Among the reft, with Wonder be it told,

That Brutus is ador'd for Cafar's Death;

By which he ftill furvives in Fame's Immortal Breath:
Brutus! ev'n He, of all the reft,

In whom we fhou'd that Deed the most dereft,
Is of Mankind efteem'd the best!

As Snow descending from fome lofty Hill,
Is by its rolling Courfe augmenting ftill;
So from Illuftrious Authors down has roll'd
'Till now, that Rev'rence he receiv'd of old;
Still ev'ry Age adds a profound Efteem,
And gild their Eloquence with Praise of him.
But Truth unvail'd, like a bright Sun appears,
To Shine away this heap of fev'nteen hundred Years.

In vain 'tis urg'd by an Illuftrious Wit, * (To whom I otherwise submit)

That Cæfar's Life no Pity cou'd deferve From one who kill'd himself, rather than serve. Had Brutus chose rather himself to flay,

Than any Mafter to obey,

Happy for Rome had been that noble Pride; [dy'd: The World had then remain'd in Peace, and only Brutus For he, whofe Virtue wou'd disdain to own

Subjection to a Tyrant's Frown,

And his own Life had rather end,

[his Friend.

Wou'd fure, much rather kill himself, than only hurt

To his own Sword in the Philippian Field,

Brutus indeed at last did yield;

But in thofe Times fuch Actions were not rare,
And then proceeded only from Despaire
Elfe, he perhaps had chofe to live,

In hopes another Cafar would forgive;

That fo he might for Publick Good, once more, Conspire against a Life which had spar'd his before.

* Mr. Cowley.

IV.

Our Countrey claims, indeed, our chiefest Care;
And in our Thoughts deferves the tend'reft share
Her to a thousand Friends we shou'd prefer,
But not betray 'em, tho' it be for her.
Hard is his Heart whom no Desert can move,
A Wife, a Mistress, or a Friend to Love,

Above what e'er he does besides enjoy;

But may he for their Sakes his Sire, or Sons deftroy
Sacred be all the Tyes of publick Good;
We to our Country owe our dearest Blood;
To fuffer in her Service, were a Blifs,
And ev❜h to fall, the nobleft Fate that is;
So brave a Death, tho' in Youth's early Bloom,
Is above all the longest Life to come;
But 'tis not, furely, of fo great Renown,
To take another's, as to lose our own:

Of all that's ours we cannot give too much,
But what belongs to Friendship, Oh! 'tis Sacrilege to

V.

Can we stand by unmov'd, and fee

Our Mother robb'd, and ravish'd? Can we be
Excus'd, if in her Cause we never stir,

[touch.

Pleas'd with the Strength and Beauty of the Ravisher?
Thus Sings our Bard with almoft Heat Divine;
'Tis pity that his Thought was not as ftrong, as fine;
Wou'd it more juftly did the Cafe express,
Or that its Beauty, and its Grace were lefs..
(Thus a loose Nymph fometimes we fee,
Who fo charming feems to be,

That, jealous of a foft Surprize,
We fcarce dare truft our eager Eyes.)
So dangerous an Ambush to escape,
We shall not plead a willing Rape;

A Valiant Son wou'd be provok'd 'the more; AForce we therefore muft confefs,but acted long before.

Mr. Cowley,

A Marriage fince did intervene,

With all the folemn, and the facred Scene;
Loud was the Hymenean Song,

The violated Dame walk'd smilingly along,
And in the midst of the most facred Dance,
As if enamour'd of his Sight,
Often the caft a kind admiring Glance
On the bold Struggler for Delight,

Who afterwards appear'd fo moderate and cool,
As if for Publick good alone he so afpir'd to Rule,

VI.

