The fun that rolls his chariot o'er their heads
Works up more fire and colour in their cheeks:
Were you with thefe, my prince, you'd foon forget
The pale, unripen'd beauties of the north.
JUB. 'Tis not a set of features, or complexion,
The tincture of the skin, that I admire,
Beauty foon grows familiar to the lover,
Fades in his eye, and palls upon the fenfe.
The virtuous Marcia tow'rs above her fex:
True, she is fair (Oh, how divinely fair!)
But still the lovely maid improves her charms
With inward greatness, unaffected wisdom,
And fanctity of manners. Cato's foul
Shines out in every thing she acts or speaks,
While winning mildness and attractive smiles
Dwell in her looks, and with becoming grace
Soften the rigour of her father's virtues.
SYPH. How does your tongue grow wanton in her
CATO's SOLILOQUY.
Ir must be fo-Plato, thou reafon'ft well-
Elfe whence this pleafing hope, this fond defire,
This longing after immortality?
Or whence this fecret dread, and inward horror,
Of falling into nought? Why fhrinks the foul
Back on herself and ftartles at deftruction?
'Tis the divinity that ftirs within us;
'Tis heaven itself that points out an hereafter,
And intimates eternity to man.
Eternity! thou pleafing, dreadful thought!
Thro' what variety of untry'd being,
Thro' what new scenes and changes must we pass!
The wide, th' unbounded profpect lies before me;
But fhadows, clouds, and darkness, reft upon it.
Here will I hold. If there's a power above us,
(And that there is, all nature cries aloud
Thro' all her works) he must delight in virtue;
And that which he delights in must be happy.
But when, or where? This world was made for Cæfar.
I'm weary of conjectures-this must end 'em.
Thus am I doubly arm'd-My death and life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This in a moment brings me to an end;
But this informs me I fhall never die.
The foul, fecur'd in her existence, fmiles
At the drawn dagger and defies its point
The stars fhall fade away, the fun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature fink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,
The wreck of matter, and the crush of words.
OFFICER. My Lord,
We bring an order for your execution,
And hope you are prepar'd; for you muft die
SOUTH. Indeed! the time is fudden !
Ess. Is death th' event of all my flatter'd hope? Falfe Sex! and Queen more perjur'd than them all! But die I will without the leaft complaint;
My foul fhall vanish filent as the dew
Attracted by the fun from verdant fields,
And leaves of weeping flowers. Come, my dear friend, Partner in fate, give me thy body in
These faithful arms, and O now let me tell thee,
And you, my lords, and heaven my witness too,
I have no weight, no heaviness on my foul,
But that I've loft my dearest friend his life.
SOUTH. And I protest, by the same powers divine,
And to the world, 'tis all my happiness,
The greatest bliss my mind yet e'er enjoy'd,
Since we muft die, my lord, to die together.
OFF. The Queen, my Lord Southampton, has been pleas'd
To grant particular mercy to your person;
And has by us fent you a reprieve from death,
With pardon of your treafons, and commands
You to depart immediately from hence.
SOUTH. O my unguarded foul! Sure never was
A man with mercy wounded fo before.
Ess. Then I am loose to fteer my wand'ring voyage;
Like a bad vessel that has long been croft,
And bound by adverfe winds, at laft gets liberty,
And joyfully makes all the fail she can,
To reach its with'd-for port-Angels protect
The Queen; for her my chiefeft prayers fhall be,
That as in time fhe has fpar'd my noble friend,
And owns his crimes worth mercy, may the ne'er
Think fo of me too late when I am dead-
Again, Southampton, let me hold thee faft,
For 'tis my last embrace.
SOUTH. O be less kind, my friend, or move less pity, Or I fhall fink beneath the weight of sadness!
I weep that I am doom'd to live without you,
And fhould have fmil'd to fhare the death of Effex.
Ess. O fpare this tenderness for one that needs it,
For her that I commit to thee, 'tis all that I
Can claim of my Southampton-O my wife!
Ff
Methinks that very name should stop thy pity,
And make thee covetous of all as loft
That is not meant to herbe a kind friend
To her, as we have been to one another;
Name not the dying Effex to thy Queen,
Left it should cost a tear, nor e'er offend her.
SOUTH. O fay, my Lord; let me have one word more; One laft farewel, before the greedy axe
Shall part my friend, my only friend, from me,
And Effex from himself-I know not what
Are call'd the pangs of death, but fure I am
I feel an agony that's worse than death
Farewel.
Ess. Why, that's well faid-Farewel to thee
Then let us part, juft like two travellers,
Take diftant paths, only this difference is,
Thine is the longeft, mine the shortest way—
Now let me go if there's a throne in heaven
For the moft brave of men and beft of friends,
I will befpeak it for Southampton.
SOUTH. And 1, while I have life, will hoard thy memory; When I am dead, we then fhall meet again.
Ess. Till then, Farewel.
SOUTH. Till then, Farewel.
JAFFIER AND PIERRE.
JAFF. By Heav'n, you flir not!
I must be heard, I must have leave to speak !
Thou hast difgrac'd me, Pierre, by a vile blow!
Had not a dagger done thee nobler justice?
But ufe me as thou wilt, thou canft not wrong me,
For I am fallen beneath the basest injuries:
Yet look upon me with an eye of mercy;
With pity and with charity behold me;
Shut not thy heart against a friend's repentance;
But, as there dwells a godlike nature in thee,
Listen with mildness to my fupplications.
PIER. What whining monk art thou? what holy cheat, That wouldst encroach upon my credulous ears, And cant'ft thus vilely? hence! I know thee not. JAFF. Not know me, Pierre!
PIER. No, know thee not; what art thou ?
JAFF. Jaffier, thy friend, thy once lov'd, valu'd friend! Tho' now deferv'dly scorn'd and us'd most hardly.
PIER. Thou Jaffier! thou my once lov'd valu'd friend!
By heav'ns thou ly'ft; the man fo call'd, my friend,
Was generous, honeft, faithful, juft, and valiant,
Noble in mind, and in his perfon lovely,
Dear to my eyes, and tender to my heart:
But thou a wretched, base, false, worthless coward,
Poor even in foul, and loathsome in thy aspect;
All eyes muft fhun thee, and all hearts deteft thee.
Prithee avoid, nor longer cling thus round me,
Like fomething baneful, that my nature's chill'd at.
JAFF. I have not wrong'd thee; by these tears I have
But ftill am honeft, true, and hope too, valiant;
My mind ftill full of thee, therefore still noble.
Let not thy eyes then shun me, nor thy heart
Deteft me utterly: Oh! look upon me,
Look back and fee my fad, fincere submission!
How my heart fwells, as e'en 'twould burft my
Fond of its goal, and labouring to be at thee;
What shall I do? what say to make thee hear me?
PIER. Haft thou not wrong'd me? dar'ft thou call
That once lov'd, valu'd friend of mine,
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