That hast within thee apprehensions strong
Of all that’s pure, and passionless, and heavenly—
That thou, a vapid and mawkish parasite,
Should’st pipe to that witch Fortune’s favourites!
’Tis coarse—’tis sickly—’tis as though the eagle
Should spread his sail-broad wings to flap a dunghill;
As though a pale and withering pestilence
Should ride the golden chariot of the sun;
As one should use the language of the Gods
To chatter loose and ribald brothelry.’—Fazio.