A Poet Leaving Athens

Speak not too ill of me, Athenian friends! Nor ye, Athenian sages, speak too ill! From others of all tribes am I secure. I leave your confines: none whom you caress, Finding me hungry and athirst, shall dip Into Cephisos the grey bowl to quench My thirst, or break the horny bread, and scoop Stiffly around the scanty vase, wherewith To gather the hard honey at the sides, And give it me for having heard me sing. Sages and friends! a better cause remains For wishing no black sail upon my mast. 'Tis, friends and sages! lest, when other men Say words a little gentler, ye repent, Yet be forbidden by stern pride to share The golden cup of kindness, pushing back Your seats, and gasping for a draught of scorn. Alas! shall this too, never lackt before, Be, when you most would crave it, out of reach? Thus on the plank, now Neptune is invoked, I warn you of your peril: I must live, And ye, O friends, howe'er unwilling, may.