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X.

But cou'dft thou feize fome tongues that now are free, How Church and State wou'd be oblig❜d to thee? At Senate, and at Bar, how welcome wou'dft thou be?

XI.

Yet fpeech, ev'n there, fubmiffively withdraws From rights of fubjects, and the poor man's caufe; Then pompous filence reigns, and ftills the noify laws.

XII.

Past services of friends, good deeds of foes, What Favʼrites gain, and what th' Exchequer owes, Fly the forgetful world, and in thy arms repose.

XIII.

The country wit, religion of the town,

The courtier's learning, policy o'th' gown,

Are best by thee express'd, and shine in thee alone.

XIV.

The Parson's cant, the Lawyer's fophistry,

Lord's quibble, Critic's jeft; all end in thee, All reft in peace at last, and fleep eternally.

A

EPITAPH.

A

Е Р І ТАР Н.

pleasing form, a firm, yet cautious mind,

Sincere, tho' prudent, conftant, yet refign'd;

Honour unchang'd, a principle profest,
Fix'd to one fide, but mod'rate to the reft;
An honeft Courtier, and a Patriot too,
Just to his Prince, and to his Country true;
Fill'd with the fenfe of age, the fire of youth;
A fcorn of wrangling, yet a zeal for truth;
A gen'rous faith, from superstition free,

A love to peace, and hate of tyranny;

Such this man was; who now, from earth remov'd, At length enjoys that liberty he lov'd.

PROLOGUE,

PROLOGUE

ΤΟ

Mr. ADDISON's Tragedy

T

OF

CAT

O.

O wake the foul by tender ftrokes of art,

To raise the genius, and to mend the heart; To make mankind, in confcious virtue bold,

Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold:
For this the Tragic Muse first trod the stage,
Commanding tears to stream thro' ev'ry age;
Tyrants no more their favage nature kept,
And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept.
Our author fhuns by vulgar fprings to move,
The hero's glory, or the virgin's love;
In pitying love we but our weakness show,
And wild ambition well deferves its woe.

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Here tears fhall flow from a more gen'rous cause,
Such tears, as Patriots shed for dying Laws:
He bids your breafts with ancient ardour rife,
And calls forth Roman drops from British eyes.
Virtue confefs'd in human shape he draws,
What Plato thought, and godlike Çato was:
No common object to your fight displays,
But what with pleasure heav'n itself surveys;
A brave man struggling in the ftorms of fate,
And greatly falling with a falling state!
While Cato gives his little fenate laws,

What bofom beats not in his Country's cause?
Who fees him act, but envies ev'ry deed?
Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed?
Ev'n when proud Cæfar 'midst triumphal cars,
The fpoils 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 rev'rend image past,
The pomp was darken'd, and the day o'ercaft,
The triumph ceas'd----Tears gush'd from ev'ry eye;
The World's great Victor pafs'd unheeded by;

Her

Her last good man dejected Rome ador'd,
And honour'd Cæfar's lefs than Cato's fword.
Britains attend: Be worth like this approv'd,
And fhow, you have the virtue to be mov'd.
With honeft fcorn the first fam'd Cato view'd
Rome learning arts from Greece, whom she subdu'd;
Our scene precariously fubfifts too long

On French tranflation, and Italian fong.

Dare to have sense your felves; affert the stage,
Be justly warm'd with your own native rage.
Such Plays alone fhould please a British ear,
As Cato's felf had not difdain'd to hear.

EPILOGUE

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