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.

Treb. 
   Horace, I fear thou draw’st no lasting breath;
   And that some great man’s friend will be thy death.

Hor. 
   What! when the man that first did satirise
   Durst pull the skin over the ears of vice,
   And make who stood in outward fashion clear,
   Give place, as foul within; shall I forbear? 
   Did Laelius, or the man so great with fame,
   That from sack’d Carthage fetch’d his worthy name,
   Storm that Lucilius did Metellus pierce,
   Or bury Lupus quick in famous verse? 
   Rulers and subjects, by whole tribes he checkt,
   But virtue and her friends did still protect: 
   And when from sight, or from the judgment-seat,
   The virtuous Scipio and wise Laelius met,
   Unbraced, with him in all light sports they shared,
   Till their most frugal suppers were