Poets them felves must fall like thofe they fung, 75 Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue. E'en he, whofe foul now melts in mournful lays, Shall fhortly want the gen'rous tear he pays; Then from his clofing eyes thy form fhall part, And the last pang fhall tear thee from his heart; Life's idle bus'nefs at one gafp be o'er, The mufe forgot, and thou belov'd no more!
MR. ADDISON's
TRAGEDY OF CATO.
T wake the foul by tender ftrokes of art,
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart;
To make mankind in conscious virtue bold,
Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold;
For this the Tragic Mufe firit trod the stage,
Commanding tears to ftream through ev'ry age.
Tyrants no more their favage nature kept,
And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept.
Our Author fhun's by vulgar fprings to move
The hero's glory, or the virgin's love:
In pitying love we but our weakness show,
And wild ambition well deferves its woe.
Here tears fhall flow from a more generous caufe,
Such tears as patriots shed for dying laws:
He bids your breasts with ancient ardour rife,
And calls forth Roman drops from British eyes.
Virtue confefs'd in human fhape he draws;
What Plato thought, and godlike Cato was:
No common object to your fight displays,
But what with pleafure Heav'n itself furveys;
A brave man ftruggling in the ftorms of fate,
And greatly falling with a falling ftate.
While Cato gives his little fenate laws,
What bofom beats not in his country's cause?
Who fees him act, but envies every deed?
Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed? E'en when proud Cæfar, 'midft triumphal cars, The fpoils of nations, and the pomp of wars, Ignobly vain, and impotently great,
Show'd Rome her Cato's figure drawn in ftate,
As her dead father's rev'rend image paft
The pomp was darken'd, and the day o'ercaft;
The triumph ceas'd, tears gufh'd from ev'ry eye;
The world's great victor pafs'd unheeded by;
Her last good man dejected Rome ador'd,
And honour'd Cæfar's lefs than Cato's fword.
Britons! attend: be worth like this approv'd,
And fhow you have the virtue to be mov'd.
With honeft fcorn the firft fam'd Cato view'd
Rome learning arts from Greece, whom the fubdu'd;
Your fcenes precariously fubfifts too long
On French tranflation and Italian fong:
Dare to have sense yourselves; affert the stage;
Be juftly warm'd with your own native rage:
Such plays alone fhould win a British ear,
As Cato's felf had not difdain'd to hear.
MR. ROWE'S
JANE SHORE.
DESIGNED FOR MRS. OLDFIELD.
PRODIGIOUS this! the frail-one of our Play
From her own sex should mercy find to-day!
You might have held the pretty head afide,
Peep'd in your fans, been ferious, thus, and cry'd,
The play may pass-but that ftrange creature, Shore,
I can't indeed now-I fo hate a whore-
Juft as a blockhead rubs his thoughtless skull,
And thanks his stars he was not born a fool;
So from a fifter finner you shall hear,
"How ftrangely you expofe yourfelf, my dear!"
But let me die, all raillery apart,
Our fex are still forgiving at their heart;
And, did not wicked cuftom fo contrive,
We'd be the best good-natur'd things alive.
There are, 'tis true, who tell another tale,
That virtuous ladies envy while they rail;
Such rige without betrays the fire within;
In fome clofe corner of the foul they fin;
Still hoarding up, moft fcandaloully nice,
Amidft their virtues, a referve of vice.
The godly dame, who flefhly failings damns,
Scoids with her maid, or with her chaplain crams.
Would you enjoy foft nights, and folid dinners?
Faith, gallants, board with faints, and bed with finners.
Well, if our Author in the Wife offends,
He has a husband that will make amends:
He draws him gentle, tender, and forgiving;
And fure fuch kind good creatures may be living.
In days of old they pardon'd breach of vows;
Stern Cato's felf was no relentless spouse:
Plu-Plutarch, what's his name, that writes his life?
Tells us, that Cato dearly lov'd his wife:
Yet if a friend, a night or fo, fhould need her,
He'd recommend her as a special breeder.
To lend a wife few here would fcruple make;
But, pray, which of you all would take her back?
Tho' with the Stoic Chief our stage may ring,
The Stoic Hufband was the glorious thing.
The man had courage, was a fage, 'tis true,
And lov'd his country-But what's that to you
Thofe ftrange examples ne'er where made to fit ye,
But the kind cuckold might instruct the City :
There many an honest man may copy Cato,
Who ne'er faw naked fword, or look'd in Plato.
If, after all, you think it a disgrace,
That Edward's Mifs thus perks it in your face;
To fee a piece of failing flesh and blood,
In all the reft fo impudently good;
Faith, let the modeft Matrons of the Town
Come here in crowds, and ftare the ftrumpet down. 50
THE following Tranflations were felected from many others done by the Author in his youth; for the most part, indeed, but a fort of Exercises, while he was improving himself in the languages, and carried, by his early bent to Poetry, to perform them rather in verfe than profe. Mr. Dryden's Fables came out about that time, which occafioned the Tranflations from Chaucer. They were first Jeparately printed in mifcellanies by F. Tonfon and B. Lintot, and afterwards collected in the Quarto Eidition of 1717. The Imitations of English Authors were done as early, fome of them at fourteen or fifteen years old. [P.]
[WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1711.]
Advertisement.
THE hint of the following piece was taken from Chaucer's House of Fame. The defign is in a manner entirely altered, the defcriptions and most of the particular thoughts my own: yet I could not fuffer it to be printed without this acknowledginent. The reader who would compare this with Chaucer, may begin with his Third Book of Fame, there being nothing in the two first books that anfwer to their titie. [P.]
IN that foft feafon when descending show'rs
Call forth the greens, and wake the rifing flow'rs; When op'ning buds falute the welcome day, And earth relenting feels the genial ray ; As balmy fleep had charm'd my cares to reft, And love itself was banith'd from my breast, (What time the morn myfterious vifions brings, While purer flumbers fpread their golden wings,) A train of phantoms in wild order rose, And, join'd, this intellectual fcene compose.
I ftood, methought, betwixt earth, feas, and skies,
The whole creation open to my eyes:
In air felf-balanc'd hung the globe below,
Where mountains rife and circling oceans flow:
Here naked rocks and empty waftes were seen;
There tow'ry cities, and the forefts green:
Here failing fhips delight the wand'ring eyes;
There trees and intermingled temples rife :
Now a clear fun the fhining scene difplays,
The tranfient landscape now in clouds decays.
O'er the wide prospect as I gaz'd around,
Sudden I heard a wild promifcuous found,
Like broken thunders that at distance roar,
Or billows murm'ring on the hollow shore:
Then gazing up, a glorious pile beheld,
Whofe tow'ring fummit ambient clouds conceal'd.
High on a rock of ice the structure lay;
Steep its afcent, and flipp'ry was the way:
The wondrous rock like Parian marble fhone,
And leem'd, to diftant fight, of folid stone:
Infcriptions here of various names I view'd,
The greater part by hostile Time subdu’d;
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