Each Roman's wealth was little worth,His country's much; no colonnadeFor private pleasance wooed the NorthWith cool “prolixity of shade.”None might the casual sod disdainTo roof his home; a town alone,At public charge, a sacred faneWere honour'd with the pomp of stone.For ease, in wide Aegean caught,The sailor prays, when clouds are hidingThe moon, nor shines of starlight aughtFor seaman's guiding:For ease the Mede, with quiver gay:For ease rude Thrace, in battle cruel:Can purple buy it, Grosphus? Nay,Nor gold, nor jewel.No pomp, no lictor clears the way'Mid rabble-routs of troublous feelings,Nor quells the cares that sport and playRound gilded ceilings.