WHILE you the fierce divided Britons awe,
And Cato with an equal virtue draw;
While envy is itself in wonder lost,
And factions strive who shall applaud you most ;
Forgive the fond ambition of a friend,
Who hopes himself, not you, to recommend,
And join th' applause which all the learn'd bestow,
On one, to whom a perfect work they owe.
To my light scenes I once inscrib'd your name;
And impotently strove to borrow fame :
Soon will that die, which adds thy name to mine;
Let me then live, join'd to a work of thine.
THOUGH Cato shines in Virgil's epic song,
Prescribing laws among th' Elysian throng;
Though Lucan's verse, exalted by his name,
O'er gods themselves has rais'd the hero's fame;
• Tender Husband, dedicated to Mr. Addison.
The Roman stage did ne'er his image see,
Drawn at full length; a task reserv'd for thee.
By thee we view the finish'd figure rise,
And awful march before our ravish'd eyes;
We hear his voice, asserting virtue's cause;
His fate renew'd our deep attention draws,
Excites by turns our various hopes and fears,
And all the patriot in thy scene appears.
On Tiber's banks thy thought was first inspir'd;
'Twas there, to some indulgent grove retir'd,
Rome's ancient fortunes rolling in thy mind,
Thy happy muse this manly work design'd:
Or in a dream thou saw'st Rome's genius stand,
And, leading Cato in his sacred hand,
Point out th' immortal subject of thy lays,
And ask this labour to record his praise.
"Tis done the hero lives and charms our age! While nobler morals grace the British stage. Great Shakspeare's ghost, the solemn strain to hear, (Methinks I see the laurel'd shade appear!) Will hover o'er the scene, and wond'ring view - His fav'rite Brutus rival'd thus by you. Such Roman greatness in each action shines, Such Roman eloquence adorns your lines, That sure the Sybils' books this year foretold, And in some mystic leaf was seen enroll'd,
Rome, turn thy mournful eyes from Afric's shore, Nor in her sands thy Cato's tomb explore! When thrice six hundred times the circling sun His annual race shall through the zodiac run, An isle remote his monument shall rear, And every generous Briton pay a tear.'
WHAT do we see! is Cato then become
A greater name in Britain than in Rome?
Does mankind now admire his virtues more,
Though Lucan, Horace, Virgil wrote before?
How will posterity this truth explain?
"Cato begins to live in Anna's reign:"
The world's great chiefs, in council or in arms,
Rise in your lines with more exalted charms;
Illustrious deeds in distant nations wrought,
And virtues by departed heroes taught,
Raise in your soul a pure immortal flame,
Adorn your life, and consecrate your fame ;
Το your renown all ages you subdue,
And Cæsar fought, and Cato bled for you.
'Tis nobly done thus to enrich the stage,
And raise the thoughts of a degenerate age,
To show how endless joys from freedom spring,
How life in bondage is a worthless thing.
The inborn greatness of your soul we view,
You tread the paths frequented by the few.
With so much strength you write, and so much ease,
Virtue and sense! how durst you hope to please?
Yet crowds the sentiments of every line
Impartial clapp'd, and own'd the work divine.
Ev'n the sour critics, who malicious came,
Eager to censure, and resolv'd to blame,
Finding the hero regularly rise,
Great while he lives, but greater when he dies,
Sullen approv'd, too obstinate to melt,
And sicken'd with the pleasures which they felt.
Not so the fair their passions' secret kept, Silent they heard, but, as they heard, they wept, When gloriously the blooming Marcus di'd, And Cato told the gods, I'm satisfy'd.
See! how your lays the British youth inflame! They long to shoot, and ripen into fame; Applauding theatres disturb their rest, And unborn Catos heave in every breast; Their nightly dreams their daily thoughts repeat, And pulses high with fancy'd glories beat. So, griev❜d to view the Marathonian spoils,
young Themistocles vow'd equal toils;
Did then his schemes of future honours draw
From the long triumphs which with tears he saw.
How shall I your unrival'd worth proclaim,
Lost in the spreading circle of your fame!
We saw you the great William's praise rehearse,
And paint Britannia's joys in Roman verse.
We heard at distance soft enchanting strains,
From blooming mountains, and Italian plains.
Virgil began in English dress to shine,
His voice, his looks, his grandeur still divine.
From him too soon unfriendly you withdrew,
But brought the tuneful Ovid to our view.
Then, the delightful theme of every tongue,
Th' immortal Marlb'rough was your daring song ;
From clime to clime the mighty victor flew,
From clime to clime as swiftly you pursue;
Still with the hero's glow'd the poet's flame,
Still with his conquests you enlarg'd your fame.
With boundless rapture here the muse could swell,
And on your Rosamond for ever dwell:
There opening sweets, and every fragrant flower
Luxuriant smile, a never-fading bower.
Next, human follies kindly to expose,
You change from numbers, but not sink in prose:
Whether in visionary scenes you play,
Refine our tastes, or laugh our crimes away.
Now, by the buskin'd muse you shine confess'd,
The patriot kindles in the poet's breast.
Such energy of sense might pleasure raise,
Though unembellish'd with the charms of phrase:
Such charms of phrase would with success be crown'd,
Though nonsense flow'd in the melodious sound.
The chastest virgin needs no blushes fear,
The learn'd themselves, not uninstructed, hear.
The libertine, in pleasures us'd to roll,
And idly sport with an immortal soul,
Here comes, and, by the virtuous heathen taught,
Turns pale, and trembles at the dreadful thought.
Whene'er you traverse vast Numidia's plains,
What sluggish Briton in his isle remains?
When Juba seeks the tiger with delight,
We beat the thicket and provoke the fight.
By the description warm'd, we fondly sweat,
And in the chilling east-wind pant with heat.
What eyes behold not, how the stream refines,
Till by degrees the floating mirror shines?'
While hurricanes in circling eddies play,
Tear up the sands, and sweep whole plains away,'
We shrink with horror, and confess our fear,
And all the sudden sounding ruin hear.
When purple robes, distain'd with blood, deceive,
And make poor Marcia beautifully grieve,
When she her secret thoughts no more conceals,
Forgets the woman, and her flame reveals,
Well may the prince exult with noble pride,
Not for his Libyan crown, but Roman bride.
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