But, oh! that this were all the Muse can urge Against a Roman of so great a Soul! And that fair Truth permitted us to purge His Fact of what appears fo foul! Friendship, that sacred and sublimest Thing! The nobleft Quality, and chiefeft Good! (In this base Age scarce underftocd) Infpires us with unufual Warmth its injur'd Rites to fing Affift, ye Angels, whofe Immortal Bliss,

Tho' more refin'd, chiefly confifts in this! How plainly your bright Thoughts to one another fhine! Oh! how ye all agree in Harmony Divine! The Course of mutual Love with equal Zeal ye run, A Courfe as far from any End, as when at first begun. You faw, and fmil'd on this moft worthy Pair, Who did betwixt them both fo many Virtues fhare; Some which belong to Peace, and fome to Strife, Thofe of a calm, and of an active Life, That all the Excellence of Human Kind, Concurr'd to make of both but one united Mind; Which Friendship did so fast and closely bind, Not the leaft Cement cou'd appear, by which theirSouls [were join'd. That Tie which holds our Mortal Frame, Which poor unknowing We a Soul and Body name,

* Rome.

Seems not a Compofition more Divine,

Or more abftruse than all that does in Friendship shine.
VII.

From mighty Cafar's boundless Grace,
Brutus indeed his Life receiv'd;
But Obligations, tho' so great believ'd,
We count but flight in fuch a Cafe,
Where Friendship fo poffefes all the Place,

There is no room for Gratitude; fince he [can be. Who fo obliges, is more pleas'd, than his fav'd Friend Juft in the midst of all this noble Heat,

While their great Hearts did both so kindly beat, That it amaz'd the Lookers on,

And forc'd them to fufpect a Father and a Son; (Yet here ev'n Nature's felf did feem to be outdone) From fuch a Friendship unprovok’d to fall,

Is Crime enough; but oh, that fuch a Crime were all Which does, with too much Cause, ungrateful Brutus

VIII.

He calmly laid a long Defign

Against his best and dearest Friend;

Did all his Care and Credit bend

To Spirit others up, to work his barb❜rous end;
Himself the Center where they all did join.
Cafar, mean time, fearlefs, and fond of him,
Was as induftrious all the while

To give fuch ample Marks of his Esteem,
As made the Gravest Romans smile

[call!

To fee with how much eafe Love can theWife beguile, For he, whom Brutus doom'd to bleed,

Did, fetting his own Race afide,

No lefs a thing for him provide,

Than to the World's great Empire to fucceed:
Which we are bound in Juftice to allow,

Is All-fufficient Proof to fhew

That Brutus did not ftrike for his own fake; And if, alas, he fail'd, 'twas only by mistake.

* Cæfar was fufpected to have begotten Brutus.

An EPITAPH on the Lady WHITMORE,

By Mr. DRYDEN.

AIR, Kind, and True, a Treafure each alone;

FAIR, and True, a each

Reft in this Tomb, rais'd at thy Husband's coft,
Here fadly fumming, what he had, and loft.
Come Virgins, ere in equal Bands you join,
Come first and offer at her facred Shrine;
Pray but for half the Virtues of this Wife,
Compound for all the reft, with longer Life.
And wish your Vows like hers may be return'd,
So Lov'd when Living, and when Dead fo Mourn'd.

An EPITAPH on Sir PALMES FAIRBONE's Tomb in Weftminfter-Abby.

Sacred to the Immortal Memory of Sir Palmes Fairbone Knight, Governor of Tangier; in Execution of which Command, he was mortally wounded by a Shot from the Moors, then Befieging the Town in the Forty Sixth Year of his Age. October 24, 1680. By the fame Hand.

Y

}

E Sacred Relicks which your Marble keep, Here undisturb'd by Wars in quiet fleep: Discharge the Truft which when it was below Fairbone's undaunted Soul did undergo, And be the Town's Palladium from the Foe. Alive and dead thefe Walls he will defend, Great Actions great Examples must attend. The Candian Siege his early Valour knew, Where Turkish Blood did his young Hands imbrew. From thence returning with deferv'd Applause, Against the Moors his well-flesh'd Sword he draws; The fame the Courage, and the fame the Caufe.