Virgil began in English dress to shine,
His voice, his looks, his grandeur, ftill divine:
From him too soon unfriendly you withdrew,
But brought the tuneful Ovid to our view.
Then the delightful theme of every tongue,
Th' immortal Marlborough, was your darling fong.
From clime to clime the mighty victor flew,
From clime to clime as fwiftly you pursue.
Still with the hero's glow'd the poet's flame,
Still with his conquefts you enlarg'd your fame.
With boundless raptures here the Muse could fwell,
And on your Rofamond for ever dwell:
There opening fweets and every fragrant flower
Luxuriant fmile, a never-fading bower!

Next, human follies kindly to expose,

You change from numbers, but not fink in profe:
Whether in vifionary fcenes you play,

Refine our tastes, or laugh our crimes away.
Now, by the buskin'd Muse you shine confest,
The patriot kindles in the poet's breast.

Such energy of fense might pleasure raise,

Though unembellish'd with the charms of phrafe :
Such charms of phrase would with fuccefs be crown'd,
Though nonfenfe flow'd in the melodious found.

The chafteft virgin needs no blufhes fear,
The learn'd themselves not uninftructed hear.
The libertine, in pleasures us d to roll,
And idly fport with an immortal foul,

Here comes, and, by the virtuous heathen taught,
Turns pale, and trembles at the dreadful thought.

Whene'er you traverse vast Numidia's plains,
What fluggish Briton in his ifle remains!
When Juba feeks the tiger with delight,
We beat the thicket, and provoke the fight;
By the description warm'd, we fondly sweat,
And in the chilling east wind pant with heat.
What eyes behold not, how the ftream refines,
Till by degrees the floating mirror shines ?
While hurricanes in circling eddies play,
Tear up the fands, and sweep whole plains away,
We fhrink with horror, and confefs our fear,
And all the fudden founding ruin hear.

When royal robes, distain'd with blood, deceive,
And make poor Marcia beautifully grieve;
When the her fecret thoughts no more conceals,
Forgets the woman, and her flame reveals ;
Well may the prince exult with noble pride,
Not for his Libyan crown, but Roman bride.
But I in vain on fingle features dwell,
While all the parts of the fair piece excel.
So rich the store, fo dubious is the feast,
We know not which to pass, or which to taste.
The fhining incidents so justly fall,

We may the whole new scenes of transport call.
Thus jewellers confound our wandering eyes,
And with variety of gems furprize.

Here fapphires, here the Sardian stone is feen,
The topaz yellow, and the jafper green.
The coftly brilliant there, confus'dly bright,
From numerous furfaces darts trembling light :

The

The different colours mingle in a blaze,
Silent we stand, unable where to praise,
In pleasure sweetly loft ten thousand ways.

Trinity College, Cambridge.

}

L. EUSDEN.

SIR,

HEN

WH

your generous labour first I view'd, And Cato's hands in his own blood imbrued,

That scene of death so terrible appears,

My foul could only thank you with her tears.
Yet with fuch wondrous art your skilful hand
Does all the paffions of the foul command,
That ev'n my grief to praise and wonder turn'd,
And envy'd the great death which first I mourn'd.
What pen, but yours, could draw the doubtful ftrife
Of honour struggling with the love of life?
Defcribe the patriot, obftinately good,

As hovering o'er eternity he stood :

The wide, th' unbounded ocean lay before
His piercing fight, and heaven the distant shore.
Secure of endlefs blifs, with fearful eyes,

tell

He grafps the dagger, and its point defies,
And rushes out of life to fnatch the glorious prize.
How would old Rome rejoice, to hear you
How juft her patriot liv'd, how great he fell!
Recount his wondrous probity and truth,
And form new Juba's in the British youth.

Their generous fouls, when he refigns his breath,
Are pleas'd with ruin, and in love with death:
And when her conquering fword Britannia draws,
Refolves to perish, or defend her cause.
Now firft on Albion's theatre we fee
A perfect image of what man should be;
The glorious character is now exprest,
Of virtue dwelling in a human breast:
Drawn at full length by your immortal lines,
In Cato's foul, as in her heaven she shines.

All-Souls-College, Oxon.

DIGBY COTES.

LEFT

LEFT WITH THE PRINTER BY AN
UNKNOWN HAND.

NOV

WOW we may speak, fince Cato fpeaks no more: 'Tis praise at length, 'twas rapture all before; When crowded theatres with Io's rung

Sent to the skies, from whence thy genius fprung;
Ev'n civil rage a while in thine was lost,
And factions ftrove but to applaud thee most;
Nor could enjoyment pall our longing taste,
But every night was dearer than the last.

As when old Rome, in a malignant hour
Depriv'd of fome returning conqueror,
Her debt of triumph to the dead discharg'd,
For fame, for treasure, and her bounds enlarg'd;
And while his godlike figure mov'd along,
Alternate paffions fir'd th' adoring throng;
Tears flow'd from every eye, and fhouts from every
tongue;

So in the pompous lines has Cato far'd,

Grac'd with an ample, though a late reward:
A greater victor we in him revere;

A nobler triumph crowns his image here.
With wonder, as with pleasure, we furvey
A theme fo fcanty wrought into a play;
So vaft a pile on fuch foundations plac'd;
Like Ammon's temple rear'd on Libya's waste :
Behold its glowing paint! its eafy weight!
Its nice proportions! and ftupendous height!