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A brave man struggling in the storms of fate,
And greatly falling with a falling state.
While Cato gives his little Senate laws,
What bosom beats not in his country's cause ?
Who sees him act, but envies every deed ?

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Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed?
Ev’n when proud Cæsar ’midst triumphal cars,
The spoils of nations, and the

pomp

of

wars,
Ignobly vain, and impotently great,
Show'd Rome her Cato's figure drawn in state ;
As her dead father's reverend image past,
The pomp was darken’d, and the day o'ercast;
The triumph ceas'd, tears gulh'd from every eye;
The world's great Victor pass’d unheeded by ;
Her last good man dejected Rome ador'd,

35 And honour'd Cæsar's less than Cato's sword.

Britons, attend : be worth like this approv’d, And show, you have the virtue to be mov'd. With honest scorn the first fam'd Cato view'd Rome learning arts from Greece, whom the subdued ; Your scene precariously subsists too long On French translation, and Italian song. Dare to have sense yourselves; assert the stage; Be justly warm'd with your own native rage : Such plays alone should win a British ear,

45 As Cato's self had not disdain'd to hear.

Vol: 1.

M м

EPI.

E PIL OG U E

TO

MR. ROWE’S JANE SHORE.

DESIGNED FOR MRS. OLDFIELD.

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PROD
RODIGrous this! the Frail-one of our Play

From her own fex should mercy find to-day!
You might have held the pretty head afide,
Peep'd in your fans, been serious, thus, and cry'd,
The Play may pass- but that strange creature, Shore,
I can't--indeed now I so hate a whore !-
Just as a blockhead rubs his thoughtless skall,
And thanks his stars he was not born a fool;
So from a fifter finner you shall hear,
“ How ftrangely you'expose yourself, my dear!"
But let me die, all raillery apart,
Our sex are still forgiving at their heart;
And, did not wicked custom so contrive,
We'd be the best, good-natur'd things alive.
There are, 'tis true, who tell another tale,

15 That virtuous ladies envy while they rail; Such rage without betrays the fire within ; In some close corner of the soul, they sin; Still hoarding up, most scandalously nice, Amidst their virtues a reserve of vice. The godly dame, who fleshly failings damns, Scolds with her maid, or with her chaplain crams.

Would

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Would

you enjoy soft nights, and solid dinners ? Faith, gallants, board with faints, and bed with finners.

Well, if our Author in the Wife offends, 25 He has a Husband that will make amends : He draws him gentle, tender, and forgiving, And sure such kind good creatures may be living: In days of old they pardon'd breach of vows, Stern Cato's self was no relentless spouse :

30 Plu–Plutarch, what's his name, that writes his life? Tells us, that Cato dearly lov’d his wife: Yet if a friend, a night or so, should need her; He'd recommend her as a special breeder. To lend a wife, few here would fcruple make, 35 But, pray, which of you all would take her back: Though with the Stoic Chief our Stage may rings The Stoic Husband was the glorious thing. The man had

courage, was a fage, 'tis true, And lov?d his country- but what's that to you?

4.0 Those strange examples ne'er were made to fit ye, But the kind cuckold might instruct the City: There many an honest man may copy Cato, Who ne'er faw naked fword, or look'd in Plato. If, after all, you think it a disgrace,

45 That Edward's Mifs thus perks it in your face; To see a piece of failing flesh and blood, In all the reft so impudently good; Faith let the modeft Matrons of the town Come here in crowds, and stare the strumpet down. 50

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SAY, lovely youth, that doft my

heart' command, Can Phaon's eyes forget his Sappho's hand ? Muft then her name the wretched writer prové, To thy remembrance loft, as to thy love? Ask not the cause that I new numbers chuse,

5 The lute neglected, and the Lyric Muse; Love taught my tears in fadder notes to flow, And tun'd my heart to Elegies of woe. I burn, I burn, as when through ripen'd corn By driving winds the spreading flames are borne. Phaon to Ætna's scorching fields retires, While I consume with more than Ætra's fires !

No

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ECQUID, ut inspecta eft ftudiofae littera dextrae,

Protinus est oculis cognita noftra tuis ? An, nisi legiffes auctoris nomina Sapphus,

Hoc breve nescires unde movetur opus ? Forfitan et quare mea fint alterna requiras

Carmina, cum lyricis fim magis apta modis. Flendus amor meus eft : elegeïa flebile carmen;

Non facit ad lacrymas barbitos ulla meas.
Uror, ut, indomitis ignem exercentibus Euris,

Fertilis accensis messibus ardet ager.
Arva Phaon celebrat diverfa Typhoïdos Ætnae,

Me calor Ætnaeo non minor igne coquit.

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No more my soul a charm in music finds,
Music has charms alone for peaceful minds.
Soft scenes of folitude no more can please,
Love enters there, and I'm my own disease.
No more the Lesbian dames my passion move,
Once the dear objects of my guilty love ;
All other loves are lost in only thine,
Ah, youth ungrateful to a flame like mine!
Whom would not all those blooming charms surprize,
Those heavenly looks, and dear deluding eyes?
The harp and bow would you like Phoebus bear,
A brighter Phoebus Phaon might appear ;
Would

you with ivy wreathe your flowing hair, 25
Not Bacchus' self with Phaon could compare :
Yet Phoebus lov'd, and Bacchus felt the flame,
One Daphne warm’d, and one the Cretan dame;

Nymphs

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Nec mihi, difpofitis quae jungam carmina nervis,

Proveniunt; vacuae carmina mentis opus. Nec me Pyrrhiades Methymniadesve puellae,

Nec me Lesbiadum caetera turba juvant. Vilis Anactorie, vilis mihi candida Cydno :

Non oculis grata est Atthis, ut ante, meis, Atque aliae centum, quas non sine crimine amavi :

Improbe, multarum quod fuit, un habes.
Eft in te facies, sunt apti lusibus anni.

O facies oculis infidiofa meis!
Sume fidem et pharetram; fies manifeftus Apollo ;

Accedant capiti cornua ; Bacchus eris.

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