There my retreat the best Companions grace,
Chiefs out of war, and Statesmen out of place.
There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl
The feast of reason and the flow of soul:
And he, whose lightning pierced the Iberian lines,
Now forms my Quincunx and now ranks my vines,
Or tames the genius of the stubborn plain,
Almost as quickly as he conquered Spain.
That Naevius is no longer read (Ep. II, i, 53) affects us slightly, for of Naevius we know nothing; Pope substitutes a writer known and admired still:
Who now reads Cowley? if he pleases yet,