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"This weapon's mine!" she cries. (then grasp'd it faft)

"And now the lustful tyrant fleeps his laft."
With eager hand the pointed steel she draws,
Ev'n murder pleases in so just a cause ;
Nor fears, nor dangers, now resistance make,
Since honour, life, and dearer fame, 's at stake.

Yet in her breafst does kind compaffion plead, And fills her foul with horror of the deed; Her fex's tenderness refumes its place, And spreads in confcious blushes o'er her face. Now, stung with the remorse of guilt, she cries, "Ah, frantic girl, what wild attempt is this ! "Think, think, Theutilla, on the murderer's doom, "And tremble at a punishment to come :

"Stain not thy virgin hands with guilty blood, "And dread to be so criminally good.

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Lay both thy courage and thy weapon down,
"Nor fly to aids a maid must blush to own;
"Nor arms", nor valour, with thy fex agree,
"They wound thy fame, and taint thy modesty."

Thus different paffions combat in her mind,
Oft she 's to pity, oft to rage inclin'd :
Now from her hand the hated weapon 's caft,
Then feiz'd again with more impetuous haste :
Unfix'd her wishes, her resolves are vain,
What the attempts, she straight rejects again;
Her looks, the emblems of her thoughts, appear
Vary'd with rage, with pity, and defpair:
Alone her fears incline to no extreme,
Equally poiz'd betwixt revenge and shame.

At

At length, with more prevailing rage poffeft,
Her jealous honour steels her daring breast:
The thoughts of injur'd fame new courage gave,
And nicer virtue now confirms her brave.

Then the fam'd Judith her whole mind employs,
Urges her hand, and fooths the fatal choice:
This great example pleas'd, inflam'd by this,
With wild diforder to the youth she flies;
One hand she wreaths within his flowing hair,
The other does the ready weapon bear :
"Now guide me (cries) fair Hebrew, now look down,.
"And pity labours thou hast undergone.
"Direct the hand that takes thy path to fame,
"And be propitious to a virgin's name,

"Whose glory 's but a refuge from her shame!" Thus rais'd by hopes, and arm'd with courage now, She with undaunted looks directs the blow:

Deep in his breast the spacious wound she made,
And to his heart dispatch'd th' unerring blade.

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When their expiring lord the servants heard,
Whofe dying groans the fatal act declar'd,
Like a fierce torrent, with no bounds they 're stay'd,
But vent their rage on the defenceless maid :
Not virtue, youth, nor beauty in distress,
Can move their favage breasts to tendernefs :
But death with horrid torments they prepare,
And to her fate th' undaunted virgin bear.
Tortures and death seem lovely in her eyes,
Since the to honour falls a facrifice:

Amidst her fufferings, still her mind is great,
And, free from guilt, she triumphs o'er her fate.

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But heaven, that's fuffering virtue's sure reward,

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Exerts its power, and is itself her guard :
Amalis, confcious of his black offence,
Now feels remorse for her wrong'd innocence;
Though now he's struggling in the pangs of death,
And all life's purple stream is ebbing forth:
Yet, raising up his pale and drooping head,
He recollects his spirits as they fled,
And, with his last remains of voice, he faid,
"Spare the chafte maid, your impious hands restrain,
"Nor beauty with fuch insolence prophane :
" Learn by my fate wrong'd innocence to spare,
"Since injur'd virtue's heaven's peculiar care."
But you, brave virgin, now shall stand enrol'd
Amongst the noblest heroines of old :
Thy fam'd attempt, and celebrated hand,
Shall lafting trophies of thy glory stand;
And, if my verse the just reward can give,
Theutilla's name shall to new ages live.
For to thy fex thou hast new honours won,
And France now boasts a Judith of its own.

A

N

D E

FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY, 1693.

I.

BEGIN, and strike th' harmonious lyre!

Let the loud instruments prepare

To raise our fouls, and charm the ear,

With joys which music only can inspire :

Hark

Hark how the willing strings obey!
To confecrate this happy day,

Sacred to Mufic, Love, and blest Cecilia.

In lofty numbers, tuneful lays,

We'll celebrate the virgin's praife:

Her skilful hand first taught our strings to move,
To her this facred art we owe,

Who first anticipated heaven below,

And play'd the hymns on earth, that she now fings above.

II.

What moving charms each tuneful voice contains,
Charms that through the willing ear

A tide of pleasing raptures bear,

And, with diffusive joys, run thrilling through our veins.

The liftening foul does sympathize,
And with each vary'd note complies:
While gay and sprightly airs delight,
Then free from cares, and unconfin'd,

It takes, in pleasing ecstafies, its flight.

With mournful sounds, a sadder garb it wears,
Indulges grief, and gives a loose to tears.

III.

Music 's the language of the blest above,

No voice but Music's can exprefs

The joys that happy fouls poffefs,

:

Nor in just raptures tell the wondrous power of Love.

'Tis Nature's dialect, design'd

To charm, and to instruct the mind.

Music 's an universal good!

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That does dispense its joys around,
In all the elegance of found,

To be by men admir'd, by angels understood.

IV.

Let every restless paffion cease to move!
And each tumultuous thought obey
The happy influence of this day,
For Music 's unity and love.
Music 's the soft indulger of the mind,
The kind diverter of our care,
The furest refuge mournful grief can find;
A cordial to the breaft, and charm to every ear.
Thus, when the prophet struck his tuneful lyre,
Saul's evil genius did retire :
In vain were remedies apply'd,
In vain all other arts were try'd :

His hand and voice alone the charm could find,
To heal his body, and compose his mind.

V.

Now let the trumpet's louder voice proclaim
A folemn jubilee:

For ever facred let it be,

To skilful Jubal's, and Cecilia's name.

Great Jubal, author of our lays,
Who first the hidden charms of mufic found;
And through their airy paths did trace
The fecret springs of found.

When from his hollow 'chorded fhell
The foft melodious accents fell,
With wonder and delight he play'd,

While the harmonious strings his skilful hand obey'd.

VI. But

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