Hor monologue (Act 4) — The Poetaster

What shall I do? Milonius shakes his heels In ceaseless dances, when his brain once feels The stirring fervour of the wine ascend; And that his eyes false numbers apprehend. Castor his horse, Pollux loves handy-fights; A thousand heads, a thousand choice delights. My pleasure is in feet my words to close, As, both our better, old Lucilius does: He, as his trusty friends, his books did trust With all his secrets; nor, in things unjust, Or actions lawful, ran to other men: So that the old man's life described, was seen As in a votive table in his lines: And to his steps my genius inclines; Lucanian, or Apulian, I know not whether, For the Venusian colony ploughs either; Sent thither, when the Sabines were forced thence, As old Fame sings, to give the place defence 'Gainst such as, seeing it empty, might make road Upon the empire; or there fix abode: Whether the Apulian borderer it were, Or the Lucanian violence they fear.--- But this my style no living man shall touch, If first I be not forced by base reproach; But like a sheathed sword it shall defend My innocent life; for why should I contend To draw it out, when no malicious thief Robs my good name, the treasure of my life? O Jupiter, let it with rust be eaten, Before it touch, or insolently threaten The life of any with the least disease; So much I love, and woo a general peace. But, he that wrongs me, better, I proclaim, He never had assay'd to touch my fame. For he shall weep, and walk with every tongue Throughout the city, infamously sung. Servius the praetor threats the laws, and urn, If any at his deeds repine or spurn; The witch Canidia, that Albutius got, Denounceth witchcraft, where she loveth not; Thurius the judge, doth thunder worlds of ill, To such as strive with his judicial will. All men affright their foes in what they may, Nature commands it, and men must obey. Observe with me: The wolf his tooth doth use, The bull his horn; and who doth this infuse, But nature? There's luxurious Scaeva; trust His long-lived mother with him; his so just And scrupulous right-hand no mischief will; No more than with his heel a wolf will kill, Or ox with jaw: marry, let him alone With temper'd poison to remove the croan. But briefly, if to age I destined be, Or that quick death's black wings environ me; If rich, or poor; at Rome; or fate command I shall be banished to some other land; What hue soever my whole state shall bear, I will write satires still, in spite of fear.