Mec. Your majesty's high grace to poesy, Shall stand 'gainst all the dull detractions Of leaden souls; who, for the vain assumings Of some, quite worthless of her sovereign wreaths, Contain her worthiest prophets in contempt. Gal. Happy is Rome of all earth's other states, To have so true and great a president, For her inferior spirits to imitate, As Caesar is; who addeth to the sun Influence and lustre; in increasing thus His inspirations, kindling fire in us.
Hor. Phoebus himself shall kneel at Caesar's shrine, And deck it with bay garlands dew'd with wine, To quit the worship Caesar does to him: Where other princes, hoisted to their thrones By Fortune's passionate and disorder'd power, Sit in their height, like clouds before the sun, Hindering his comforts; and, by their excess Of cold in virtue, and cross heat in vice, Thunder and tempest on those learned heads, Whom Caesar with such honour doth advance.
Tib. All human business fortune doth command Without all order; and with her blind hand, She, blind, bestows blind gifts, that still have nurst, They see not who, nor how, but still, the worst.
Caes. Caesar, for his rule, and for so much stuff As Fortune puts in his hand, shall dispose it, As if his hand had eyes and soul in it, With worth and judgment. Hands, that part with gifts Or will restrain their use, without desert, Or with a misery numb'd to virtue's right, Work, as they had no soul to govern them, And quite reject her; severing their estates From human order. Whosoever can, And will not cherish virtue, is no man. [Enter some of the Equestrian Order. Eques. Virgil is now at hand, imperial Caesar.
Caes. Rome's honour is at hand then. Fetch a chair, And set it on our right hand, where 'tis fit Rome's honour and our own should ever sit. Now he is come out of Campania, I doubt not he hath finish'd all his AEneids. Which, like another soul, I long to enjoy. What think you three of Virgil, gentlemen, That are of his profession, though rank'd higher; Or, Horace, what say'st thou, that art the poorest, And likeliest to envy, or to detract
Hor. Caesar speaks after common men in this, To make a difference of me for my poorness; As if the filth of poverty sunk as deep Into a knowing spirit, as the bane Of riches doth into an ignorant soul. No, Caesar, they be pathless, moorish minds That being once made rotten with the dung Of damned riches, ever after sink Beneath the steps of any villainy. But knowledge is the nectar that keeps sweet A perfect soul, even in this grave of sin; And for my soul, it is as free as Caesar's, For what 1 know is due I'll give to all. He that detracts or envies virtuous merit, Is still the covetous and the ignorant spirit.