Skill'd in smooth words keen satire to convey,
And faults to censure whilst thou seem'st in play;
Hence know thy task, let Atreus feast prepare,
Rest thou contented with plebeian fare.
P. 'Tis true, on lofty themes I seldom dwell,
Nor love with empty sounds my verse to swell.
But now, my gentle friend, while thus the hours,
While even the inspiring Muse herself is ours,
Let me my heart unfold, and there disclose
The generous love which for Cornutus glows.
An hundred voices now I dare to ask,
For praising thee becomes thy poet's task:
Nor think these words a flattering Muse has sung;
They fall not varnish'd from a faithless tongue :
They leave my bosom to thy view reveal'd,
And own the secret which it long conceal'd.
When first, a timid youth, I knew the town,
Exchanged the purple for the virile gown,
The golden bulla from my neck unstrung,
The sacred bauble by the Lares hung,
From harsh restraint the first enlargement knew,
And crowds of parasites around me drew;
When the white shield, by youthful warriors worn,
Through all the streets of Rome by me was borne;
When too the martial dress forbade reproof,
And kept each friendly monitor aloof:
At that green age, when error most beguiles,
And Vice puts on her most seductive smiles,
Allures from virtue unsuspecting youth,
And teaches folly to abandon truth;