Haft thou the manners of this age withstood,
And for fo many years been fingly good,
To be repay'd with civil wars and blood?
Let thofe to vice inur'd for, arms prepare,
In thee 'twill be impiety to dare;
Preferve at leaft, ye gods, thefe hands from war.
Nor do thou meanly with the rabble join,
grace their caufe with fuch an arm as thine.
To thee, the fortune of the fatal field
Inclining, unaufpicious fame shall yield;
Each to thy fword fhall prefs, and with to be
Imputed as thy crime, and charg`d on thee.
Happy thou wert, if with retirement bleft,
Which noife and faction never fhould moleft,
Nor break the facred quiet of thy breaft;
Where harmony and order ne'er should cease,
But every day fhould take its turn in peace.
So, in eternal fteddy motion, roll
The radiant fpheres around the starry pole :
Fierce lightnings, meteors, and the winter's storm,
Earth and the face of lower heaven deform,
Whilft all by nature's laws is calm above;
No tempeft rages in the court of Jove.
Light particles and idle atoms fly,
Tofs'd by the winds, and scatter'd round the sky;
While the more folid parts the force refift,
And fix'd and ftable on the centre reft.
Cæfar fhall hear with joy, that thou art join'd
With fighting factions, to disturb mankind : Though fworn his foe, he fhall applaud thy choice, And think his wicked war approv'd by Cato's voice.
See! how to fwell their mighty leader's ftate,
The confuls and the fervile fenate wait :
Ev'n Cato's self to Pompey's yoke must bow,
And all mankind are flaves but Cæfar now.
If war, however, be at laft our doom,
If we must arm for Liberty and Rome :
While undecided yet their fate depends,
Cæfar and Pompey are alike my friends;
Which party I fhall choose, is yet to know,
That let the war decide; who conquers is my foe.
Thus fpoke the youth. When Cato thus expreft 435
The facred counfels of his inmoft breast:
Brutus! with thee, I own the crime is great ;
With thee, this impious civil war I hate;
But Virtue blindly follows, led by Fate.
Answer yourselves, ye gods, and set me free;
If I am guilty, 'tis by your decree.
If yon fair lamps above should lose their light,
And leave the wretched world in endless night;
If Chaos fhould in heaven and earth prevail,
And univerfal nature's frame fhould fail :
What Stoic would not the misfortune share,
And think that defolation worth his care?
Princes and nations whom wide feas divide,
Where other stars far distant heavens do guide,
Have brought their enfigns to the Roman fide.
Forbid it, gods! when barbarous Scythians come
From their cold north, to prop declining Rome,
That I should see her fall, and fit fecure at home.
As fome unhappy fire by death undone,
Robb'd of his age's joy, his only son,
Attends the funeral with pious care,
To pay his last paternal office there;
Takes a fad pleasure in the croud to go,
And be himself part of the pompous woe;
Then waits till, every ceremony past,
His own fond hand may light the pile at laft.
So fix'd, fo faithful to thy cause, O Rome,
With fuch a conftancy and love I come,
Refolv'd for thee and liberty to mourn,
And never! never from your fides be torn ;
Refolv'd to follow ftill your common fate,
And on your very names, and laft remains to wait.
Thus let it be, fince thus the gods ordain;
Since hecatombs of Romans must be flain,
Affift the facrifice with every hand,
And give them all the flaughter they demand.
O! were the gods contented with my fall,
If Cato's life could anfwer for you all,
Like the devoted Decius would I go,
To force from either fide the mortal blow,
And for my country's fake, wish to be thought her foe.
To me, ye Romans, all your rage confine,
To me, ye nations from the barbarous Rhine,
Let all the wounds this war fhall make be mine.
Open my vital ftreams, and let them run,
Oh, let the purple facrifice atone
For all the ills offending Rome has done.
If flavery be all the faction's end,
If chains the prize for which the fools contend,
To me convert the war, let me be flain;
Me, only me, who fondly ftrive, in vain,
Their ufelefs laws and freedom to maintain :
So may the tyrant fafely mount his throne,
And rule his flaves in peace, when I am gone.
How-e'er, fince free as yet from his command,
For Pompey and the commonwealth we stand.
Nor he, if fortune should attend his arms,
Is proof against ambition's fatal charms;
But, urg'd with greatness, and defire of sway,
May dare to make the vanquish'd world his prey. 495
Then, left the hopes of empire fwell his pride,
Let him remember I was on his fide;
Nor think he conquer'd for himself alone,
To make the harveft of the war his own,
Where half the toil was ours. So fpoke the fage.
His words the listening eager youth engage
Too much to love of arms, and heat of civil rage.
Now 'gan the fun to lift his dawning light,
Before him fled the colder fhades of night;
When lo! the founding doors are heard to turn, 505 Chafte Martia comes from dead Hortenfius' urn.
Once to a better husband's happier bed,
With bridal rites, a virgin was she led :
When, every debt of love and duty paid,
And thrice a parent by Lucina made,
The teeming matron, at her lord's command,
To glad Hortenfius gave her plighted hand;
With a fair stock his barren house to grace,
And mingle by the mother's fide the race.
tlength this husband in his afhes laid,
And every rite of due religion paid,
Forth from his monument the mournful dame,
With beaten breafts, and locks difhevel'd, came;
Then with a pale dejected rueful look,
Thus pleafing, to her former lord she spoke :
While nature yet with vigour fed my veins,
And made me equal to a mother's pains,
To thee obedient, I thy houfe forfook,
And to my arms another husband took :
My powers at length with genial labours worn,
Weary to thee, and wasted, I return.
At length a barren wedlock let me prove,
Give me the name, without the joys of love;
No more to be abandon'd, let me come,
That Cato's wife may live upon my tomb.
So fhall my truth to latest times be read,
And none shall ask if guiltily I fled,
Or thy command estrang'd me from thy bed.
Nor afk I now thy happiness to share,
I feek thy days of toil, thy nights of care:
Give me, with thee, to meet my country's foe,
Thy weary marches and thy camps to know;
Nor let pofterity with fhame record,
Cornelia follow'd, Martia left her lord.
She faid: The hero's manly heart was mov'd, 540 And the chafte matron's virtuous fuit approv'd. And though the times far differing thoughts demand, Though war diffents from Hymen's holy band; In plain unfolemn wife his faith he plights, And calls the gods to view the lonely rites.
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