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Shall we (oh, fhame!) prevent his great fuccess,
And bind his hands by our inglorious peace?

He spoke; and civil rage at once returns,
Each breaft the fonder thought of pity fcorns,
And ruthless with redoubled fury burns.

So when the tiger, or the spotted pard,

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Long from the woods and favage haunts debarr'd, 390
From their firft fierceness for a while are won,

And seem to put a gentler nature on;

Patient their prison, and mankind they bear,

Fawn on their lords, and looks lefs horrid wear:

But let the taste of flaughter be renew'd,

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And their fell jaws again with gore imbrued;
Then dreadfully their wakening furies rife,
And glaring fires rekindle in their eyes;
With wrathful roar their echoing dens they tear,
And hardly ev❜n the well-known keeper fpare;
The fhuddering keeper shakes, and ftands aloof for fear.
From friendship freed, and confcious nature's tie
To undistinguish'd flaughters loofe they fly;
With guilt avow'd their daring crimes advance,
And fcorn th' excufe of ignorance and chance.
Those whom fo late their fond embraces preft,
The bofom's partner, and the welcome guest;
Now at the board unhofpitable bleed,

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While ftreams of blood the flowing bowl fucceed.
With groans at first, each draws the glittering brand, 410
And lingering death stops in th' unwilling hand:
Till urg'd at length returning force they feel,
And catch new courage from the murdering steel:

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Vengeance and hatred rise with every blow,

And blood paints every visage like a foe.
Uproar and horror through the camp abound,

While impious sons their mangled fathers wound,
And, left the merit of the crime be loft,

With dreadful joy the parricide they boast;

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Proud to their chiefs the cold pale heads they bear, 420
The gore yet dropping from the filver hair.

But thou, oh Cæfar! to the gods be dear!
Thy pious mercy well becomes their care;
And though thy foldier falls by treacherous peace,
Be proud, and reckon this thy great fuccefs.
Not all thou ow'ft to bounteous Fortune's fmile,
Not proud Maffilia, nor the Pharian Nile;
Not the full conqueft of Pharfalia's field,
Could greater fame, or nobler trophies yield;
Thine and the cause of justice now are one,
Since guilty flaughter brands thy foes alone.
Nor dare the confcious leaders longer wait,
Or truft to fuch unhallow'd hands their fate:
Aftonish'd and difmay'd they fhun the fight,
And to Ilerda turn their hafty flight.

But, ere their march atchieves its deftin'd courfe,
Preventing Cæfar fends the winged horse :
The speedy fquadrons feize th' appointed ground,
And hold their foes on hills encompass'd round.
Pent up in barren heights, they ftrive in vain
Refreshing springs and flowing ftreams to gain;
Strong hoftile works their camp's extension stay,
And deep-funk trenches intercept their way.

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Now deaths unexpected forms arise,
Thirst and pale famine stalk before their eyes.
Shut up and close befieg'd, no more they need
The strength or fwiftnefs of the warlike steed;
But doom the generous courfers all to bleed.
Hopeless at length, and barr'd around from flight,
Headlong they rush to arms, and urge the fight: 450
But Cæfar, who with wary eyes beheld,

With what determin'd rage they fought the field,
Reftrain'd his eager troops. Forbear, he cry'd,
Nor let your fword in madmen's blood be dy'd.
But, fince they come devoted by despair,
Since life is grown unworthy of their care,
Since 'tis their time to die, 'tis our to spare.
Those naked bofoms that provoke the foe,
With greedy hopes of deadly vengeance glow;
With pleasure shall they meet the pointed steel,
Nor fmarting wounds, nor dying anguish feel,
If, while they bleed, your Cæsar shares the pain,
And mourns his gallant friends among the flain.
But wait awhile, this rage fhall foon be past,
This blaze of courage is too fierce to last;
This ardour for the fight fhall faint away,
And all this fond defire of death decay.

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He spoke; and at the word the war stay'd,
Till Phoebus fled from night's afcending shade.
Ev'n all the day, embattled on the plain,
The rash Petreians urge to arms in vain :

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At length the weary fire began to cease,
And wafting fury languifh'd into peace;

Th'

Th' impatient arrogance of wrath declin'd,
And flackening paffions cool'd upon the mind.
So when, the battle roaring loud around,
Some warrior warm receives a fatal wound;
While yet the griding fword has newly past,
And the first pungent pains and anguish last;
While full with life the turgid veffels rife,
And the warm juice the spritely nerve supplies;
Each finewy limb with fiercer force is prest,
And rage redoubles in the burning breast:
But if, as confcious of th' advantage gain'd,
The cooler victor stays his wrathful hand;
Then finks his thrall with ebbing spirits low,
The black blood ftiffens and forgets to flow;

Cold damps and numbnefs close the deadly stound,
And stretch him pale and fainting on the ground.
For water now on every fide they try,
Alike the fword and delving fpade employ ;
Earth's bofom dark, laborious they explore,

And fearch the fources of her liquid ftore;
Deep in the hollow hill the well descends,

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Till level with the moifter plain it ends.

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Not lower down from chearful day decline

The pale Affyrians, in the golden mine.

In vain they toil, no fecret streams are found
To roll their murmuring tides beneath the ground;
No bursting springs repay the workman's stroke, 500
Nor glittering gush from out the wounded rock;
No fweating caves in dewy droppings stand,
Nor smallest rills run gurgling o'er the fand,

Spent

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Spent and exhaufted with the fruitless pain,
The fainting youth afcend to light again.
And now lefs patient of the drought they grow,
Than in thofe cooler depths of earth below;
No favory viands crown the chearful board,
-Ev'n food for want of water ftands abhorr'd;
To hunger's meagre refuge they retreat,
And, fince they cannot drink, refuse to eat.
Where yielding clods a moister clay confefs,
With griping hands the clammy glebe they prefs;
Where-e'er the standing puddle loathfome lies,
Thither in crouds the thirsty foldier flies ;

Horrid to fight, the miry filth they quaff,

And drain with dying jaws the deadly draff.
Some feek the beftial mothers for supply,
And draw the herds extended udders dry;
Till thirst, unfated with the milky store,
With labouring lips drinks-in the putrid gore.
Some ftrip the leaves, and fuck the morning dews;
Some grind the bark, the woody branches bruife,
And squeeze the fapling's unconcocted juice.

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Oh happy thofe, to whom the barbarous kings 525 Left their envenom'd floods, and tainted springs! Cæfar be kind, and every bane prepare, Which Cretan rocks, or Libyan ferpents bear: The Romans to thy poisonous stream shall fly, And, confcious of the danger, drink, and die. With fecret flames their withering entrails burn, And fiery breathings from their lungs return; The fhrinking veins contract their purple flood, And urge, laborious, on the beating blood; N

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The

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