O! may I live where no such fears molest,
No midnight fires burst on my hour of rest!
For here 'tis terrour all: midst the loud cry
Of "water! water!" the scared neighbours fly,
With all their haste can seize—the flames aspire,
And the third floor is wrapt in smoke and fire,
While you, unconscious, doze: Up, ho! and know,
The impetuous blaze which spreads dismay below,
By swift degrees will reach the aërial cell,
Where, crouching, underneath the tiles you dwell,
Where your tame doves their golden couplets rear,
"And you could no mischance, but drowning fear!"
"Codrus had but one bed, and that, too short,
For his short wife;" his goods, of every sort,
Were else but few:-six little pipkins graced
His cupboard head, a little can was placed
On a snug shelf beneath, and near it lay,
A Chiron, of the same cheap marble,-clay.
And was this all! O no: he yet possest,

A few Greek books, shrined in an ancient chest,
Where barbarous mice through many an inlet crept,
And fed on heavenly numbers, while he slept.-
"Codrus, in short, had nothing." You say true;
And yet poor Codrus lost that nothing, too!
One curse alone was wanting, to complete

His woes that, cold and hungry, through the street,
The wretch should beg, and, in the hour of need,
Find none to lodge, to clothe him, or to feed!
But should the raging flames on grandeur prey,
And low in dust Asturius' palace lay,
The squalid matron sighs, the senate mourns,
The pleaders cease, the judge the court adjourns;

C

Tunc gemimus casus Urbis, tunc odimus ignem.

Ardet adhuc, et jam accurrit qui marmora donet,
Conferat impensas. Hic nuda et candida signa,

Hic aliquid praeclarum Euphranoris et Polycleti

Haec Asianorum vetera ornamenta Deorum,

Hic libros dabit et forulos mediamque Minervam,

Hic modium argenti

Meliora ac plura reponit

Persicus orborum lautissimus et merito jam

Suspectus, tanquam ipse suas incenderit aedes.
Si potes avelli Circensibus, optima Sorae

Aut Fabrateriae domus aut Frusinone paratur,
Quanti nunc tenebras unum conducis in annum.
Hortulus hic puteusque brevis nec reste movendus
In tenues plantas facili diffunditur haustu.

Vive bidentis amans et culti villicus horti,

Unde epulum possis centum dare Pythagoreis.

Est aliquid, quocunque loco, quocunque recessu,

Unius sese dominum fecisse lacertae.

Plurimus hic aeger moritur vigilando: sed illum

Languorem peperit cibus imperfectus et haerens

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230

All join to wail the city's hapless fate,

And rail at fire with more than common hate.
Lo! while it burns, the obsequious courtiers haste,"
With rich materials, to repair the waste:

This, brings him marble, that, a finish'd piece,
The far-famed boast of Polyclete and Greece ;
This, ornaments, which graced of old the fane
Of Asia's gods; that, figured plate and plain;
This, cases, books, and busts the shelves to grace,
And piles of coin his specie to replace—
So much the childless Persian swells his store,
(Though deem'd the richest of the rich before,)
That all ascribe the flames to thirst of pelf,
And swear, Asturius fired his house himself.
O, had you, from the Circus, power to fly,
In many a halcyon village, might you buy
Some elegant retreat, for what will, here,
Scarce hire a gloomy dungeon through the year!
There wells, by nature form'd, which need no rope,
No labouring arm, to crane their waters up,
Around your lawn their facile streams shall shower,
And cheer the springing plant, and opening flower.
There live, delighted with the rustick's lot,
And till, with your own hands, the little spot;
The little spot shall yield you large amends,
And glad, with many a feast, your Samian friends.
And, sure,-in any corner we can get,

To call one lizard ours, is something yet!

Flush'd with a mass of indigested food,

Which clogs the stomach, and inflames the blood,
What crowds, with watching wearied and o'erprest,
Curse the slow hours, and die for want of rest!

Ardenti stomacho.

Nam quae meritoria somnum

Admittunt? Magnis opibus dormitur in Urbe.
Inde caput morbi. Redarum transitus arcto
Vicorum inflexu et stantis convicia mandrae
Eripient somnum Druso vitulisque marinis.
Si vocat officium, turba cedente vehetur
Dives et ingenti curret super ora Liburno,

Atque obiter leget aut scribet vel dormiet intus;
Namque facit somnum clausa lectica fenestra.
Ante tamen veniet: nobis properantibus obstat
Unda prior, magno populus premit agmine lumbos,
Qui sequitur; ferit hic cubito, ferit assere duro.
Alter at hic tignum capiti incutit, ille metretam.
Pinguia crura luto, planta mox undique magna
Calcor, et in digito clavus mihi militis haeret.

Nonne vides, quanto celebretur sportula fumo?
Centum convivae: sequitur sua quemque culina.
Corbulo vix ferret tot vasa ingentia, tot res
Impositas capiti, quot recto vertice portat

Servulus infelix et cursu ventilat ignem.
Scinduntur tunicae sartae modo; longa coruscat
Sarraco veniente abies, atque altera pinum
Plaustra vehunt: nutant alte populoque minantur.
Nam si procubuit, qui saxa Ligustica portat,

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250

For who can hope his languid lids to close,
Where brawling taverns banish all repose?
Sleep, to the rich alone, "his visit pays:"
And hence the seeds of many a dire disease.
The carts loud rumbling through the narrow way,
The drivers' clamours at each casual stay,
From drowsy Drusus would his slumber take,
And keep the calves of Proteus broad awake!

If business call, obsequious crowds divide,
While o'er their heads the rich securely ride,
By tall Illyrians borne, and read, or write,
Or (should the early hour to rest invite,)
Close the soft litter, and enjoy the night.

Yet reach they first the goal; while, by the throng
Elbow'd and jostled, scarce we creep along;

}

Sharp strokes from poles, tubes, rafters, doom'd to feel;
And plaister'd o'er with mud, from head to heel :
While the rude soldier gores us as he goes,
Or marks, in blood, his progress on our toes!
See, from the Dole, a vast tumultuous throng,
Each follow'd by his kitchen, pours along!
Huge pans, which Corbulo could scarce uprear,
With steady neck a puny slave must bear,
And, lest amid the way the flames expire,
Glide nimbly on, and gliding, fan the fire;
Through the close press with sinuous efforts wind,
And, piece by piece, leave his botch'd rags behind.
Hark! groaning on, the unwieldy waggon spreads
Its cumbrous load, tremendous! o'er our heads,
Projecting elm or pine, that nods on high,
And threatens death to every passer by.

Heavens! should the axle crack, which bears a weight