"Yet could the freedman's son but wield his flail
In London, there are those might shrink and pale
As did Domitian's minion.
Paris lives yet, pander and parasite
Still flaunt in bold impunity, despite
A custom-freed opinion.
"Dull in the drawing-room, our beardless boys
Can sparkle in the haunts of coarser joys,
Coldness and muteness vanish
When Tullia dances or when Pollio sings.