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But publick Cares muft filence private Grief;
Since ev'ry Hour fome fresh Expreffes tell
New fatal Turns in Rome, portending ill;
The wav'ring LEPIDUS (perceiving Cæsar
Had cunningly agreed with ANTONY)
Tho' with a greater Army, yields to them.

VARIUS.

What fays the the noble BRUTUS?-JUNIA gone!

BRUTUS.

Is VARIUS deaf to Dangers of his Country?

VARIUS.

Forbid it, Jove! But JUNIA's Melancholy,
So very moving, took up all my Thoughts,

BRUTUS.

Too moving, I'm afraid.

VARIUS.

Indeed, my Lord,

Had you perceiv'd the Charms of weeping Beauty, That gorgeous Dress which Sorrow had put on, (Out-fhining all the Gaiety of Youth,

The pleafing Smiles of Mirth, and Airs of Joy) Your gentle Nature would be mov'd like mine.

BRUTUS.

Why you have drawn a Picture, my young VARIUS,

Like any Poet, nay like any Lover,

What,

What, does that word draw forth a guilty Blush?
Be not alarm'd, no more than I am, VARIUS;
JUNIA'S ftrict Virtue and known Love to CASSIUS,
Fully prevent my Fears, unless for you;

Whofe Father's wond'rous Merit, and your own,
Give me a foft Concern, as for a Son.

She is above your very vaineft Hopes:

Not the moft tempting Charms of Wit, or Worth,
Moft graceful Forms, or dazling Shew of Greatnefs,
Can make Impreffion on a Mind like her's ;
Who, tho' my Sifter, forces Praises from me,

VARIUS.

Too much, alas, I join in JUNIA's Praise :
My cager Thoughts ftill fly before your Words,
And find them short, far fhort of JUNIA's duc.

BRUTUS.

Then whence can rife felf-flatt'ring Expectation?
Can VARIUS reafon thus against himself,

And act quite contrary to what he thinks?

Oh what is Man, when blinded with his Paffion!

VARIUS.

Why just that Creature Heaven thought fit to make

him.

You are, indeed, exempt from all our Follies,
And reft ferene within: Yet pity others!

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Behold, I own my undisguis'd Offence,

And freely open all my Thoughts to you;
To you, who are a very God to VARIUS,

Who can at once forgive, and cure my Weakness,
BRUTUS.

But only by Despair: without that help,
There is no God himself can give you cafe:
A fharp, I must confefs, but certain Cure.
Our Stoical Philosophy instructs us,

A wife Man is above the reach of Jove,

Yet hardly 'fcapes the worft of Demons, Love.
But fince good JUNIA's Soul is firm as Fate,
Be yours fo too. What helps it to be learn'd?
Or to be wife in Bus'nefs of the World?

Nay, where would be the good to rule that World,
Without an inward Pow'r to govern Passion?

The Man disturb'd within, is but a Player;
May act abroad, perhaps, fome Hero's Part,
But finks at home, a low, uneasy Slave.

VARIUS.

To teach, is cafy; but to learn, is hard.

As well might Heav'nly SOCRATES infuse

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His own wife Temper while he taught his Morals,
AS BRUTUS raise my Soul to equal his.

BRU

BRUTUS.

Be not fo modeft, VARIUS, nor fo courtly;
BRUTUS is not your Mistress, but your Friend.
The Roman Virtue fhines fo bright in you,
Nothing is wanting to make up Perfection
But your Command o'er this unfruitful Paffion.
Love, ev'n when moft fuccessful, makes not happy.
Sometimes indeed, Pleasure beyond expreffion
Poffeffes all at once both Mind and Body,
Confounding Soul and Senfe with height of Rapture
But what Allays o'erbalance all this Joy!
Frequent Difquiets, Doubts, and Jealoufies ;
Sometimes the Pains of Absence, and sometimes
Amidft the Bliss, a dismal Dread to lose it.
At beft, the Pleasure is but intermitting,
While the uneafy Fever never ceases.
But Love, when flighted, is intolerable:
Who courts the fairest Tyrant, is a Fool,
And lives a Martyr in the meaneft Cause.

VARIUS.

Enough, enough, I am already cur'd,
At least till JUNIA is beheld again.

BRUTUS.

'Tis half a Cure in Love to wifh for one.

Give me your Hand, you'll march with me to-morrow} Where you will drown your Sighs in Sounds of War,

And

And turn your tend'reft Thoughts on your poor

Country.

[Exeunt BRUTUS and VARIUS.

Second CHORUS,

Of Athenian Youths and Virgins. By Mr. POPE.

YOUTHS.

Tyrant Love! haft thou poffeft

The prudent, learn'd, and virtuous Breaft?

Wisdom and Wit in vain reclaim,

And Arts but foften us to feel thy Flame.
VARIUS with Blushes owns he loves,
And BRUTUS tenderly reproves.
Why, Virtue, doft thou blame Defire,
Which Nature has impreft?
Why, Nature, doft thou foonest fire
The mild and gen'rous Breaft?

VIRGINS.

Love's purer Flames the Gods approve;
The Gods, and BRUTUS bend to Love :
BRUTUS for abfent PORTIA, fighs,

And fterner CASSIUS melts at JUNIA's Eyes.
What is loose Love? A wand'ring Fire,
A tranfient Fit of fond Desire.

But

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