PROLOGUE

TO MR. ADDISON's TRAGEDY OF

САТО.

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To wake the foul by tender ftrokes of art, To raile the genius, and to mend the heart; To make mankind in conscious virtue bold, Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold: For this the Tragic Mufe first trod the stage, Commanding tears to ftream through every age; Tyrants no more their favage nature kept; And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept. Our author fhuns by vulgar fprings to move The hero's glory, or the virgin's love; In pitying Love, we but our weakness show, And wild Ambition well deferves its woe. Here tears fhall flow from a more generous caufe, Such tears as Patriots fhed for dying Laws: He bids your breasts with ancient ardour rife, 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 Heaven itself furveys, A brave man struggling in the ftorms of fate, And greatly falling with a falling ftate. While Cato gives his little Senate laws, What bosom beats not in his Country's cause ? Who fees him act, but envies every deed? Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed? Ev'n when proud Cæfar 'midst triumphal cars, The fpoils 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 reverend image past, The pomp was darken'd, and the day o'ercaft; The triumph ceas'd, tears gush'd from every eye; The world's great Victor pafs'd unheeded by; Her laft good man dejected Rome ador'd, And honour'd Cæfar's lefs than Cato's fword.

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The Play may pass-but that strange creature,

Shore,

I can't-indeed now-I fo bate a whore !-
Just as a blockhead rubs his thoughtless skull,
And thanks his ftars he was not born a fool;
So from a fifter finner you fhall hear,

"How strangely you expose yourself, my dear !” But let me die, all raillery apart,

Our fex are still forgiving at their heart;
And, did not wicked cuftom fo contrive,
We'd be the beft, good-natur'd things alive.
There are, 'tis true, who tell another tale, 15
That virtuous ladies envy while they rail;
Such rage without betrays the fire within;
In fome clofe corner of their foul, they fin;
Still hoarding up, mot scandalously nice,
Amidft their virtues a referve of vies.
The godly dame, who fleshly failings damns,
Scolds with her maid, or with her chaplain crams.
Would you enjoy foft nights, and folid dinners?
Faith, gallants, board with faints, and bed with
finners.

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Well, if our Author in the wife offends,
He has a Husband that will make amends:
He draws him gentle, tender, and forgiving,
And fure fuch kind good creatures may be living.
In days of old they pardon'd/breach of vows,
Stern Cato's felf was no relentless spouse:
Plu-Plutarch, what's his name, that writes his
life?

Tell us, that Cato dearly lov'd his wife :
Yet if a friend, a night or fo, fhould need her,
He'd recommend her as a special breeder.
To lend a wite, few here would fcruple make ; 35
But, pray which of you all would take her back?
Though with the Stoic Chief our Stage may ring,
The Stoic Hufband was the glorious thing.
The man had courage, was a fage, 'tis true,
And lov'd his country-but what's that to you?
Thofe ftrange examples ne'er were made to fit ye,
But the kind cuckold might instrust the City :
There many an honeft man may copy Cato,
Who ne'er faw naked fword, or look'd in Plato.
If, after all, you think it a disgrace,
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That Edward's Mifs thus perks it in your face;
To fee a piece of failing tiefh and blood,
In all the reft fo impudently good;
Faith let the modeft Matrons of the town
Come here in crowds, and flare the ftrumpet
down.
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SAPPH O..

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Afk not the caufe that I new numbers chuse,
The lute neglected, and the Lyric Muse ;
Love taught my tears in fadder notes to flow,
And tun'd my heart to Elegies of woe.
I burn, I burn, as when through ripen'd corn
By driving winds the spreading flames are borne.
Phaon to tna's icorching fields retires,
While I confume with more than Ætna's fires!
No more my foul a charm in mufic finds,
Mufic has charms alone for peaceful minds.
Soft fcenes of folitude no more can please,
Love enters there, and I'm my own disease.
No more the Lefbian dames my paffion move,
Once the dear objects of my guilty love;
All other loves are loft in only thine,
Ah, youth ungrateful to a flamme like mine!
Whom would not all those blooming charms fur-
prife,

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Thofe heavenly looks, and dear deluding eyes?
The harp and bow would you like Phoebus bear,
A brighter Phoebus Phaon might appear;
Would you with ivy wreathe your flowing hair,
Not Bacchus' felf with Phaon could compare: 25
Yet Phebus lov'd, and Bacchus felt the flame,
One Daphne warm'd, and one the Cretan dame;
Nymphs that in verfe no more could rival me,
Than ev'n thofe Gods contend in charms with
thee.
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The Mu es teach me all their fofteft lays,
And the wide world refounds with Sappho's
praife.

