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The Story of Aglauros, transformed into a
135 Europa's Rape
157 The Transformation of Echo
158 The Story of Narcissus
160 The Story of Pentheus
165 The Mariners transformed to Dolphins 167 The Death of Pentheus
172 Ovid Met. Book IV.
The Story of Salmacis and Hermaphroditus 174
179 On Europa's Rape
186 On the Stories in the Third Book Fab. I.
187 Fab. II.
192 Fab. III.
193 Fab. V.
194 Fab. VI.
196 Fab. VII.
198 Fab. VIII. IX.
198 Essay on Virgil's Georgics
To Sir Godfrey Kneller, on his **ure of the
216 Epilogue to Lansdowne's Britith Enchanters 218 An Ode for St. Cecilia's Day
219 An Ode An Hymn
223 An Ode
225 An Hymn
227 Paraphrase on Psalm xxiii.
229 The Play-house
230 On the Lady Manchester Verses to the Author of the Tragedy of Cato 237–
242 left with the Printer by an unknown hand 243 upon Mr. Addison's Cato
245 on Cato, occafioned by Mr. Addison's Tra.
gedy of that Name. By Mr. Copping 247 Prologue by Mr. Pope
251 Epilogue by Sir S. Garth
THE END OF ADDISON'S POEMS.
Alas! 'tis not the voice Of one who sleeps ! 'tis agonizing pain, 'Tis death is in that sound
POR T IUS.
O fight of woe! O Marcia, what we fear'd is come to pass ! Cato is fall’n upon his sword
o Portius, Hide all the horrors of thy mournful tale, And let us guess the rest.
I've rais'd him up, And plac'd him in his chair, where, pale and faint, He gasps for breath, and, as his life flows from him, Demands to see his friends. His weeping servants, Obsequious to his orders, bear him hither. [The back Scene opens, and discovers CATO.
MARCIA. O heaven, aslift me in this dreadful hour Το pay the last fad duties to
JUBA. These are thy triumphs, thy exploits, o Cæfar!
LUCIUS. Now is Rome fall’n indeed !
(CATO brought forward in bis chair.
CATO. CA TO.
Here fet me down Portius, come near me--are my friends embark'd ? Can any thing be thought of for their service ? Whilst I yet live, let me not live in vain. -O Lucius, art thou here ? -Thou art too good ! Let this our friendship live between our children ; Make Portíus happy in thy daughter Lucia. Alas poor man, he weeps !-Marcia, my daughter
-o bend me forward !- Juba loves thee, Marcia. A Senator of Rome, while Rome furviv’d, Would not have match'd his daughter with a king, But Cæsar's arms have thrown down all distinction; Whoe'er is brave and virtuous, is a Roman -I’m fick to death.O when shall I
loose From this vain world, th'abode of guilt and sorrow!..
- And yet methinks a beam of light breaks in