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Here tears shall flow from a more gen'rous cause,
Such tears as Patriots Thed for dying Laws:
He bids your breasts with ancient ardour rise, 15
And calls forth Roman drops from British eyes.
Virtue confess'd in human shape he draws,
What Plato thought, and godlike Cato was:
No common object to your sight displays,
But what with pleasure Heav'n itself surveys, 20
A brave man struggling in the storms of fate,
And greatly falling with a falling state.
While Cato gives his little Senate laws,
What bosom beats not in his Country's cause?
Who sees him act, but envies ev'ry deed ? 25
Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed?
Ev’n when proud Cæsar ’midst triumphal cars,
The spoils of nations, and the pomp of wars,
Ignobly vain and impotently great,
Show'd Rome her Cato's figure drawn in state; 30
As her dead Father's rev'rend image past,
The pomp was darken’d, and the day o'ercast;

NOT E S. Ver. 20. But what with pleasure] This alludes to a famous passage of Seneca, which Mr. Addiron afterwards used as a motte to his play, when it was printed.

The Triumph ceas d, tears gush'd from ev'ry eve's The World's great Victor pafs’d unheeded hy; Her last good man dejected Rome ador'a, 35 And honour'd Cæsar's less than Cato's sword.

Britons, attend: be worth like this approv'd, And show, you have the virtue to be mov'd. With honest scorn the first fam'd Cato view’d Rome learning arts fromGreece,whom she subdu'ils Your scene precariously subsists too long 41 On French translation, and Italian fong. Dare to have sense yourselves; affert the stage, * Be justly warm’d with your own native rage : Such Plays alone should win a British ear, 45 As Cato's self had not disdain’d to hear.

Notes. VER. 37. Britons, attend :] Mr. Pope had written it arife, ing the spirit of Poetry, and Lberty; but Mr. Addison frightening som so daring an expression, which, he thought, fquinted *** pe byer 1 sotto would have it alter'd, in the spirit of Prule and Politsei, tuy attend.

VER. 46. As Cato's felf, etc.) This aludes ty thight is 192 ** hosty of his going into the Theatse, and impressi; 4.4998.g one

EPILOGUE

TO Mr. Rowe's JANE SHORE,

Design'd for Mrs. OLDFIELD.

D Rodigious this! the Frail-one of our Play
1 From her own Sex should mercy find to-day !
You might have held the pretty head afide,
Peep?d in your fans, been serious, thus, and cry'd,
The Play may pass--but that strange creature,Shoren
I can't--indeed now--I so hate a whore-- 6.
Just as a blockhead rubs his thoughtless skull,
And thanks his stars he was not born a fool;

So from a sister finner you shall hear, . “How strangely you expose yourself, my dear?” But let me die, all raillery apart,

II Our sex are still forgiving at their heart; And, did not wicked custom so contrive, We'd be the best, good-natur'd things alive .

There are, 'tis true, who tell another tale, 15
That virtuous ladies envy while they rail ;
Such rage without betrays the fire within ;
In some close corner of the soul, they fin;
Still hoarding up most scandaloully nice,
Amidst their virtues a reserve of vice. 20
The godly dame, who fleshly failings damns,
Scolds with her maid, or with her chaplain crams,
Would you enjoy soft nights and solid dinners?
Faith, gallants, board with saints, and bed with sin-

ners.
Well, if our Author in the Wife offends, 25
He has a Husband that will make amends:
He draws him gentle, tender, and forgiving,
And sure such kind good creatures may be living,
In days of old, they pardoned breach of vows,
Stern Cato's self was no relentless spouse: 30
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 so, should need her,
He'd recommend her as a special breeder.
To lend a wife, few here would scruple make, 35
But, pray, which of you all would take her back?'

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Tho’ with the Stoic Chief our stage may ring,
The Stoic Husband was the glorious thing.
The man had courage, was a fage, 'tis true, 39
And lov'd his country---but what's that to you?
Those strange examples ne'er were 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 sword, or look’ in Plato.

If, after all, you think it a disgrace, 45
That Edward's Miss thus perks it in your face;
To see a piece of failing flesh and blood,
In all the rest so impudently good;
Faith, let the modest Matrons of the town 49
Come here in crouds and stare the strumpet down,

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