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Though great Alceus more fublimely fings,
And itrikes with holder rage the founding ttrings,
No lefs renown attends the moving lyre, 35
Which Venus tunes, and all her Loves infpire;
To me what nature has in charms deny'd,
Is well by wit's more lafting flames fupply'd.
Though fhort my ftature, yet my name extends
To heaven itfelf, and earth's remotest ends.
Brown as I am, an Ethiopian dame
Infpir'd young Perfeus with a generous flame;
Turtles and doves of differing hues unite,
And gloffy jet is pair'd with fhining white.
If to no charms thou wilt thy heart refign,
But fuch as merit, fuch as equal thine,
By none, alas! by none thou canst be mov'd:
Phaon alone by Phaon must be lov'd!
Yet once thy Sappho could thy cares employ,
Once in her arms you center'd all your joy:
No time the dear remembrance can remove,
For, oh! how vaft a memory has love!
My Muc, then, you could for ever hear,
And all my words were mufic to your ear.
You ftopp'd with kiffes my enchanting
And found my kifles fweeter than my long.
In all I pleas'd, but most in what was beft;
And the last joy was dearer than the rest.
Then with each word, each glance, each motion
fir'd,

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tongue, 56

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Nor be with all those tempting words abus'd,
Those tempting words were all to Sappho us'd.
And you that rule Sicilia's happy plains,
Have pity, Venus, on your Poet's pains!
Shall fortune ftill in one fad tenor run,
And itill increase the woes so soon begun?
Inur'd to forrow from my tender years,
My parent's afhes drank my early tears:
My brother next, neglecting wealth and fame,
Ignobly burn'd in a deftructive flame:
An infant daughter late my griets increas'd,
And all a mother's cares diítract my breast.
Alas, what more could fate itfelt impofe,
But thee, the last and greatest of my woes?
No more my robes in waving purple flow,
Nor on my hand the fparkling diamonds glow;
No more my locks in ringlets curl'd diffuse
The coftly sweetness of Arabian dews,
Nor braids of gold the varied tresses bind,
That fly diforder'd with the wantou wind:
For whom should Sappho use such arts as these?
He's gone, whom only the defir'd to please!
Cupid's light darts my tender bofom move,
Still is there caufe for Sappho ftill to love:
So from my birth the sitters fix'd my doom,
And gave to Venus all my life to come;
Or, while my Mufe in melting notes complains,
My yielding heart keeps meature to my ftrains.
By charms like thine which all my foul have
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won,

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Who migh not ah! who would not be undone?
For thofe Aurora Cephalus might scorn,
And with fresh blushes paint the conscious morn:
For thofe might Cynthia lengthen Phaon's fleep,
And bid Endymion nightly tend his sheep:
Venus for those had rapt thee to the kies,
But Mars on thee might look with Venus' eyes.
O fcarce a youth, yet scarce a tender boy!
O. ufeful time for lovers to employ!
Pride of thy age, and glory of thy race,
Come to thefe arms, and melt in this embrace!
The vows you never will return, receive;
And take at least the love you will not give.
See, while I write, my words are loft in tears!
The lefs my fenfe, the more my love appears. 110
Sure 'twas not much to bid one kind adieu;
(At least to feign was never hard to you!)
Farewell, my Lefbian love, you might have faid;
Or coldly thus, Farewell, oh Lesbian maid!
No tear did you, no parting kifs receive,
Nor knew I then how much I was to grieve.
No lover's gift your Sappho could confer,
And wrongs and woes were all you left with her.
No charge I gave you, and no charge could give,
But this, Be mindful of our loves, and live. 120
Now by the Nine, thofe powers ador'd by me,
And Love, the God that ever waits on thee,
When firft I heard (from whom I hardly knew)
That you were filed, and all my joys with you,
Like fome fad ftatue, fpeechilefs, pale I stood, 125
Grief chill'd my breaft, and stopp'd my freezing

blood;

No figh to rife, no tear had power to flow, Fix'd in a ftupid lethargy of woe:

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But when its way th' impetuous paffion found,
I rend my treffes, and my breaft I wound; 130

