Pray, if it gives you comfort, that death may reunite;
Or hope that, re-embodied, your soul may take fresh flight;
But shun the necromancer who poisons with his breath
The calmness of the living, the dignity of death.
C. L. Graves.
IX
YEARS agone, though not so many, I was prompted to complain
Of the City's deep encroachment on our arable domain,
Watching with a grave misgiving fields that once were rich in wheat
Overrun with royal mansions, busy mart or crowded street.
All around the mason's trowel or the carver's chisel rang,
Palaces and baths and temples swiftly into being sprang;
Dealers in imported marbles quite colossal fortunes made,
And the builder and contractor drove a truly roaring trade.
But the rigorous enforcement of new sumptuary laws
To this craze for bricks and mortar gave a salutary pause;
Private enterprise in building long has been severely checked,
And the doom of unemployment dogs the hapless architect.
Luxury is at a discount; even villa roofs are thatched;
Senators appear in togas palpably and freely patched;
Frugal fare is all the fashion; Iccius and his greedy wife,
Once disciples of Lucullus, now affect the simple life.
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