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By Starving, Want and Wickedness prepar'd,
Wifely they arm for Safety and Reward;

But oh what Cause, what Reason can't thou find?
Art thou to Arms, for love of Arms, inclin'd?
Haft thou the Manners of this Age withstood,
And for fo many Years been fingly good,
To be repaid with Civil Wars and Blood?
Let those to Vice enur'd for Arms prepare,
In thee 'twill be Impiety to dare;

Preferve at least, ye Gods, thefe Hands from War.
Nor do thou meanly with the Rabble join,
Nor grace their Caufe with fuch an Arm as thine.
To thee the Fortune of the Fatal Field
Inclining, unaufpicious Fame fhall yield;
Each to thy Sword shall prefs, and wish to be
Imputed as thy Crime, and charg'd on thee.
Happier 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 ev'ry Day fhould take its Turn in Peace;
So in Eternal fteddy Motion roll

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The radiant Spheres around the starry Pole.
Fierce Lightnings, Meteors, and the Winter's Storm,
Earth, and the Face of lower Heav'n deform;

Whilst all by Nature's Laws is calm above,

No Tempeft rages in the Court of Jove.
Light Particles and idle Atoms fly,

Toft by the Winds, and scatter'd round the Sky,
While the more folid Parts the Force refift,

And fix'd and ftable on their Centre rest.
Cafar fhall hear with Joy, that thou art join'd
With fighting Factions, to disturb Mankind;
Tho' fworn his Foe, he thall applaud thy Choice,
And think his wicked War approv'd by Cato's Voice.
See, how to fwell their mighty Leader's State,
The Confuls and the fervile Senate wait;

Ev'n Cato's felf to Pompey's Yoak must bow,
And all Mankind are Slaves, but Cafar, now.
If War, however, be at laft our Doom,
If we muft Arm for Liberty and Rome,
While undecided yet their Fate depends,
Cafar and Pompey are alike my Friends;
Which Party I fhall chufe is yet to know,
That let the War decide; who Conquers is my Fee,
Thus fpoke the Youth: When Caro thus expreft
The facred Counfels of his inmoft 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 felves, ye Gods, and fet me free,
If I am guilty, 'tis by your Decree.

If yon fair Lamps above fhould lose their Light,
And leave the wretched World in endless Night;
If Chaos fhould in Heav'n and Earth prevail,
And univerfal Nature's Frame fhould fail,
What Stoick would not the Misfortune share,
Nor think that Defolation worth his Care?
Princes and Nations, whom wide Seas divide,
Where other Stars far diftant Heav'ns do guide,
Have brought their Enfigns to the Roman Side;
Avert it, Gods! When barb'rous Scythians come
From their cold North, to prop declining Rome,
That I fhou'd fee her fall, and fit fecure at home.
As an unhappy Sire, by Death undone,
Robb'd of his Age's Joy, his only Son,
Attends him to the Tomb with pious Care,
To pay his laft 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 fad 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

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Refolv'd for thee and Liberty to mourn,
And never! never! from your Sides 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 slain,
Affift 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
To me, ye Romans, all your Rage confine;
To me, ye Nations from the barb'rous Rhine;
Let all the Wounds this War fhall 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 flain;
Me, only me, who fondly ftrive in vain,
Their useless Laws and Freedom to maintain.
So may the Tyrant fafely 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 ftand.
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.
Then, least the Hopes of Empire fwell his Pride,
Let him remember I was on his Side;

Nor think he conquer'd for himself alone,
To make the Harveft of the War his own,

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Where half the Toil was ours. So fpoke the Sage;2
His Words the lift'ning, eager Youth engage
Too much to love of Arms, and heat of Civil Rage.

Verfes fent to Dr. GARTH in his Illness.

By Mr. GRANVILL.

Achaon Sick! in every Face we find

Whose Art protecting, Nature could expire
But by a Deluge, or the general Fire.

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

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

TH

STAN ZA'S.

HIS is the Place, where oft my longing Eyes
Have charming Sylvia feen!

How in that Inftant would my Paffion rife?
And with what Transports did I meet her then?
What means my Heart, at that falfe Name to move?
Have you forgot that you no longer love?

Here, Chaplets of the choiceft Flow'rs to make,
The Meads I wander'd o'er:

Which the with tender Looks would blushing take; Or with feign'd Coynefs make her Kindnels more. What means my Heart, at that falfe Name to move? Have you forgot that you no longer love?

If tender Jealoufies difturb'd my Reft,
Whene'er my Doubts appear'd;

How unconcern'dly wou'd she calm my Breast?
With what Contempt defcribe the Swains I 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, fhe fhuns my Sight;
To me the fhuts her Door;

While worthless Hirelings grofly tafte Delight,
And riot in the Charms that I adore.

What means my Heart, at that false Name to move?
Have you forgot that you no longer love?

W

Upon an Accidental Meeting.

HAT Sight is that does ev'ry Sense control? What ftops my Tongue? what is it ftrikes my Soul; And in my Breaft revives extinguish'd Fires? Oh, Sylvia durft thou enter in Difpute! Could thy Guilt ftand but for one Moment mute! And let us calmly talk of past Defires!

Fear not that I should furiously contend My Wrongs to plead, my Actions to defend ; Or with falfe Colours the Difpute prolong; Rather may't thou, Fair Nymph, thy Conduct clear, Make, with full Proofs, thy Innocence appear, And clearly fhow that I have done thee Wrong. Love, all the Treasure of my Soul contain'd; That Treafure I confided in thy Hand, Which thou haft fquander'd lavishly away: This is the Point on which the Caufe we'll try; Speak boldly then, which part can't thou deny? Did not I truft? or didft not thou betray?

Had'st thou loft all that Avarice defires,

Or all that Beauty which the World admires,
Not both thofe Loffes could have changed my Mind:
I could have lov'd thee Indigent and Poor;

I could have lov'd, tho' Beauty were no more;
But I muft hate thee, Faithlefs and Unkind.

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