He gave me in his princely way
My little Sabine farm.
But now, forsooth, your merry crew—
O Tempora! O Mores!—
What do they ever get from you—
Your Laura, Pan, Dolores?
[p 216]
]They fill the Line with verse and wheeze,
To them your fame is due.
What do they ever get for these?
Maecenas? Ha! Ha! You?