèd rhyme, but freely range. Ye scrupulous observers, go and learn Of Æsop's dog; meat from a shade discern. SATIRE V. _Totum in toto._