Since from the pitch of affluence cast;
With Friends, Fame, Fortune out of date,
Eugenio moans his hapless fate:
Like the poor Starling in his cage,
He fluttering spends his idle rage;
And all his cry, and all his rout,
Is, Well-a-day! I can’t get out.
Friend to the Muse, alas! no more
His fancy roves in classic lore;
His senses flag, his eyes grow blind,