and an eager eye. As soon as he finished, I am prepared, said Maternus
smiling, to exhibit a charge against the professors of oratory, which
may, perhaps, counterbalance the praise so lavishly bestowed upon them
by my friend. In the course of what he said, I was not surprised to
see him going out of his way, to lay poor poetry prostrate at his
feet. He has, indeed, shewn some kindness to such as are not blessed
with oratorical talents. He has passed an act of indulgence in their
favour, and they, it seems, are allowed to pursue their favourite
studies. For my part, I will not say that I think myself wholly
unqualified for the eloquence of the bar. It may be true, that I have
some kind of talent for that profession; but the tragic muse affords
superior pleasure. My first attempt was in the reign of Nero, in
opposition to the extravagant claims of the prince [a], and in
defiance of the domineering spirit of Vatinius [b], that pernicious
favourite, by whose coarse buffoonery the muses were every day
disgraced, I might say, most impiously prophaned. The portion of fame,
whatever it be, that I have acquired since that time, is to be
attributed, not to the speeches which I made in the forum, but to the
power of dramatic composition. I have, therefore, resolved to take my
leave of the bar for ever. The homage of visitors, the train of
attendants, and the multitude of clients, which glitter so much in the
eyes of my friend, have no attraction for me. I regard them as I do
pictures, and busts, and statues of brass; things, which indeed are in
my family, but they came unlooked for, without my stir, or so much as
a wish on my part. In my humble station, I find that innocence is a
better shield than oratory. For the last I shall have no occasion,
unless I find it necessary, on some future occasion, to exert myself
in the just defence of an injured friend.

XII. But woods, and groves [a], and solitary places, have not escaped
the satyrical vein of my friend. To me they afford sensations of a
pure delight. It is there I enjoy the pleasures of a poetic
imagination; and among those pleasures it is not the least, that they
are pursued far from the noise and bustle of the world, without a
client to besiege my doors, and not a criminal to distress me with the
tears of affliction. Free from those distractions, the poet retires to
scenes of solitude, where peace and innocence reside. In those haunts
of contemplation, he has his pleasing