Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes; 15 The glorious fault of Angels and of Gods: And fep'rate from their kindred dregs below; 20 25 But thou, falfe guardian of a charge too good, Thou, mean deferter of thy brother's blood! 30 See on these ruby lips the trembling breath, These cheeks now fading at the blast of death; 35 There paffengers shall stand, and pointing fay, The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day! What can atone (oh ever-injur'd shade!) 60 There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow, 65 There the first roses of the year fhall blow; While Angels with their filver wings o'erfhade The ground, now facred by thy reliques made. So peaceful refts, without a stone, a name, What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame. 70 How lov'd, how honour'd once, avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot; A heap of duft alone remains of thee, "Tis all thou art, and all the proud fhall be! 74 Poets themselves must fall like those they sung, Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue. Ev'n he, whose soul now melts in mournful lays, Shall shortly want the gen'rous tear he pays; Then from his clofing eyes thy form shall part, And the last pang shall tear thee from his heart, 80 Life's idle business at one gafp be o'er, The Muse forgot, and thou belov'd no more! PROLOGUE+ TO. Mr. ADDISON's Tragedy O F CATO. wake the foul by tender ftrokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart, To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold, ΤΟ + This Prologue, and the Epilogue which follows, are the most perfect models of this fpecies of writing, both in the serious and the ludicrous way. Here tears shall flow from a more gen'rous cause, Such tears as Patriots shed for dying Laws: He bids your breasts with ancient ardour rise, 15 And calls forth Roman drops from British eyes. Virtue confefs'd in human fhape he draws, What Plato thought, and godlike Cato was : No common object to your fight displays, But what with pleasure Heav'n itself surveys, 20 A brave man ftruggling in the storms of fate, And greatly falling with a falling state. While Cato gives his little Senate laws, What bosom beats not in his Country's cause? Who fees him act, but envies ev'ry deed? Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed? Ev'n when proud Cæfar 'midst triumphal cars, The spoils of nations, and the pomp of wars, Ignobly vain, and impotently great, Show'd Rome her Cato's figure drawn in ftate; 30 As her dead Father's rev'rend image past, The pomp was darken'd, and the day o'ercast; The Triumph ceas'd, tears gush'd from ev'ry eye; The world's great Victor pass'd unheeded by ; Her last good man dejected Rome ador'd, And honour'd Cæfar's lefs than Cato's fword. NOTES. 25 35 VER. 20. But what with pleasure] This alludes to a famous paffage of Seneca, which Mr. Addifon afterwards used as a motto to his play, when it was printed. |