Thee, Cæfar, with this coftly pledge we buy,
Thee to our friendship, with this victim, tie.
Ægypt's proud fceptre freely then receive,
Whate'er the fertile flowing Nile can give :
Accept the treasures which this deed has spar'd;
Accept the benefit, without reward.
Deign, Cæfar deign to think my royal lord
Worthy the aid of thy victorious sword:
In the first rank of greatness shall he stand
He, who could Pompey's destiny command.
Nor frown difdainful on the proffer'd spoil,
Because not dearly bought with blood and toil;
But think, oh think, what facred ties were broke,
How friendship pleaded, and how nature spoke :
That Pompey, who reftor'd Auletes' crown,
The father's ancient guest was murder'd by the fon. 1735-
Then judge thyfelf, or afk the world and fame,
If fervices like thefe deferve a name.
If gods and men the daring deed abhor,
Think, for that reafon, Cæfar owes the more;
This blood for thee, though not by thee, was fpilt; 1740
Thou haft the benefit, and we the guilt.
He faid, and ftraight the horrid gift unveil'd,
And fedfaft to the gazing victor held.
Chang'd was the face, deform'd with death all o'er,
Pale, ghastly, wan, and ftain'd with clotted
Unlike the Pompey Cæfar knew before.
He, nor at first disdain'd the fatal boon,
Nor started from the dreadful fight too soon..
Awhile his eyes the murderous fcene endure,
Doubting they view; but fhun it, when fecure.
At length he stood convinc'd, the deed was done
He faw 'twas fafe to mourn his lifelefs fon:
And straight the ready tears, that staid till now,
Swift at command with pious semblance flow :
As if detefting, from the fight he turns,
And groaning, with a heart triumphant mourns.
He fears his impious thought should be defcry'd,
And seeks in tears the fwelling joy to hide.
Thus the curft Pharian tyrant's hopes were croft,
Thus all the merit of his gift was loft;
Thus for the murder Cæfar's thanks were fpar'd;
He chofe to mourn it, rather than reward.
He who, relentless, through Pharfalia rode,
And on the fenate's mangled fathers trode;
He who, without one pitying sigh, beheld
The blood and slaughter of that woeful field;
Thee, murder'd Pompey, could not ruthless see,
But pay'd the tribute of his grief to thee.
Oh mystery of fortune, and of fate!
Oh ill-conforted piety and hate!
And canft thou, Cæfar, then thy tears afford,
To the dire object of thy vengeful sword?
Didft thou, for this, devote his hoftile head,
Purfue him living, to bewail him dead?
Could not the gentle ties of kindred move?
Wert thou not touch'd with thy fad Julia's love?
And weep'st thou now? doft thou thefe tears provide
To win the friends of Pompey to thy fide?
Perhaps, with fecret rage thou doft repine,
That he fhould die by any hand but thine:
Thence fall thy tears, that Ptolemy has done
A murder, due to Cæfar's hand alone.
What fecret springs foe'er these currents know,
They ne'er, by piety, were taught to flow.
Or didst thou kindly, like a careful friend,
Purfue him flying, only to defend ?
Well was his fate deny'd to thy command!
Well was he fnatch'd by fortune from thy hand!
Fortune withheld this glory from thy name,
Forbad thy power to fave, and spar'd the Roman shame,
Still he goes on to vent his griefs aloud,
́And artful, thus, deceives the easy croud.
Hence from my fight, nor let me see thee more ;
Hafte, to thy king his fatal gift restore.
At Cæfar have you aim'd the deadly blow,
And wounded Cæfar worse than Pompey now;
The cruel hands by which this deed was done,
Have torn away the wreaths my fword had won,
That nobleft prize this civil war could give,
The victor's right to bid the vanquish'd live,
Then tell your king, his gift shall be repay'd;
I would have fent him Cleopatra's head;
But that he wishes to behold her dead.
How has he dar'd, this Ægypt's petty lord,
To join his murders to the Roman sword?
Did I, for this, in heat of war, distain
With nobleft blood Emathia's purple plain,
To licence Ptolemy's pernicious reign?
Did I with Pompey scorn the world to share ?
And can I an Ægyptian partner bear?
In vain the warlike trumpet's dreadful sound
Has rouz'd the universe to arms around;
Vain was the fhock of nations, if they own,
Now, any power on earth but mine alone.
If hither to your impious fhores I came,
'Twas to affert at once my power and fame;
Left the pale fury Envy should have said,
Your crimes I damn'd not, or your arms I fled.
Nor think to fawn before me and deceive;
I know the welcome you prepare to give.
Theffalia's field preferves me from your hate,
And guards the victor's head from Pompey's fate.
What ruin, Gods! attended on my arms,
What dangers unforeseen! what waiting harms!
Pompey, and Rome, and exile, were my fear;
See yet a fourth, fee Ptolemy appear!
The boy-king's vengeance loiters in the rear.
But we forgive his youth, and bid him know
Pardon and life's the most we can beftow.
For you, the meaner herd, with rites divine,
And pious cares, the warrior's head inshrine :
Atone with penitence the injur'd fhade,
And let his afhes' in their urn be laid;
Pleas'd, let his ghoft lamenting Cæfar know,
And feel my prefence here, ev'n in the realms below. 1835
Oh, what a day of joy was loft to Rome,
When hapless Pompey did to Ægypt come !
When, to a father and a friend unjust,
He rather chofe the Pharian boy to trust.
The wretched world that lofs of peace fhall rue, 1840 Of peace, which from our friendship might ensue:
But thus the gods their hard decrees have made;
In vain, for peace, and for repofe, I pray'd;
In vain implor'd, that wars and rage might end,
That, fuppliant-like, I might to Pompey bend,
Beg him to live, and once more be my friend.
Then had my labours met their just reward,
And, Pompey, thou in all my glories shar'd;
Then, jars and enmities all past and gone,
In pleasure had the peaceful years roll'd on;
All fhould forgive, to make the joy complete ;
Thou shouldft thy harder fate, and Rome my wars forget.
Fast falling still the tears, thus spoke the chief,
But found no partner in the specious grief.
Oh! glorious liberty! when all shall dare
A face, unlike their mighty lord, to wear!
Each in his breast the rifing forrow kept,
And thought it fafe to laugh, though Caefar wept.
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