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I rave, then weep; I curfe, and then complain;
Now fwell to rage, now melt in tears again.
Not fiercer pangs distract the mournful dame,
Whose first-born infant feeds the funeral flame.
My fcornful brother with a fmile appears,
Infults my woes, and triumphs in my tears:
Iis hated image ever haunts my eyes;
And why this grief? thy daughter lives, he cries.
Stung with my love, and furious with despair,
All torn my garments, and my bofom bare, 140
My woes, thy crimes, I to the world proclaim;
Such inconfiftent things are love and shame!
Tis thou art all my care and my delight,
My daily longing, and my dream by night :
O night, more pleafing than the brightest day,
When fancy gives what absence takes away,
And, drefs'd in all its vifionary charins,
Reftores my fair deferter to my arms!
Then round your neck in wanton wreaths I twine;
Then you, methinks, as fondly circle mine: 150
A thousand tender words I hear and speak;
A thousand melting kisses give, and take:
Then fiercer joys; I blush to mention these,
Yet, while I bluth, confefs how much they pleafe.
But when, with day, the fweet delufions fly, 155
And all things wake to life and joy, but Is
As if once more forfaken, I complain,
And close my eyes to dream of you again:
Then frantic rife, and like fome Fury rove -
Through lonely plains, and through the filent grové;
As if the filent grove, and lonely plains.
That knew my pleasures, could relieve my pain's
1 view the Grotto, once the scene of love,
The rocks around, the hanging roofs above,
That charm'd me more, with native mofs o'er-
grown,

Than Phrygian marble, or the Parian stone.
I find the fhades that veil'd our joys before;
But, Phaon gone, thofe fhades delight no more.
Here the prefs'd herbs with bending tops betray
Where oft entwin'd in amorous folds we lay;
I kifs that earth which once was prefs'd by you,
And all with tears the withering herbs bedew.
For thee the fading trees appear to mourn,
And birds defer their fongs till thy return!
Night fhades the groves, and all in filence lie, 175
All but the mournful Philomel and I :
With mournful Philomel I join my strain,
Of Tereus the, of Phaon I complain.

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A fpring there is, whofe filver waters show, Clear as a glafs, the fhining fands below; A flowery Lotos fpreads its arms above, Shades all the banks, and feems itfelf a grove; Eternal greens the moffy margin grace, Watch'd by the fylvan Genius of the place. Here as I lay, and fwell'd with tears the flood, 185 Before my fight a watery Virgin ftood: She ftood and cry'd, "O you that love in vain! "Fly hence, and feek the fair Leucadian main. “There stands a rock, from whofe impending fteep

"Apollo's fane furveys the rolling deep; "There injur'd lovers, leaping from above, "Their flames extinguish, and forget to love. "Deucalion once with hopeless fury burn'd, "In vain he lov❜d, relentless Pyrrha fcorn'd;

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"But when from hence he plung'd into the "main,

"Deucalion fcorn'd, and Pyrrha lov'd in vain. "Hafte, Sappho, hafte, from high Leucadia throw "Thy wretched weight, nor dread the deeps " below!"

She spoke, and vanish'd with the voice-I rife, And flent tears fall trickling from my eyes. 200 I go, ye Nymphs! thofe rocks and feas to prove;

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How much I fear, but ah, how much I love!
I go, ye Nymphs, where furious love inspires;
Let female fears fubmit to female fires.
To rocks and feas I fly from Phaon's hate,
And hope from feas and rocks a milder fate.
Ye gentle gales, beneath my body blow,
And foftly lay me on the waves below!
And thou, kind Love, my finking limbs fuftain,
Spread thy foft wings, and waft me o'er the
main,

Nor let a lover's death the guiltlefs flood prophane!

On Phoebus' fhrine my harp I'll then bestow, And this Infcription fhall be plac❜d below. "Here the who fung, to him that did infpire, "Sappho to Phoebus confecrates hér Lyre; 215

What fuits with Sappho, Phoehus, fuits with

thee;

If you retorn-ah why thefe long delays?
Poor Sappho dies while careless Phaon ftays.
O launch thy bark, nor fear the watery plain;
Venus for thee fall fmooth her native main.
O launch thy bark, fecure of profperous gales;
Cupid for thee fhall fpread the fwelling fails.
If you will fly(yet ah! what caufe can be,
Too cruel youth, that you should fly from me?)
If not from Phaon I must hope for cafe, 256
Ah let me feek it from the raging feas:
To'raging feas unpity'd I'll remove,
And either ceate to live, or ce afe to love!

