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Oh! rather than be saves to bold imperious men,
Give us our wildness, and our woods, our huts, and

caves again.


There, secure from lawless sway,
Out of Pride or Envy's way ;
Living up to Nature's rules,

Not deprav'd by knaves and fools ;
Happily we all should live, and harmless as our fheep,
And at last as calmly die as infants fall asleep.

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0! to prevent this mighty empire's doom,

From bright unknown abodes of bliss I come, The awful genius of majestic Rome. Great is her danger : but I will engage Some few, the matier-fouls of all this age, To do an act of just heroic rage. 'Tis hard, a man so great should fall so low; More hard to let so brave a people bow To one ihemselves have rais'd, who scorns them now,

Yet, oh! I grieve t! at Brutus Mould be stain'd,
Whose life, excepting this one act, remain'd
So pure, that future times will think it feign'd.

But only he can make the rest combine;
The very life and soul of their design,
The centre, where those mighty fpirits join.


Unthinking men no sort of fcruples make;
Others do ill, only for mischief's fake;
But ev’n the best are guilty by mistake.
Thus fome for envy, or revenge, intend
To bring the bold ufurper to his end :
But for his country Brutus stabs his friend.


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ELL, oh! tell me, whence arise

These disorders in our skies?
Rome's great genius wildly gaz'd,
And the gods feem all amaz'd.

Know, in light of this day's fun,
Such a deed is to be done,
Black enough to shroud the light
Of all this world in dismal night.

1. What is this deed ?


To kill a man, The greatest since mankind began : Learned, eloquent, and wise, Generous, merciful, and brave!

1. Yet not too great a sacrifice,

The liberty of Rome to save ?

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II. But

But will not goodness claim regard,
And does not worth deserve reward ?

Does not their country lic at stake?
Can they do too much for her fake?



all :

Though dreadful be this doom of fate,

Just is that power which governs

Better this wondrous man fhould fall, Than a most glorious, virtuous state.

CHORUS IV. How TOW great a curse has Providence

Thought fit to cast on human-kind ! Learning, courage, eloquence,

The gentlest nature, noblest mind,
Were intermixt in one alone ;
Yet in one moinent overthrown.


Could chance, or senseless atoms, join

To form a foul so great as his?
Or would those powers we hold divine,

Destroy their own chief master-piece?
Where so much difficulty lies,
The doubtful are the only wise.
And, what must more perplex our thoughts,

Great Jove the best of Romans fends,
To do the very worst of faults,
And kill the kindeft of his friends.

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UR scene is Athens. And, great Athens nam’d,

What foul so dull as not to be inflam'd ?
Methinks, at mentioning that sacred place,
A reverend awe appears in every face,
For men fo fam’d, of such prodigious parts,
As taught the world all sciences and arts.

Amidst all these ye shall behold a man
The most applauded since mankind began,
Out-thining ev’n those Greeks who most excel,
Whofe life was one fix'd course of doing well.
Oh! who can therefore without tears attend
On such a life, and fuch a fatal end?

But here our author, besides other faults
Of ill expressions, and of vulgar thoughts,
Commits one crime that needs an act of grace,
And breaks the law of unity of place :
Yet to fuch noble patriots, overcome
By factious violence, and banish'd Rome,
Athens alone a fit retreat could yield ;
And where can Brutus fall, but in Philippi field ?



Some critics judge ev'n love itself too mean A care to mix in such a lofty scene, And with those ancient bards of Greece believe Friendthip has stronger charms to please or grieve :: But our more amorous poet, finding love Amidst all other cares, still hines above, ! Lets not the beit of Romans end their lives Without just softness for the kindest wives, Yet, if ye think his gentle nature such As to have soften'd this great tale too much, Soon will your eyes grow dry, and pallion fall, Wiren ye reficct 'tis all but conjugal.

This to the few and knowing was addreft ;
And now it's fit I should salute the rest.

Most reverend dull judges of the pit,
By nature curs’d with the wrong side of wit!
You need not care, what-e'er you fee to-night,
How ill some players act, or poets write;
Should our be never so notorious,
You 'll have the joy of being more cenforious ::
Shew your finall talent then, let that fuffice ye;
But grow not vain upon it, I advise ye;
Each petty critic can objections raise,
The greatest skill is knowing when to praife..

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