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Fools grant whate'er ambition craves,
In ev'ry age, in ev'ry state!
Chorus of Youths and Virgins.
H tyrant love ! haft thou pofleft
The prudent, learn'dand virtuous breat?
Wisdom and wit in vain reclaim,
Love, soft intruder, enters here,
And Brutus tenderly reproves.
Which nature has imprest?..
The mild and gen'rous breaft?
Love's purer flames the Gods approve;
Brutus for absent Portia fighs,
What is loose love? a transient gust,
And burn for ever one;
What various joys on one attend,
Whether his hoáry fire he spies,
What tender passions take their turns,
What home-felt raptures move?
With rev'rence, hope, and love..
Hence guilty joys, diftaftes, furmizes,
Fires that scorch, yet dare not shine:
Sacred Hymen! these are thine,
Written in 1683
By his Grace the Duke of BUCKINGHAM:
order to be sung as Chorus's between the Acts of a Play of
Shakespear’s that was altered. First Song after the end of the
Chorus of free Citizens of Rome.
Hither is ancient virtue gone?
What is become of justice now.?
That vapour, which so bright, has shone, And with the wings of conquest flown, Nust to a haughty master bow:
Who with our toil, our blood, and all we have befide, Gorges his ill-got pow'r, his humour, or his pride.
He frankly does his life expose:
So will a lyon or a bear;
Who more his vain ambition fear?
How ftupid wretches we appear; Who round the world, for wealth and empire roam, And never, never think what flaves we are at home?
Did men for this together join,
Quitting the free wild life of nature? What beast but man did e'er combine
For setting up his fellow-creature,
And of two mischiefs chuse the greater? Oh! rather than be flaves to false and worthless men! Give us our wildness and our woods, our butts and
There secure from lawless fway,