The friends of Mercury, check'd the blowIn mid descent. Be sure to payThe victims and the fane you owe;Your bard a humbler lamb will slay.Carven ivory have I noneNo golden cornice in my dwelling shines;Pillars choice of Libyan stoneUpbear no architrave from Attic mines;'Twas not mine to enter inTo Attalus' broad realms, an unknown heir,Nor for me fair clients spinLaconian purples for their patron's wear.Truth is mine, and Genius mine;The rich man comes, and knocks at my low door:Favour'd thus, I ne'er repine,Nor weary out indulgent Heaven for more:In my Sabine homestead blest,Why should I further tax a generous friend?Suns are hurrying suns a-west,And newborn moons make speed to meet their end.