Welcome, ye shades of summer eve, that close My day among the tongues of yonder town! I would not pluck them out nor pin them down, As vengeful Fulvia did with Cicero's - Nor to mere petulance of speech assign The cruel meed of his rare excellence - Enough for me this stillness, and the sense That they no longer vex these ears of mine; I will not vent my rage on foolish lungs, Nor, even in fancy, re-enact the deed Wreak'd on the Roman, in the stress and need Of a great anger; why should ribald songs Scourge like impeaching eloquence? or why Should either tax our needles for reply? |