Page images

Demands to fee his friends. His fervants weeping,
Obfequious to his orders, bear him hither.

[The back scene opens, and discovers Cato

O heaven, affift me in this dreadful hour To pay the laft fad duties to my father.


These are thy triumphs, thy exploits, O Cæfar?


Now is Rome fallen indeed!

[Cato brought forward in his chair.


Here fet me down

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

-O Lucius, art thou here ?-Thou art too good→→→→
Let this our friendship live between our children;
Make Portius happy in thy daughter Lucia.
Alas, poor man, he weeps!-Marcia, my daughter-
-Obend me forward!-Juba loves thee, Marcia.
A fenator of Rome, while Rome furvived,
Would not have match'd his daughter with a king,
But Cæfar's arms have thrown down all distinction:
Whoe'er is brave and virtuous, is a Roman.

-I'm fick to death
-O when fhall I
From this vain world, th' abode of guilt and forrow!--


-And yet methinks a beam of light breaks in
On my departing foul. Alas, I fear

I've been too hafty. Oye pow'rs, that search

The heart of man, and weigh its inmoft thoughts,

If I have done amifs, impute it not !—

The best may err, but you are good, and—oh! [Dies,


There fled the greatest soul that ever warm'd

A Roman breaft; O Cato! O my friend!
Thy will shall be religiously obferv'd
But let us bear this awful corps to Cæfar,
And lay it in his fight, 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 difcord flow.
'Tis this that shakes our country with alarms,
And gives up Rome a prey to Roman arms.
Produces fraud, and cruelty, and ftrife,
And robs the guilty world of Cato's life.

[Exeunt omnes.




Spoken by Mrs. PORTER.


HAT odd fantaftic things we women do!
Who wou'd not liften when young lovers woo?
But die a maid, yet have the choice of two!
Ladies are often cruel to their coft;

To give you pain, themfelves they punish moft.
Vows of virginity fhould well be weigh'd;
Too oft they're cancell'd, tho' in convents made.
Would you revenge
fuch rafh refolves-you may:
Be fpiteful! and believe the thing we fay;
We hate you when you're eafily faid nay.
How needlefs, if you knew us, were your fears?
Let love have eyes, and beauty will have ears.

Our hearts are form'd as you yourselves would choose,
Too proud to afk, too humble to refuse:

We give to merit, and to wealth we fell;

He fighs with moft fuccefs that fettles well.
The woes of wedlock with the joys we mix:
Tis belt repenting in a coach and fix.





Blame not our conduct, fince we but pursue Thofe lively leffons we have learn'd from you; Your breasts no more the fire of beauty warms, But wicked wealth ufurps the power of charms; What pains to get gaudy the thing you hate! To fwell in show, and be a wretch in state! At plays you ogle, at the ring you bows Even churches are no fanctuaries now: There, golden idols all your vows receive, She is no goddess that has nought to give. Oh, may once more the happy age appear, When words were artlefs, and the thoughts finceres When gold and grandeur were unenvy'd things, And courts lefs coveted than groves and fprings. Love then fhall only mourn when truth complains, And conftancy feel tranfport in its chains; Sighs with fuccefs their own foft anguish tell, And eyes fhall utter what the lips conceal: Virtue again to its bright ftation climb, And beauty fear no enemy but time; The fair fhall liften to defert alone, And every Lucia find a Cato's for.




With the Tragedy of CATO, Nov. 1714.


HE mufe that oft, with facred raptures fir'd,
Has gen'rous thoughts of liberty infpir'd,
And, boldly rifing for Britannia's laws,
Engag'd great Cato in her country's cause,
On you fubmiffive waits, with hopes affur'd,
By whom the mighty blessing stands fecur'd,
And all the glories, that our age adorn,
Are promis'd to a people yet unborn.

No longer fhall the widow'd land bemoan
A broken lineage, and a doubtful throne;
But boaft her royal progeny's increase,
And count the pledges of her future peace.
O born to strengthen and to grace our isle!
While you, fair PRINCESS, in your offspring fmile,
Supplying charms to the fucceeding age,
Each heav'nly daughter's triumphs we prefage;
Already fee th' illuftrious youths complain,
And pity monarchs doom'd to figh in vain.

Thou too, the darling of our fond defires,
Whom Albion, opening wide her arms, requires,

I 2


« EelmineJätka »