Fools grant whate'er ambition craves,

And men, once ignorant, are flaves.
Oh curs'd effects of civil hate,

In ev'ry age, in ev'ry state!

Still when the luft of tyrant pow'r fucceeds,
Some Athens perishes, or fome Tully bleeds.

CHORUS of Youths and Virgins.

Ο

Semichorus:

H tyrant love haft thou poffeft

The prudent, learn'd and virtuous breaft?
Wisdom and wit in vain reclaim,

And arts but foften us to feel thy flame.
Love, foft intruder, enters here,

But entring learns to be fincere.
Marcus with blufhes owns he loves,

And Brutus tenderly reproves.

Why, virtue, doft thou blame defire,

Which nature has impreft?..
Why, nature, doft thou fooneft fire

The mild and gen'rous breaft?.

Chorus

Chorus.

Love's purer flames the Gods approve;

The Gods, and Brutus bend to love:
Brutus for abfent Portia fighs,

And fterner Caffius melts at Junia's eyes.
What is loofe love? a tranfient guft,

Spent in a fudden ftorm of luft;

A vapour

fed from wild defire,

A wandring, felf-confuming fire.

But Hymen's flames like ftars unite;

And burn for ever one;

Chafte as cold Cynthia's virgin light,
Productive as the fun."

Semichorus.

Oh fource of ev'ry social tye,

United with, and mutual joy!

What various joys on one attend,
As fon, as father, brother, husband, friend?
Whether his hoary fire he spies,

While thoufand grateful thoughts arise;

Or meets his spouse's fonder eye;

Or views his smiling progeny;

What

What tender paffions take their turns,

What home-felt raptures move?

His heart now melts, now leaps, now burns, With rev'rence, hope, and love.

Chorus

Hence guilty joys, diftaftes, furmizes,
Falfe oaths, falfe tears, deceits, difguifes,.
Dangers, doubts, delays, furprizes;

Fires that fcorch, yet dare not fhine:
Pureft love's unwafting treasure:
Conftant faith, fair hope, long leifure;
Days of cafe, and nights of pleasure;
Sacred Hymen! these are thine.

FOUR

FOUR SONGS

Written in 1683.

By his Grace the Duke of BUCKINGHAM•

In order to be fung as Chorus's between the Acts of a Play of Shakespear's that was altered.

First SONG after the end of the firft Act.

Chorus of free Citizens of Rome.

W

Hither is ancient virtue gone?

What is become of juftice now?

That vapour, which fo bright, has fhone,

And with the wings of conqueft flown,

Muft to a haughty mafter bow:

Who

Who with our toil, our blood, and all we have befide, Gorges his ill-got pow'r, his humour, or his pride.

What comfort can that be to thofe,

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 beaft but man did e'er combine

For fetting up his fellow-creature,

And of two mifchiefs chufe the greater?

Oh! rather than be flaves to falfe and worthless men!

Give us our wildness and our woods, our hutts and caves again.

There fecure from lawless fway,
Out of pride, or envy's way;