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TO THE

MISCELL A NIE S.

359 In arn more active than ev'n war requir'd, Yet such the subjects, various, and so high, And in the midst of mighty chiefs admir'd. Stupendous wonders of the Deity! Of all Heaven's gifts, no tenper is so rare,

Miraculous effects of boundless power! As lo much courage mix'd with so much care. And that as boundless goodness fhining more! When martial fire niakes all the spirits boil,

All these lo numberlefs my thoughts attend,
And forces youth to military toil;

Oh where shall I begin, or ever end?
No wonder it should ficrcely then engage :
Wonent themselves will venture in a rage :

But on that theme which ev'n the wise abuse, But in the midlt of all that furious heat,

So facred, in sublime, and so abftrure,
While so intent on actions brave and great,

Abruptly to break off, wants 179 excuse.
For other lives to feel such tender fears,
And, careless of his own, to care for theirs,

While others vainly strive to know thee more, is that composure which a hero makes,

Let me in filent reverence adore;
And which illustrious York alone partakes, Wishing that human power were higher rais'd,
With that great man, whose fame has flown so far, Only that thiae might be more nobly prais'd!
Who taught him first the noble art of war.

Thrice happy angels in their high degree,
Oh, wondrous pair! whon equal virtues crown, Created worthy of extolling thee!
Oh worthy of cach other's valt renown!
None but Turenne with York could glory share,
And none but York deserve so great a master's care.

PROLOGUE
Scarce was he cone to bless his native ifle,
And reap the soft reward of glorious toil,
But, like Alcides, itr new dangers call

ALTERATION OF JULIUS CÆSAR.
His courage forch, and still he vanquish'd all.
Ac fea, that bloody scene of boundless rage,

Hope to mend Shakspeare! or to march his style! Where floating castles in fierce flames engage

T'is such a jest would make a Stoic smile. (Where Mars himself does frowningly command, Too fund of fame, our poet foars too high, And by lieutenants only fights ac land);

Yet freely onds he wants the wings to fly! For his own fame howe'er he fought before,

So sensible of his presumptuous thought,
For Eagland's honour yet he ventur'd more.

That he confeffes while he does the fault:
In those black times, when, faction raging high, This to the fair will no great wonder prove,
Valour and Innocence were forc'd to fly,

Who oft in blushes yield co what they love.
With York they fled; but not depreft his mind,

Of greatest actions, and of noblest men, Still, like a diamond in the duft, it shin'd..

This story molt deserves a poet's pen : When from afar his drnoping friends beheld

For who can with a scene more juftly fam'd, How in distress he evin himself excell'd;

When Rome and nighty Julius are bụt dam'd How to his envious fate, his coun:ry's frown,

That lace of heroes who the world had brav'd! His brother's will, he facrific'd his own;

That wondrous man who such a state enslav'd! They rais'd their hearts, and never doubted more

Yec leth he was co take so sough a way, But tha: ; Heaven would all our joys restore.

And after govern'd with so mild a fway. , So Whand black clouds surround heaven's glori

At diftance now of leventeen hundred years, ous face,

Methinks a lovely savilher appears; Tempestuous darkness covering all the place, Whon, though forbid by virtue to excuse, If we stifcern but the least glimmering ray

A nymph might pardon and could scarce refuse. Of that bright orb of fire which rules the day, The cheerful fight our fainting courage warns : Tix'd upon that we feas no future harms.

CHORUSES IN JULIUS CÆSAR.

CHORUS I.

1.

ON THE DEITY.
Unetcrer mankind! void of both firength and
Dextrous ar nothing but at doing ill! Skill:
In merit huinble, iu pretensions high,
Among them noge, alas! more weak than I,
And none more blind : though fill I worthless

thought
The bett i ever spoke, or ever wrote.

WHITHER is Roman honour gone?

Where is your ancient virtue now?
That valour, which fo bright lias shone,
And with the wings of conqueft flown,

Muft to a haughty matter bow: (beside,
Who, with our to:1,, our blood, and all we huis
Gurges bis ill-got power, his humour, and his pridt,
Fearless he will his life expose;

So does a lion or a bear,
His
very

virtues careaten t:ofc,
Who wore iis bold ambition fear.
How fupid wretches we appear,

A a

II.