I

ELOISA

TO

ABELARD.

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N thefe deep folitudes and awful cells, Where heavenly-penfive contemplation dwells, And ever-mufing melancholy reigns;, What means this tumult in a Veftal's veins? T Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat? Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat? Yet, yet I love! from Abelard it came, And Eloïfa yet muft kifs the name. Dear fatal name! reft ever unreveal'd, Nor pafs thefe lips in holy filence feal'd; Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise, Where, mix'd with God's, his lov'd idea lies: O write it not, my hand-the name appears Already written-wath it out, my tears! In vain loft Eloifa weeps and prays, Her heart ftill dictates and her hand obeys. Relentlefs walls! whofe darkfome round contains

Repentant fighs and voluntary pains:

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Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn; Ye grots and caverns fagg' with horrid thorn! Shrines! where their vigils pale-eyed virgins keep;

And pitying faints, whofe ftatues learn to weep! Though cold like you, unmov'd and filent grown, I have not yet forgot myself to ftonc.

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All is not Heaven's while Abelard has part,
Still rebel Nature holds out half my heart;
Nor prayers nor fafts its ftubborn pulle retrain,
Nor tears for ages taught to flow in vain.

Soon as thy letters trembling I unclofe,
That well-known name awakens all my woes. 30
On name for ever fad! forever dear!
Still breath'd in fghs, fill uher'd with a tear.
tremble too, where'er my own I find,
Some dire misfortune follows clofe behind,
Line after line my gufhing eyes o'erflow,
Led through a fad variety of woe:
Now warm in love, now withering in my bloom,
I of in a convent's folitary gloom!
There ftera Religion quench'd th'unwilling flame,
There dy'd the beft of paffions, Love and Fame.

Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join Griefs to thy griefs, and echo fighs to thine.

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Nor foes nor fortune take this power away;
And is my Abelard less kind than they?
Tears ftill are mine, and those I need not fpare,
Love but demands what elfe were shed in prayer;
No happier task thefe faded eyes pursue;
To read and weep is all they now can do.

Then fhare thy pain, allow that fad relief; Ali, more than fhare it, give me all thy grief. Heaven first taught letters for fome wretch's aid, Some banish'd lover, or fome captive maid; They live, they fpeak, they breathe what lov: infpires,

Warm to the foul, and faithful to its fires,
The virgin's with without her fears impart, 55
Excufe the bluh, and pour out all the heart,
Speed the foft intercourfe from foul to foul,
And waft a figh from Indus to the Pole,

Thou know'ft how guiltless first I met thy flam When Love approach'd me under Friendship's

name;

My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind,
Some emaвation of th' All-beauteous Mind.
Thofe fmiling eyes, attempering every ray,
Shone fweetly lambent with celestial day.
Guiltlefs gaz'd; heaven liften'd while you fung
And truths divine came mended from that tongué,
From lips like thofe what precept fail'd to move?
Too foon they taught me 'twas no fin to love:
Back through the paths of pleafing fense I ran,
Nor with'd an Angel whom I lov❜d a Man.
Dim and remote the joys of faints I fee,
Nor envy them that heaven I lofe for thee.

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How oft, when prefs'd to marriage have I faid, Curfe, on all laws but thofe which love has made! Love, free as air, at fight of human ties, Spreads his light wings and in a moment fies. Let wealth, let honour wait the wedded dame, Auguft her deed, and facred be her fanie; Before true paffion all hofe views remove; Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to Love! The jealous God, when we prophane his fires, Thofe rettlefs paffions in revenge infpires, And bids them make miftaken mortals groan, Who feek in love for aught but love alone, Should at my feet the world's great mafter fall, Hinofelf, his throne, his world, I'd fcorn them all:

Not Cæfar's emprefs would I deign to prove; No, make me mistress to the man I love.

If there be yet another name more free, More fond than miftrefs, make me that to thee: до

Oh! happy ftate! when fouls each other draw,
When love is liberty, and nature law :
All then is full, poffeffing and poffefs'd,
No craving void left aching in the breast:
Ev'n thought meets thought, e're from the lips it
part,

And each warm with fprings mutual from the heart.

This fure is blifs (if blifs on earth there be)
And once the lot of Abelard and me.

Alas, how chang'd! what fudden horrors
rife!

A naked Lover bound and bleeding lies!