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By Starving, Want and Wickedness prepar’d,
Wisely they arm for Safety and Reward;
But oh! what Cause, what Reason can'ft thou find;
Art chou to Arms, for love of Arms, inclin'd:
Hast thou the Manners of this Age withstood,
And for so many years been singly good,
To be repaid with Civil Wars and Blood?
Let those to Vice enur'd for Arms prepare,
In thee 'cwill be Impiety to dare;
Preserve at least, ye Gods, these Hands from War.
Nor do thou meanly with the Rabble join,

their Cause with such an Arm as thinc.
TÔ thee the Fortune of the Fatal Field
Inclining, unauspicious Fame shall yield,
Each to thy Sword hall press, and wish to be
Imputed as thy Crime, and charg'd on thee.
Happier thou wert, if with Retirement blest,
Which Noise and Faction Dever should molest,
Nor break the sacred Quiet of thy Breast ;
Where Harmony and Order neer should cease,
But ev'ry Day should take its Turn in Peace;
So in Eternal steddy Motion roll
The radiant Spheres around the starry Pole.
Fierce Lightnings, Meteors, and the Winter's Storm,
Earth, and the Face of lower Heav'n deform ;
Whilft all by Nature's Laws is calm above,
No Tempest rages in the Court of fove.
Light Particles and idle Atoms Ay,
Toft by the Winds, and scatter'd round the Sky,
While the more solid Parts the Force relft,
And fix'd and stable on their Centre reft.
Cæfar shall hear with Joy, that thou art join'd
With fighting Fađions, to disturb Mankind;
Tho' sworn his Foe, he thall applaud thy Choice,
And think his wicked War approv'd by Catu's Voice.
See, how to swell their mighty Leader's State,
The Consuls and the servile Senate waitį.

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Ev'n Cato's self to Pompey's Yoak must bow,
And all Mankind are Slaves, but Cæfar, now.
If War, however, be at last 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 shall chuse is yet to know,
That let the War decide; who Conquers is my Foe.
Thus spoke the Youth: When Caro thus exprest
The facred Counsels of his inmost Breaft.
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 your selves, 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 should in Heav'n and Earth prevail,
And universal Nature's Frame should fail,
What Stoick would not the Misfortune share,
Nor think that Defolation worth his Care
Princes and Nations, whom wide Seas divide,

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Where other stars far diftant Heav'ns do guide; }

Have brought their Enligns to the Roman Side ;
Avert it, Gods! When barb'rous Scythians come
From their cold North, to prop declining Rome,
That I shou'd see her fall, and fit secure at home.
As an unhappy Sire, by Death undone,
Robbid of his Age's Joy, his only Son,
Attends him to the Tomb 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, ev'ry Ceremony paft,
His own sad Hand may light the Pile at laft,
So fix’d, so faithful to thy Cause, O Rome,
With such a Contancy and Love I come i

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Resolv'd for thee and Liberty to mourn,
And never! never! from your Sides be torn;
Resolv'd to follow still your common Fate,
And on your very Names, and last Remains to wait.
Thus let it be, Gince thus the Gods ordain ;
Since Hecatombs of Romans must be slain,
Afist the Sacrifice with ev'ry Hand,
And give 'em all the Slaughter they demand,
O! were the Gods contented with my Fall,
If Cato's Life could answer for you all,
Like the devoted Decius would I go,
To force from either side some Mortal Blow: (Foe.?
And, for my Country's fake, wish to be thought her s
*To me, ye Romuns, all your Rage confine ;
To me, ye Nations from the barb'rous Rhine;
Let all the Wounds this War shall make, be mine.
Open my Vital Streams, and let 'em run,
And let the Purple Sacrifice attone
For all the Ills offending Rome has done.
If Slavery be all the Faction's End,
If Chains the Prize for which the Fools contend,
To me convert the War, let me be slain;
Me, only me, who fondly strive in vain,
Their useless Laws and Freedom to maintain.
So may the Tyrant safely mount his Throne,
And rule his Slaves in Peace, when I am gone.
Howe'er, since free as yet from his Command,
For Pompey and the Common-wealth we stand.
Nor he, if Fortune tould attend his Arms,
Is Proof against Ambition's fatal Charms;
But, urgʻd with Greatness and Desire of Sway,
May dare to make the vanquish'd World his Prey.
Then, least the Hopes of Empire swell his Pride,
Let him remember I was on his side;
Nor think he conquer'd for himself alone,
To make the Harvest of the War his own,
Where half the Toil was ours. So spoke the Sage;
His Words the listning, eager Youth engage

S Too much to love of Arms, and heat of Civil Rage.

Verses sent to Dr. GARTH in his Illness.


Achaon Sick! in every Face we find

Whose Art prote&ting, Nature could expire
But by a Deluge, or the general Fire.

More Lives he saves, than perish in our Wars ;
And, faster than a Plague destroys, repairs.
The bold Carowser, and advent'rous Dame,
Nor fear the Feaver, nor refufe the Flame;
Safe in his Skill, from all Restraint set free,
But conscious Shame, Remorse, or Piety.

Sire of all Arts, defend thy darling Son, Restore the Man, whose Life's so much our own; On whom, like Atlas, the whole World's reclin'd: And, by preserving Garth, preserve Mankind.

S T A N Z A' S.

HIS is the Place, where oft my longing Eyes

Have charming Sylvia seen!
How in that Instant would my Pallion rise:

And with what Transports did I meet her then?'
What means my Heart, at that false Name to move?
Have you forgot that you no longer love?

Here, Chaplets of the choicest Flow'rs to make,

The Meads I wanderd o'er: Which the with tender Looks would blushing take ; Or with feign'd Coyness make her Kindness more. What means my Heart, at that false Name to move? Have you forgot that you no longer love?

If tender Jealousies difturb'd my Rest,

Whene'er my Doubts appeared,

How unconcern’dly wou'd the calm my Breast?
With what Contempt describe the Swains 1 fear'd?
What means my Heart, at that falfe Name to move?
Have you forgot that you no longer love?


Now, confcious of her Guilt, she shuns my sight ;

To me lhe shuts her Door;
While worthless Hirelings grolly taste Delight,
And riot in the Charms that I adore.
What means my Heart, at that falfe Name to move ?
Have you forgot that you no longer leve?

Upon an Accidental Meeting.

HAT Sight is that does ev'ry Sense control?

What stops my Tongue: what is it strikes mySoul;
And in my Breast revives extinguish'd Fires ?
Oh, Sylvia: durft thou enter in Dispute!
Could thy Guilt stand but for one Moment mute!
And let us calmly talk of past Desires!

Fear not that I fould furiously contend
My Wrongs to plead, my Actions to defend;
Or with false Colours the Dispute prolong;
Rather may's thou, Fair Nymph, thy Conduct clear,
Make, with full Proofs, thy Innocence appear,
And clearly show that I have done thee Wrong.

Love, all the Treasure of my Soul contain'd;
That 'Treafure I confided in thy Hand,
Which thou hast squander'd lavishly away:
This is the point on which the Cause we'll try;
Speak boldly then, which part can't thou deny !
Did not I trust? or didît not thou betray?

Had'lt thou lost all that Avarice defires,
Or all that Beauty which the World admires,

Not both those Losses could have chang’d my Mind:
I could have loy'd thee Indigent and Poor;
I could have lov'd, tho' Beauty were no more ;
But I must hate thee, Faithless and Unkind,

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