Page images

What tidings dost thou bring? Methinks, I see unusual gladness sparkling in my eyes.

Por. As I was hasting to the port, where now my father's friends, impatient for a passage, accuse the ling'ring winds, a sail arriv'd

from Pompey's son, who, through the realms of Spain, calls out for vengeance on his father's death,

and rouzes the whole nation up to arms.

Were Cato at their head, once more might Rome assert her rights, and claim her liberty.

But, hark! what means that groan? Oh give me way, and let me fly into my father's presence!

[Exit. Luc. Cato, amidst his slumbers, thinks on Rome, and, in the wild disorder of his soul,

mourns o'er his country.-Ha! a second groan !→→→ heav'n guard us all!


Alas, 't is not the voice

of one who sleeps; 't is agonizing pain,—

't is death is in that sound.

Re-enter PORTIUS.

Por. Oh, sight of woe!

oh, Marcia, what we fear'd, is come to pass!— Cato is fall'n upon his sword


Oh, Portius,

hide all the horrors of thy mournful tale,

and let us guess the rest.


I've rais'd him up,

and plac'd him in his chair: where pale and faint, he gasps for breath, and, as his life flows from him, demands to see his friends. His weeping servants, obsequious to his orders, bear him hither

[The back Scene opens, and discovers CATO. Marcia. Oh Heav'n! assist me in this dreadful hour, to pay the last sad duties to my father!

Jub. These are thy triumphs, thy exploits, O CæLuc. Now is Rome fall'n indeed!


[CATO brought forward, in his Chair.

Cato. Here set me down

Portius, come near me-Are my friends embark'd? can any thing be thought of for their service? whilst I yet live, let me not live in vain.

oh, Lucius, art thou here?-Thou art too good— i let this our friendship live between our children— make Portius happy in thy daughter Lucia.Alas poor man, he weeps!-Marcia, my daughteroh, bend me forward!--Juba loves thee, Marcia.A senator of Rome, while Rome surviv'd,

would not have match'd his daughter with a kingbut Cæsar's arms have thrown down all distinctionwhoe'er is brave and virtuous, is a RoinanI'm sick to death--Oh, when shall I get loose from this vain world, th' abode of guilt and sorrow! And yet, methinks, a beam of light break in on my departing soul.-Alas, I fear

I've been too hasty.O, ye powers, that search the heart of man, and weigh his inmost thoughts, if I have done amiss, impute it not!

the best may err, but you are good, and——Oh!— [Dies. Luc. There fled the greatest soul, that ever warm'd a Roman breast. O Cato! O my friend! thy will shall be religiouly observ'd. But let us bear this awful corpse to Cæsar, and lay it in his sight, that it may stand a fence betwixt us and the victor's wrath; Cato, tho' dead shall still protect his friends, From hence, let fierce contending nations know what dire effects from civil discord flow:

't is this, that shakes our country with alarms,
and gives up Rome a prey to Roman arms;
Produces fraud, and cruelty, and strife.
and robs the guilty world of Cato's life.
Exeunt omnes.


Occasioned by Mr. Addison's Tragedy of that name.

His ancient Rome by party-factions rent,
long since the generous Cato did lament;
himself united with his country's cause,
bravely refus'd to live, 'midst dying laws.
Pleas'd with returning liberty to come,
with joy the hero rises from his tomb;
and in Britannia finds a second Rome.
Till by repeated rage, and civil fires,
th' unhappy patriot again expires;
weeps o'er her fate, and to the gods retires.

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors]
[ocr errors]



was second son of Barnard Granville, esq. brother of the first earl of Bath of this name. Under the tuition of sir William Ellys, a pupil of Busby, young Granville travelled abroad; at the age of eleven he entered at Trinity college, Cambridge, and two years after he was created M. A. He had a strong passion for a military life, but his father uniformly checked this propensity. Prevented from trying his valour in the field, he resigned himself to the influences of the Muses. He became passionately attached to the charming but inexorable countess of Newburgh, whom he has extolled in various compositions under the epithet of Myra; but he prostituted his time, affection, talents, and fame, at the shrine of unyielding charms. His compositions are chiefly in imitation of Waller. Of his dramatic pieces the "British Enchanters," obtained the public applause for forty successive nights, under the management of Betterton. Flattered by the muse of Dryden and of Addison, at the age of forty-five he was introduced to queen Anne. Granville was in parliament for Fowley. A change in administration cut off his hopes of aggrandizement, till, at the trial of Sacheverell, 1710, he was again replaced in favour with the queen and became secretary at war in the room of Walpole. In 1711 he married Mary, lord Jersey's daughter, widow of Thomas Thynne, and the same year was created baron of Bideford, viscount Landsdowne, in Devonshire. In 1712 he was made privy counsellor, comptroller, and

afterwards treasurer of the household. The death of the queen caused him to be removed from his offices; but he remained attached to his friends, and strongly protested against the attainting of Ormond and Bolingbroke. Suspected of attachment to the pretender's party he was arrested Sep. 26, 1715 and committed to the tower, where he remained till 1717. On the breaking out of Atterbury's accusation he retired to France. After an absence of 10 years at Paris, he returned to England, and published his poems in 1732, with a vindication of his uncle sir Richard Granville, against the misrepresentations of Burnett, of Echard, and Clarendon, in 2 vols. 4to. The remain. der of his life he passed in private repose and literary retirement. He died Jan. 30, 1735, aged 68, a few days after his wife. He had 4 daughters but no male issue, and the title became extinct.

Waller's muse

in courteous Granville lives, and still we hear
of Jove and Juno, Mercury and Mars;
and all the nauseous mythologic rout.
May he that loves hereafter, never win
the angel he adores, if in his song
he aught of pagan ornament display.
May he be curs❜d, like you, unlucky bard,
be Saccharissa's dupe, and Myra's scorn.

« EelmineJätka »