After this ingenuous confession, these gentlemen would have had us read some passages of Dictys, of Crete, and Metrodorus of Lampsacus, which Scaliger had spoiled. We thanked them for their kind offer, and continued our journey. We had not walked a hundred steps, when we met a person surrounded with painters, architects, carvers, gilders, pretended connoisseurs, and flatterers. They turned their backs to the Temple of Taste.
With air important, pride reposed,
His face with gravity composed,
Then Crassus, snoring, cried: "I've store
Of gold, of wit and genius more:
With taste, sir, I am amply fraught,
I know all things, yet ne'er was taught;
I'm skilled in council and affairs,
In spite of tempests and corsairs;
My vessel safe to port I've brought,
With pirates, and with winds I've fought,
A palace, therefore, I shall raise,
Which every man of taste will praise,
Where every art shall be displayed,
Which shall with wonder be surveyed.
The money's ready, no delay,"
He said and slept. They all obey:
This is no sooner said than done,
To labor all the workmen run.
To a Vitruvius pride erects
One of our modern architects,
Resolving to do something new,
A plan too much adorned he drew;
No porch or front the pile could show,
But your eye meets an endless row,
