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That fure the Sibyls books this year foretold;
And in fome mystic leaf was seen inroll'd,
• Rome, turn thy mournful eyes from Afric's shore, Nor in her fands thy Cato's tomb explore!
• When thrice fix hundred times the circling fun
• His annual race fhall thro' the zodiac run,
An ifle remote his monument shall rear,
And ev'ry generous-Briten pay a tear.'
THAT do we fee! is Cato then become
A greater name in Britain than in Rome ?
Does mankind now admire his virtues more,
Tho' Lucan, Horace, Virgil wrote before?
How will pofterity this truth explain ?
"Cato begins to live in Anna's reign:"
The world's great chiefs in council or in arms,
Rife in your lines with more exalted charms;
Illuftrious deeds in diftant nations wrought,
And virtues by departed heroes taught ;
Raife in your foul a pure immortal flame,
Adorn your life, and confecrate your fame;
To your renown all ages you fubdue,
And Cafur fought, and Cato bled for you.
AIS nobly done thus to enrich the stage,
And raise the thoughts of a degen'rate age,
To fhow, how endless joys from freedom spring ;
How life in bondage is a worthless thing.
The inborn greatness of your foul we view,
You tread the paths frequented by the few.
With fo much strength you write, and so much ease,
Virtue, and fenfe! how durft you hope to please?
Yet crowds the fentiments of ev'ry line
Impartial clapp'd, and own'd the work divine.
Ev'n the four critics, who malicious came,
Eager to cenfure, and refolv'd to blame,
Finding the hero regularly rife,
Great while he lives, but greater when he dies,
Sullen approv'd, too obftinate to melt,
And ficken'd with the pleasures which they felt.
Not fo the Fair their paffions fecret kept,
Silent they heard, but as they heard, they wept,
When gloriously the blooming Marcus dy'd,
And Cato told the gods, I'm fatisfy'd.
See! how your lays the British youth inflame!
They long to fhoot, and ripen into fame.
Applauding theatres difturb their reft,
And unborn Cato's heave in ev'ry breast.
Their nightly dreams, their daily thoughts repeat,
And pulfes high with fancy'd glories beat.
So, griev'd to view the Marathonian spoils,
The young Themiftocles vow'd equal toils;
Did then his fchemes of future honours draw
From the long triumphs which with tears he faw.
How fhall I your unrival'd worth proclaim,
Loft in the spreading circle of your fame!
We faw you the great William's praise rehearse,
And paint Britannia's joys in Roman verse.
We heard at diftance, foft enchanting ftrains,
From blooming mountains, and Italian plains.
Virgil began in English drefs to fhine,
His voice, his looks, his grandeur, ftill divine:
From him too foon unfriendly you withdrew,
But brought the tuneful Ovil to our view.
Then, the delightful theme of ev'ry tongue,
Th' immortal Marlb'rough was your darling fong;
From clime to clime the mighty victor flew,
From clime to clime as fwiftly you pursue.
Still with the hero's glow'd the poet's flame,
Still with his conquefts you enlarg'd your fame.
With boundless raptures here the mufe cou'd fwell,
And on your Rofamond for ever dwell:
There op'ning fweets, and ev'ry fragrant flow'r
Luxuriant fmile, a never fading bow'r.
Next human follies kindly to expose,
You change from numbers, but not fink in profe:
Whether in vifionary fcenes you play,
Refine our tastes, or laugh our crimes away.
Now, by the bufkin'd mufe you shine confeft,
The patriot kindles in the poet's breast.
Such energy of fenfe might pleasure raise,
Tho' unembellish'd with the charms of phrase:
Such charms of phrase would with fuccefs be crown'd,
Tho' nonfenfe flow'd in the melodious found.
The chafteft virgin needs no blushes fear,
The learn'd themselves, not uninstructed, hear.
The libertine, in pleafures us'd to roll,
And idly fport with an immortal foul,
Here comes, and by the virtuous heathen taught,
Turns pale, and trembles at the dreadful thought.
Whene'er you traverse vaft Numidia's plains,
What fluggish Briton in his ifle remains?
When Juba feeks the tiger with delight,
We beat the thicket and provoke the fight.
By the defcription warm'd, we fondly sweat,.
And in the chilling eaft-wind pant with heat.
What eyes behold not, how the fiream refines,
Till by degrees the floating mirrour fhines?
While hurricanes in circling eddies play
Tear up the fands, and sweep whole plains away,
We fhrink with horror, and confefs our fear,
And all the fudden founding ruin hear,
When purple robes, diftain'd with blood deceive,
And make poor Marcia beautifully grieve,
When she her fecret thoughts no more conceals,
Forgets the woman, and her flame reveals,
Well may the prince exult with noble pride,
Not for his Lybian crown, but Roman bride.
But I in vain on fingle features dwell,
While all the parts of the fair piece excel.
So rich the store, fo dubious is the feast,
We know not which to pass, or which to taste.
The fhining incidents so justly fall,
We may the whole, new scenes of transport call.
Thus jewellers confound our wand'ring eyes,
And with variety of gems furprise.
Here Sapphires, here the Sardian-ftone is feen,
The Topaz yellow, and the Jafper green.
The coftly Brilliant there, confus'dly bright,
From num'rous furfaces darts trembling light.
The different colours mingling in a blaze,
Silent we ftand, unable where to praife,
In pleasure sweetly loft ten thousand ways.