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Ye Gods! what justice rules the ball !
Freedom and Arts together fall;
Fools grant whate'er Ambition craves,
And men, once ignorant, are slaves.
Oh curs'd effects of civil hate,

In ev'ry age, in ev'ry state!
Still, when the luft of tyrant pow'r succeeds,
Some Athens perishes, some Tully bleeds.


CHORUS of Youths and Virgins.



H Tyrant Lovel hast thou poffeft

The prudent, learn'd, and virtuous breaft?
Wisdom and wit in vain reclaim,
And Arts but soften us to feel thy fame.
Love, soft intruder, enters here,

But entring learns to be sincere.
Marcus with blushes owns he loves,
And Brutus tenderly reproves.
Why, Virtue, dost thou blame desire,

Which Nature has imprest? 10
Why, Nature, dost thou soonest fire

The mild and gen'rous breast?

Love's purer flames the Gods approve;
The Gods and Brutus bend to love:

REMARK S. Ver. 9. Why Virtue, etc.) In allusion to that famous conceit of Guarini,

“ Se il peccare è sì dolce, etc. Vol. 1,


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Brutus for absent Porcia sighs,
And sterner Caffius melts at Junia's eyes.

What is loose love? a transient gust,
Spent in a sudden storm of lust,
A vapour fed from wild desire,
A wand'ring, self-consuming fire.
But Hymen's kinder flames unite;

And burn for ever one;
Chaste as cold Cynthia's virgin light,

Productive as the Sun.


Oh source of ev'ry social tye,

25 United wish, and mutual joy!

What various joys on one attend,
As son, as father, brother, husband, friend?

Whether his hoary fire he spies,
While thousand grateful thoughts arise;

Or meets his spouse's fonder eye;
Or views his smiling progeny;
What tender passions take their turns,

What home-felt raptures move?
His heart now melts, now leaps, now burns,
With rev'rence, hope, and love.



Hence guilty joys, distastes, surmizes,

Hence false tears, deceits, disguises,
Dangers, doubts, delays, surprizes;

Fires that scorch, yet dare not shine:
Purest love's unwasting treasure,
Constant faith, fair hope, long leisure,
Days of ease, and nights of pleasure ;

Sacred Hymen! these are thine -.


REMARKS. · These two Chorus's are enough to shew us his great talents for this species of Poetry, and to make us lament he did not prosecute his purpose in executing some plans he had chalked out; but the Character of the Managers of Playhouses was what (he said) foon determined him to lay aside all thoughts of that nature,


APPPY the man, whose with and care

A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air,

In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks fupply him with attire,

6 Whose trees in summer yield him shade,

In winter fire.


Blest, who can unconcern’dly find
Hours, days, and years

slide soft

away, In health of body, peace of mind, ,

Quiet by day, Sound sleep by night; study and ease,

Together mixt; sweet recreation: And innocence, which most does please

With meditation.


Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,

Thus unlamented let me die, Steal from the world, and not a stone

A Tell where I lie.


. This was a very early production of our Author, written at out twelve years old. P.

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