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VERSES

TO THE AUTHOR OF THE TRAGEDY OF CATO.

WHILE you the fierce divided Britons awe,
And Cato with an equal virtue draw;

While envy is itself in wonder lost,

And factions strive who shall applaud you most ;
Forgive the fond ambition of a friend,

Who hopes himself, not you, to recommend,
And join th' applause which all the learn'd bestow
On one to whom a perfect work they owe.
To my a light scenes I once inscrib'd your name,
And impotently strove to borrow fame:

Soon will that die, which adds thy name to mine;
Let me, then, live, join'd to a work of thine.

RICHARD STEEI &

THO' Cato shines in Virgil's epic song,
Prescribing laws among th' Elysian throng;
Tho' Lucan's verse, exalted by his name,
O'er gods themselves has rais'd the hero's fame;
The Roman stage did ne'er his image see,
Drawn at full length; a task reserv'd for thee.

Tender Husband, dedicated to Mr. Addison.

By thee we view the finish'd figure rise,
And awful march before our ravish'd eyes;
We hear his voice asserting virtue's cause;
His fate renew'd our deep attention draws,
Excites by turns our various hopes and fears,
And all the patriot in thy scene appears.

On Tiber's banks thy thought was first inspir';
'Twas there, to some indulgent grove retir'd,
Rome's ancient fortunes rolling in thy mind,
Thy happy muse this manly work design'd:
Or in a dream thou saw'st Rome's genius stand,
And, leading Cato in his sacred hand,
Point out th' immortal subject of thy lays,
And ask this labour to record his praise.

'Tis done the hero lives, and charms our age!
While nobler morals grace the British stage.
Great Shakespear's ghost, the solemn strain to hear,
(Methinks I see the laurel'd shade appear!)
Will hover o'er the scene, and wond'ring view
His fav'rite Brutus rival'd thus by you.

Such Roman greatness in each action shines,
Such Roman eloquence adorns your lines,
That sure the Sybils' books this year foretold,
And in some mystic leaf was seen enroll'd,
'Rome, turn thy mournful eyes from Afric's shore,
Nor in her sands thy Cato's tomb explore!
When thrice six hundred times the circling sun
His annual race shall thro' the Zodiac run,
An isle remote his monument shall rear,
And every generous Briton pay a tear.'

J. HUGNES.

WHAT do we see! 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 posterity this truth explain?
"Cato begins to live in Anna's reign:"
The world's great chiefs, in council or in arms,
Rise in your lines with more exalted charms;
Illustrious deeds in distant nations wrought,
And virtues by departed heroes taught,
Raise in your soul a pure immortal flame,-
Adorn your life, and consecrate your fame;
To your renown all ages you subdue,
And Cæsar fought, and Cato bled for you.

All-Soul's College, Oxon.

EDWARD YOUNG

'Tis nobly done thus to enrich the stage,
And raise the thoughts of a degenerate age,
To show, how endless joys from freedom spring.
How life in bondage is a worthless thing.
The inborn greatness of your soul we view,
You tread the paths frequented by the few.

With so much strength you write, and so much ease,
Virtue and sense! how durst you hope to please?
Yet crowds the sentiments of every line

Impartial clapp'd, and own'd the work divine.
Even the sour critics, who malicious came,
Eager to censure, and resolv'd to blame,
Finding the hero regularly rise,

Great, while he lives, but greater, when he dies

Sullen approv'd, too obstinate to melt,
And sicken'd with the pleasures which they felt.
Not so the fair their passions secret kept,

Silent they heard, but as they heard, they wept,
When gloriously the blooming Marcus dy`d,
And Cato told the gods, I'm satisfy'd.

See how your lays the British youth inflame! They long to shoot, and ripen into fame; Applauding theatres disturb their rest,

And unborn Catos heave in every breast;
Their nightly dreams, their daily thoughts repeat,
And pulses high with fancy'd glories beat.
So, griev'd to view the Marathonian spoils,
The young Themistocles vow'd equal toils;
Did then his schemes of future honours draw
From the long triumphs which with tears he saw.
How shall I your unrival'd worth proclaim,
Lost in the spreading circle of your fame !
We saw you the great William's praise rehearse,
And paint Britannia's joys in Roman verse.
We heard at distance soft, enchanting strains,
From blooming mountains, and Italian plains.
Virgil began in English dress to shine,

His voice, his looks, his grandeur still divine.
From him too soon unfriendly you withdrew,
But brought the tuneful Ovid to our view.
Then, the delightful theme of every tongue,
Th' immortal Marlb'rough was your daring song
From clime to clime the mighty victor flew,
From clime to clime as swiftly you pursue;
Still with the hero's glow'd the poet's flame,
Still with his conquests you enlarg'd your fame.

With boundless raptures here the muse could swell,
And on your Rosamond for ever dwell:

There opening sweets, and every fragrant flower
Luxuriant smile, a never-fading bower.

Next, human follies kindly to expose,

You change from numbers, but not sink in prose;
Whether in visionary scenes you play,

Refine our tastes, or laugh our crimes away.
Now, by the buskin'd muse you shine confest,
The patriot kindles in the poet's breast.

Such energy of sense might pleasure raise,
Tho' unembellish'd with the charms of phrase:

Such charms of phrase would with success be crown'd,
Tho' nonsense flow'd in the melodious sound,

The chastest virgin needs no blushes fear,
The learn'd themselves, not uninstructed, hear,
The libertine, in pleasures us'd to roll,
And idly sport with an immortal soul,

Here comes, and by the virtuous heathen taught,
Turns pale, and trembles at the dreadful thought.
Whene'er you traverse vast Numidia's plains,
What sluggish Briton in his isle remains?
When Juba seeks the tiger with delight,

We beat the thicket, and provoke the fight.
By the description warm'd, we fondly sweat,
And in the chilling east-wind pant with heat.
What eyes behold not, how the stream refines,
Till by degrees the floating mirror shines?'
While hurricanes 'in circling eddies play,
Tear up the sands, and sweep whole plains away,
We shrink with horror, and confess our fear,
And all the sudden sounding ruin hear.

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