TWO

CHOR

USES

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TRAGEDY OF BRUTUS.

Altered from Shakespeare by the Duke of Buckingham, at whofe defire these two Chorufes were compofed, to fupply as many, wanting in his play. They were fet many years afterwards by the famous Bononcini, and performed at Buckingham-houfe.

CHORUS OF ATHENIANS.

STROPHE

I.

E fhades, where facred truth is fought;
Groves, where immortal Sages taught;
Where heavenly vifions Plato fir'd,

And Epicurus lay inspir'd!

In vain your guiltless laurels ftood
Unfpotted long with human blood.

War, horrid war, your thoughtful walks invades,
And steel now glitters in the Mufes' fhades.

ANTIS TROPHE I.

Oh heaven-born fifters! fource of art!

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Who charm the fenfe, or mend the heart; 10
Who lead fair Virtue's train along,

Moral truth and myftic Song!

To what new clime, what distant sky,
Forfaken, friendlefs, fhall ye fly?

Say, will

ye blefs the bleak Atlantic fhore? Or bid the furious Gaul be rude no more?

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STROPHE

STROPHE II.

When Athens finks by fates unjuft,
When wild Barbarians spurn her dust;
Perhaps ev❜n Britain's utmoft fhore
Shall cease to blush with stranger's gore;
See Arts her favage fons control,
And Athens rifing near the pole!
Till fome new Tyrant lifts his purple hand,
And civil madness tears them from the land.

ANTISTROPHE II.

Ye Gods! what juftice rules the ball!
Freedom and Arts together fall;
Fools grant whate'er Ambition craves,
And men, once ignorant, are flaves.

Oh curs'd effects of civil hate,

In every age, in every ftate!

Still, when the luft of tyrant power fucceeds,

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Some Athens perishes, fome Tully bleeds.

CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS.

Ο

SEMICHORUS.

H Tyrant Love! haft thou poffeft

The prudent, learn'd, and virtuous breast!

Wisdom and Wit in vain reclaim,

And Arts but foften us to feel thy flame.
Love, foft intruder, enters here,

But entering learns to be fincere.
Marcus with blushes owns he loves,

And Brutus tenderly reproves.

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5

Why,

Why, Virtue, doft thou blame defire,
Which Nature has impreft?

Why, Nature, doft thou fooneft fire

The mild and generous

Love's purer

breaft?

CHORUS.

flames the Gods approve;

The Gods and Brutus bend to Love:

Brutus for abfent Porcia fighs,

And fterner Caffius melts at Junia's eyes.
What is loose love? a tranfient guft,
Spent in a fudden ftorm of luft;
A vapour fed from wild defire,
A wandering, felf-confuming fire.
But Hymen's kinder flames unite,
And burn for ever one;

Chafte as cold Cynthia's virgin light,
Productive as the Sun.

SEMICHORUS.

Oh fource of every social tye,

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United with, and mutual joy!

What various joys on one attend,

As fon, as father, brother, hufband, friend!
Whether his hoary fire he spies,

While thousand grateful thoughts arife;

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Or meets his spouse's fonder eye;

Or views his fmiling progeny;

What tender paflions take their turns,
What home-felt raptures move!

His heart now melts, now leaps, now burns,
With reverence, hope, and love.

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CHORUS.

CHORUS.

Hence guilty joys, diftaftes, furmizes;
Hence falfe tears, deceits, disguises,
Dangers, doubts, delays, furprizes;

Fires that scorch, yet dare not shine:
Pureft love's unwafting treasure,
Conftant faith, fair hope, long leifure;
Days of eafe, and nights of pleasure;
Sacred Hymen! these are thine.

ODE ON SOLITUDE.

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Written when the Author was about Twelve Years old.

APPY the man, whose wish and care

Η
HA

A few paternal acres bound,

Content to breathe his native air,

In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 5
Whose flocks fupply him with attire ;
Whofe trees in fummer yield him shade,

In winter fire.

Bleft, who can unconcern'dly find

Hours, days, and years flide foft away,

In health of body, peace of mind,

Quiet by day,

Sound fleep by night; ftudy and ease,
Together mix'd; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please

VOL. XLV.

With meditation.

I

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Thus

Thus let me live, unfeen, unknown;

Thus unlamented let me die,

Steal from the world, and not a stone

Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
Oh the pain, the blifs of dying!
Ceafe, fond Nature, ceafe thy ftrife,
And let me languish into life.

II.

Hark! they whisper; Angels fay,
Sifter Spirit, come away.
What is this abforbs me quite?

Steals my fenfes, fhuts my fight,
Drowns my fpirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my Soul, can this be Death?

III.

The world recedes; it disappears!

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Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!

O Grave! where is thy Victory?

O Death! where is thy Sting?

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AN