Epigram 29: I hate the bard who strolls along

I hate the bard who strolls along,
And sells in streets his borrow’d song;
I seldom walk the public way,
Where here and there the vulgar stray ;
Inconstant friends I never court,
Nor to the common spring resort ;
I still despise the rabble’s rage,
Nor with the noisy crowd engage.
Tis fine, ’tis fine, a reader cries:
Indignant Echo thus replies,
Though ne’er so good, perhaps divine,
Another bard wrote every line.