So when black clouds furround heaven's glorious face, Tempestuous darkness covering all the place, If we difcern but the leaft glimmering ray Of that bright orb of fire which rules the day, The chearful fight our fainting courage warms; Fix'd upon that, we fear no future harms.

Ο Ν ТНЕ

D. E IT Y.

WRETCHED mankind! void of both strength

and skill!

Dextrous at nothing but at doing ill!

In merit humble, in pretensions high,

Among them none, alas! more weak than I,

And none more blind: though ftill I worthless thought
The beft I ever fpoke, or ever wrote.

But zealous heat exalts the humblest mind;
Within my foul fuch ftrong impulfe I find
The heavenly tribute of due praise to pay :
Perhaps 'tis facred, and I must obey.

Yet fuch the subjects, various, and so high,
Stupendous wonders of the Deity!
Miraculous effects of boundless power!
And that as boundless goodness shining more!
All these fo numberlefs my thoughts attend,
Oh where fhall I begin, or ever end?

But on that theme which ev'n the wise abuse,
So facred, fo fublime, and fo abstruse,
Abruptly to break off, wants no excufe.

While others vainly strive to know Thee more,
Let me in filent reverence adore;

Wishing that human power were higher rais'd,
Only that thine might be more nobly prais'd!
Thrice happy angels in their high degree,
Created worthy of extolling Thee!

PROLOGUE

то

THE

ALTERATION OF JULIUS CÆSAR.

HOPE

to mend Shakespeare! or to match his style!
'Tis fuch a jeft would make a Stoic fmile.
Too fond of fame, our poet foars too high,
Yet freely owns he wants the wings to fly :
So fenfible of his prefumptuous thought,
That he confeffes while he does the fault :
This to the fair will no great wonder prove,
Who oft' in blushes yield to what they love.

Of greatest actions, and of noblest men,
This story most deferves a poet's pen :
For who can with a fcene more justly fam'd,
When Rome and mighty Julius are but nam'd!
That ftate of heroes who the world had brav'd!
That wondrous man who fuch a state inflav'd!
Yet loth he was to take fo rough a way,
And after govern'd with fo mild a fway,

At

At diftance now of feventeen hundred
Methinks a lovely ravisher appears;

years,

Whom, though forbid by virtue to excufe,

A nymph might pardon, and could scarce refufe.

CHORUSES IN JULIUS CÆSAR.

CHORUS I.

WHIT

I.

HITHER is Roman honour gone?
Where is your ancient virtue now?

That valour, which so bright has fhone,
And with the wings of conquest flown,

Muft to a haughty mafter bow :

Who, with our toil, our blood, and all we have befide, Gorges his ill-got power, his humour, and his pride.

II.

Fearless he will his life expofe;

So does a lion or a bear.

His very virtues threaten those,

Who more his bold ambition fear.

How ftupid wretches we appear,

Who round the world for wealth and empire roam,
Yet never, never think what flaves we are at home!
III.

Did men for this together join,

Quitting the free wild life of Nature?

What other beast did e'er design

The fetting up his fellow-creature,

And of two mischiefs chufe the greater?

Oh!

Oh! rather than be flaves to bold imperious men, Give us our wildness, and our woods, our huts, and caves again.

IV.

There, fecure from lawless sway,
Out of Pride or Envy's way;

Living up to Nature's rules,

Not deprav'd by knaves and fools;

Happily we all fhould live, and harmless as our fheep, And at laft as calmly die as infants fall asleep.

L

O! to prevent this mighty empire's doom,
From bright unknown abodes of blifs I come,

The awful genius of majestic Rome.

Great is her danger but I will engage
Some few, the mafter-fouls of all this age,
To do an act of juft heroic rage.

'Tis hard, a man fo great fhould fall fo low;
More hard to let fo brave a people bow

To one themfelves have rais'd, who fcorns them now.

Yet, oh! I grieve t! at Brutus fhould be ftain'd,
Whofe life, excepting this one act, remain'd
So pure, that future times will think it feign'd.

But only he can make the reft combine;
The very life and foul of their defign,
The centre, where thofe mighty fpirits join.

Unthinking men no fort of fcruples make;
Others do ill, only for mischief's fake;
But ev❜n the beft are guilty by mistake.

Thus fome for envy, or revenge, intend
To bring the bold ufurper to his end :
But for his country Brutus stabs his friend.

CHORUS

III.

BY TWO AERIAL SPIRITS.

I.

ELL, oh! tell me, whence arife
Thefe diforders in our skics?

Rome's great genius wildly gaz'd,
And the gods feem all amaz'd.