Section XI.

[a] Nero’s ambition to excel in poetry was not only ridiculous, but, at the same time, destructive to Lucan, and almost all the good authors of the age.  See Annals, b. xv.  According to the old scholiast on the Satires of Persius, the following verses were either written by Nero, or made in imitation of that emperor’s style: 

     Torva Mimalloneis implerunt cornua bombis,
     Et raptum vitulo caput ablatura superbo
     Bassaris, et lyncem Maenas flexura corymbis,
     Evion ingeminat:  reparabilis adsonat echo.

The affectation of rhyme, which many ages afterwards was the essential part of monkish verse, the tumour of the words, and the wretched penury of thought, may be imputed to a frivolous prince, who studied his art of poetry in the manner described by Tacitus, Annals, b. xiv. s. 16.  And yet it may be a question, whether the satirist would have the hardiness to insert the very words of an imperial poet, armed with despotic power.  A burlesque imitation would answer the purpose; and it may be inferred from another passage in the same poem, that Persius was content to ridicule the mode of versification then in vogue at court.

     Claudere sic versum didicit; Berecynthius Attin,
     Et qui caeruleum dirimebat Nerea Delphin. 
     Sic costam longo subduximus Apennino.

[b] Vatinius was a favourite at the court of Nero.  Tacitus calls him the spawn of a cook’s-shop and a tippling-house; sutrinae et tabernae alumnus.  He recommended himself to the favour of the prince by his scurrility and vulgar humour.  Being, by those arts, raised above himself, he became the declared enemy of all good men, and acted a distinguished part among the vilest instruments of that pernicious court.  See his character, Annals xv. s. 34.  When an illiberal and low buffoon basks in the sunshine of a court, and enjoys exorbitant power, the cause of literature can have nothing to expect.  The liberal arts must, by consequence, be degraded by a corrupt taste, and learning will be left to run wild and grow to seed.

Section XII.

[a] That poetry requires a retreat from the bustle of the world, has been so often repeated, that it is now considered as a truth, from which there can be no appeal.  Milton, it is true, wrote his Paradise Lost in a small house near Bunhill Fields; and Dryden courted the muse in the hurry and dissipation of a town life.  But neither of them fixed his residence by choice.  Pope grew immortal on the banks of the Thames.  But though the country seems to be the seat of contemplation, two great writers have been in opposite opinions.  Cicero says, woods and groves, and rivers winding through the meadows, and the refreshing breeze, with the melody of birds, may have their attraction; but they rather relax the mind into indolence, than rouse our attention, or give vigour to our faculties. Sylvarum amaenitas,