3. To Priscus
S LAVES' jargon, filthy venom, he doth spit,
The scenes of Billingsgate it might befit,
Pedlars who prowl the slums for broken glass
Would scorn to give a sulphur match for it.
He calls it mine to sully my repute,
The slinking knave is easy to refute;
Would parrots copy quails, would Canus take
The squealing bagpipes for the mellow flute?
Far from my books be that degraded fame,
They soar on jewelled wings unmarred of shame;
'Twill cost me nothing if I hold my peace—
Then wherefore toil to win a sullied name?
The scenes of Billingsgate it might befit,
Pedlars who prowl the slums for broken glass
Would scorn to give a sulphur match for it.
He calls it mine to sully my repute,
The slinking knave is easy to refute;
Would parrots copy quails, would Canus take
The squealing bagpipes for the mellow flute?
Far from my books be that degraded fame,
They soar on jewelled wings unmarred of shame;
'Twill cost me nothing if I hold my peace—
Then wherefore toil to win a sullied name?
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