« ZurückWeiter »
2 If yet, while pardon may be found,
and mercy may be sought, my heart with inward horror shrinks,
and trembles at the thought: 3 When thou, O Lord, shalt stand disclos'd
in majesty severe, and sit in judgment on my soul;
O how shall I appear! 4 But thou hast told the troubled soul,
who does her sins lament, the timely tribute of her tears
shall endless woe prevent. 5 Then see the sorrows of my heart,
ere yet it be too late; and add my Saviour's dying groans,
to give those sorrows weight. 6 For never shall my soul despair
her pardon to procure, who knows Thy Only Son has dy'd
to make that pardon sure.
PARAPHRASE ON PSALM XXIII. 1 The Lord my pasture shall prepare, and feed me with a shepherd's care; his presence shall my wants supply, and guard me with a watchful eye: my noon-day walks he shall attend,
and all my midnight hours defend, 2 When in the sultry glebe I faint,
or on the thirsty mountain pant;
where peaceful rivers, soft and slow,
amid the verdant landscape flow. 3 Tho’in the paths of death I tread,
with gloomy horrors overspread, my stedfast heart shall fear no ilt, for thou, O Lord, art with me still; thy friendly crook shall give me aid, and guide me through the dreadful shade. 4 Tho' in a bare and rugged way,
through devious lonely wilds I stray, thy bounty shall my wants beguile, the barren wilderness shall smile, with sudden greens and herbage crown'd, and streams shall murmur all around.
IN FIVE ACTS.
“Ecce spectaculum dignum, ad quod respiciat, intentus
operi suo, Deus ! Ecce par Deo dignum vir fortis cum malâ fortunâ compositus ! Non video, inquam, quid habeat in terris Jupiter pulchrius, si convertere ani. mum velit, quàm ut spectet Catonem, jam partibus non semel fractis, nihilominùs inter ruinas publicas erectum."
Sen. de Divin. Prov.
Sons of Cato, ..., Mr. Powel.
MUTINEERS, GUARDS, &c.
ACT I. SCENE I.
PORTIUS, MARCUS. Por. The dawn is over-cast, the niorning lowers, and heavily in clouds brings on the day, the great, the important day; big with the fate of Cato and Rome.-Our father's death would fill up all the guilt of civil war, and close the scene of blood. Already Cæsar has ravag'd more than half the globe, and sees mankind grown thin by his destructive sword: should he go further, numbers would be wanting to form new battles, and support his crimes. Ye gods, what havock does ambition inake among your works!
Mar. Thy steady temper, Portius, can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud, and Cæsar, in the calm lights of mild philosophy;
I'm tortur'd, ev'n to madness, when I think on the proud victor: every time he's nam’d Pharsalia rises to my view I see th'insulting tyrant prancing o'er the field strow'd with Rome's citizens, and drench'd in slaughhis horse's hoofs wet with Patrician blood. [ter, Oh Portius, is there not some chosen curse, some hidden thunder in the stores of heaven, red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man who owes his greatness to his country's ruin?
Por. Believe me, Marcus, 't is an impious greatness and mixt with too much horror to be envy'd: how does the lustre of our father's actions, through the dark cloud of ills that cover bim, break out, and burn with mure triumphant brightness! His sufferings shine, and spread a glory round him; greatly unfortunate, he fights the cause of honour, virtue, liberty, and Rome. His sword ne'er fell but on the guilty head; oppression, tyranny, and power usurp'd, draw all the vengeance of his arm upon them.
Mar. Who knows not this? But what can Cato do against a world, a base degenerate world, that courts the yoke, and bows the neck to Cæsar? Pent up in Utica, he vainly forms in a poor epitome of Roman greatness, and, cover'd with Numidian guards, directs a feeble army, and an empty senate, remnants of mighty battles sought in vain. By heavens, such virtues, join'd with such success, distract my very soul: our father's fortune would almost tempt us to renounce his precepts,
Por. Rcmember what our father oft has told us: the ways of heaven are dark and intricate,