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Ingrateful Brutus, do they call ?
Ingrateful Cefar, who could Rome enthral ?
An Ast niore barbarous and unnatural
(In th' exact Bållance of true Virtue try'd)
Than his Successor Nero's Parricide !
There's none but Brutus could deserve,
That all Men else should wish to serve,
And Casar’s usurp't place to him should proffer;
None can deserve't, but he who would refuse the offer.
Ill-Fate assuni'd a Body, thee t'affright,
And wrap't it self in the terrors of the Nighty.
I'll meet thee at PHILIPPI, faid the Spright;
I'll meet thee there, said'st thou,
With such a Voice, and such a Bromp,
As put the trembling Ghoft to fudden flight;
It vanisht as a Taper's Light
Goes out when Spirits appear in Sight.
One would have thought it had heard the Morning Cromo,
Or seen her weil-appointed Star,
Come marching up the Eastern-Hill afar.
Nor durft it in Philippi's Field appear;.
But unseen attack'd thee there.
Had it presum'd in any Shape thee to oppose,
Thou would'st have forc'd it back upon thy Foes:
Or Sain't like Casar, though it be,
A Conqueror and a Monarch, mightier far than he.
What Joy can human Things to us afford,
When we see perish thus, by odd Events,
Il Men, and wretched Accidents,
The best Cause, and best Man that ever drew a Sword!
When we see,
The false Oitavius, and wild Antony,
God-like Brutus, conquer thee;
What can we say, but thine own Tragick Word,
That Virtue, which had worship'd been by thee,
As the most solid Good, and greatest Deity,
By this fatal Proof became,
An Idol only, and a Name?
Hold, Noble Brutus, and restrain
The bold Voice of thy generous Disdain :
There mighty Gulphs are yet
Too deep for all thy fudgment and thy Wit.
The Time's set forth already, which shall quell
Stiff Reason, when it offers to Rebel.
Which these great Secrets shall unseal,
And new Philosophies reveal.
A few Years niore, so foon hadít thou not dy'd,
Would have confounded Humane Virtues Pride,
And shew'd thee a God Crucify'd.
Sarpedon's Speech" to Glaucus.
HUS to Glaucus fpake
Divine Sarpedon, since he did not find,
Others as great in Place, as great in Mind.
Above the rest, why is our Pomp, our Power,
Our Flocks, our Herds, and our Poffeffions more?
Why all the Tributes, Land and Sea affords,
Heap'd in great Chargers, load our Sumptuous Boards?
Our cheartul Guests carowse the sparkling Tears
Of the rich Grape, whilst Musick Charms their Ears.
Why as we pass, do those on Xanthus Shore,
As Gods behold us, and as Gods adore ?
But that as well in danger, as degree,
We stand the first; that when our Lycian's fee
Our brave Examples, they admiring lay,
Behold our Gallant Leaders! These are they
Deserve the Greatness; and un-envied ftand,
Since what they act, transcends what they command.
Could the declining of this Fate, Os Friend,
Our date to Inmortality extend'?
Orif Death fought not them, who seek not Death,
Would I advance? Or should ny vainer Breath
With such a Glorious Folly thee inspire ?
But since with Fortune Nature doth conspire,
Since Age, Disease, or some less noble End,
Though not less certain, doth our Days attend;
Since 'tis decreed, and to this period lead
A Thousand Ways, the noblest Path we'll tread;
And bravely on, till they, or we, or all,
A common Sacrifice to Honour fall.
Denham, from the 12th of Homer's Iliad.
The Hunting of the Stag.
THE Stag now conscious of his fatal Growth,
At once indulgent to his fear and sloth,
To fome dark covert his Retreat had made,
Where nor Man's Eye, nor Heaven's should invade
His soft Repose; when th’unexpected found
Or Dogs, and Men, his wakeful Ear doth wound.
Rouz'd with the Noise, he scarce believes his Ear,
Willing to think th' Illusions of his Fear,
Had given this fulle Aların, but straight his View
Confirms, that more than all he fears is True.
Betray'd in all his Strength, th=Wood befet;
All Instruments, all Arts of rain met;
He calls to mind his Strength, and then his speed,
His winged Heels, and then his armed Head;
With these t'avoid, with that his Fate to meet,
But fear prevails, and bids him trust his Feet.
So fast he Flyes, that his reviewing Eye
Has lost the Chasers, and his Ear the Cry;
Exulting, till he finds, their nobler Sense
Their disporportion'd speed does Recompense.
Then Curses his conspiring Feet, whose Scent
Betrays that Safety which their Swiftness lent.
Then tries his Friends, among the baser Herd,
Where he so lately was obey'd and fear'd,
His Safety feeks : The Herd, unkindly wise,
Or chases him from thence, or from him flies.
Like a declining Statesman, left forlorn
To his Friends pity, and Pursuers Scorn,
* With Shame remembers, while himself was one
Of the fame Herd, himself the fame had done.
Thence to the Coverts, and the conscious Groves,
The Scenes of his past Triumphs, and his Loves;
Sadly Surveying where he rang'd alone
Prince of the Soyl, and all the herd his own ;
And like a bold Knight-Errant did Proclaim,
Combat to all, and bore away the Dame;
And taught the Woods to eccho to the Stream
His dreadful Challenge, and his clashing Beam..
Yet faintly now declines the fatal Strife ;
So niuch his Love was dearer than his Life.
Now every Leaf, and every moving Breath,
Presents a Foe, and every Foe a Death.
Wearied, forsaken, and pursu'd, at last
All safety in Despair of Safety placid,
Courage he thence resunies, resolv'd to bear
All their Assaults, since 'tis in vain to fear.
And now too late he wishes for the Fight,
That Strength he wasted in ignoble Flight;
But when he fees the eager Chafe renew'd,
Himself by Dogs, the Dogs by Men pursu'd;
He straight revokes his bold Resolve, and more
Repents his Courage, than his Fear before;
Finds that uncertain Ways unsafest
And Doubt a greater Mischief than Depair.
Then to the Stream, when neither Friends nor Force,
Nor Speed, nor Art avail, he shapes his Course;
Thinks not their Rage so desperate t'assay
An Element niore merciless than they.
But fearless they pursue, nor can the Flood
Quench their dire Thirst; alas! they thirst for Blood.
So towards a Ship the Oar-fin'd Gallies ply,
Which wanting Sea to ride, or Wind to fly,
Stands but to fall reveng'd on those that dare
Tempt the last Fury of extream Despair.
So fares the Stag among th' enraged Hounds,
Repels their Force, and Wounds returns for Wounds.
Morpheus, the humble God, that dwells
In Cottages and smoaky Cells, Hates gilded Roofs and Beds of Down; And tho'he fears no Prince's Frown, Flies from the Circle of a Crown.