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.You have hands to square and hewVast marble-blocks, hard on your day of doom,Ever building mansions new,Nor thinking of the mansion of the tomb.Now you press on ocean's bound,Where waves on Baiae beat, as earth were scant;Now absorb your neighbour's ground,And tear his landmarks up, your own to plant.Hedges set round clients' farmsYour avarice tramples; see, the outcasts fly,Wife and husband, in their armsTheir fathers' gods, their squalid family.