But zealous heat exalts the humbleft miod; Within my soul such strong impulse I find The heavenly tribute of due praise to pay: Perhaps 'tis sacred, and I must obey.

l'1- Mucíchal de Turenne, Vol. VII,

Who round the world for wealth and empire roum, Black enough to shroud the light Yet never, never think what flaves we are at home! Of all this world in dismal night.

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III.

IV.

MISCELL A N I Si
Oh! who can therefore without tears attend The Gauls themselves, our greatest foco,
On such a life, and such a fatal end?

Could act no mischiefs worse than those
But here our author, besides other faults
Of ill espreslions, and of vulgar thoughts,

That Julius, with ambitious thoughts,
Commits one crime that needs an act of grace,

Had virtues too, his foes could find; And breaks the law of unity of place :

These equal him in all his faules, Yet to such noble patriots, overcome

But never in his noble mind. By factious violence, and banith'd Rome,

That free-born spirits (bould obey Athens alone a fit retreat could yield;

Wrecches, who know not how to (way! And where can Brutus fall, but in Philippi field ?

Some critics judge ev'o lote itself too mcan Late we repent our hasty choice, A care to mix in such a lofty scene,

In vain bemoan so quick a turn. And with those ancient bards of Greece believe Hark all to Rome's upited voice !! Friendship has stronger charms to please or grieve; Better that we a while had borne But our more amorous poet, finding love

Ev'n all those ills which most difplease, Amidtt all other cares, still shines above,

Than fought a cure far worse than the disease
Lets not the best of Romans end their lives
Without just foftness for the kindest wives.
Yet, if ye think his gentle nature such
As to have soften'd this great tale too much,

CHORUS IV.
Soon will your eyes grow dry, and passion fall,
When ye reflect 'cis all but conjugal.

Our vows thus cheerfully we fing,

While martial music fires our blood; This to the few and knowing was addrest; And now 'tis fit I should falute the rest.

Let all the neighbouring echoes ring Most reverend dull judges of the pit,

With clamours for our couotry's good : By nature curs'd with the wrong side of wit !

And, for reward, of the just gods we claim You need not care, whate'er you see to-night;

A life with freedom, or a death with fame. How ill some players act, or poets write; Should our mistakes be never so notorious,

May Rome be freed from war's alarms,

Aod taxes heavy to be borne;
You'll have the joy of being more cenforious :
Show your small talent then, let that suffice se;

May the beware of foreign arnis,

And send them back with noble score : But grow not vain upon it, I advise ye : Each petty critic can objections raise,

Aad, for reward, &c. The greatest skill is knowing when to praise.

May she no more confide in friends,

Who nothing farther understood,
Than only, for their private eods,

To watte her wealth, and spill ket blood CHORUSES IN MÀRCUS BRUTUS. And, for reward, &c.

Our senators, great Jove, restrain

From private piques, they prudence call; + CHORUS III.

From the low thoughts of little gain,

And hazarding the lofing all :

Aad, for reward, &c.
Dark is the maze poor moftals tread;
Wisdom itself a guide will need :

The shining arms with hafte prepare,
We little thought, when Cæsar bled,

Then to the glorious combat fly; That a worse Cæsar would succeed.

Our minds unclogg'd with farther care, And are we under such a curse,

Except to overcome or die : We cannot change but for the worse?

And, for reward, &c.

1.

With fair pretence of foreign force,

By which Rome must herself enthral; There, without blushes or remorse,

Proscribe the best, impoverish all.

They fight, oppression to increase,

We for our liberties and laws;
It were a fin to doubt füccess,

When freedom is the noble caufe:
And, for reward, of the just gods we claim
A life with freedom, or a death with fame

Anij

+ Se: the firt and second choruses, in the Pooms of Mr. ope.

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EDINBURGH:
PRINTED BY MUNDELL AND SON, ROYAL BANK CLOSE,

Anno 1793

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