TWO

CHORUSES

TO THE

TRAGEDY OF BRUTUS.

Altered from Shakespeare by the Duke of Buckingham, at whose defire these two Choruses were composed, to fupply as many, wanting in his play. They were set many years afterwards by the famous Bononcini, and performed at Buckingham-houfe.

Y

CHORUS OF ATHENIANS.

STROPHE I.

E fhades, where facred truth is fought;
Groves, where immortal Sages taught :
Where heavenly vifions Plato fir'd,
And Epicurus lay infpir'd!

In vain your guiltless laurels ftood
Unfpotted long with human blood.

War, horrid war, your thoughtful walks invades,
And steel now glitters in the Mufes' fhades.

Oh heaven-born fifters! fource of art!

Who charm the fenfe, or mend the heart;
Who lead fair Virtue's train along,
Moral truth and mystic Song !

To what new clime, what distant sky,
Forfaken, friendlefs, fhall ye fly?
Say, will ye bless the bleak Atlantic fhore?
Or bid the furious Gaul be rude no more?

STROPHE

STROPHE II.

When Athens finks by fates unjust,

When wild Barbarians spurn her duft;
Perhaps ev'n Britain's utmost shore
Shall cease to blush with stranger's gore;
See Arts her favage fons control,

And Athens rising near the pole!

Till fome new Tyrant lifts his purple hand,
And civil madness tears them from the land.

ANTISTROPHE II.

Ye Gods! what justice rules the ball!
Freedom and Arts together fall;
Fools grant whate'er Ambition craves,
And men, once ignorant, are flaves.
Oh curs'd effects of civil hate,

In every age, in every state!

Still, when the luft of tyrant power fucceeds,
Some Athens perishes, fome Tully bleeds.

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CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS.

SEMICHORUS.

OH Tyrant Love! haft thou poffeft

The prudent, learn'd, and virtuous breast?

Wisdom and Wit in vain reclaim,

And Arts but foften us to feel thy flame.

Love, foft intruder, enters here,

But entering learns to be fincere.
Marcus with blushes owns he loves,

And Brutus tenderly reproves.

G 2

Why,

Why, Virtue, doft thou blame defire,

Which Nature has impreft?

Why, Nature, doft thou fooneft fire
The mild and generous breaft?

CHORU S.

Love's purer flames the Gods approve;
The Gods and Brutus bend to Love:

Brutus for abfent Porcia fighs,

And fterner Caffius melts at Junia's eyes.
What is loofe love? a transient gust,

Spent in a fudden storm of luft,

A

vapour fed from wild defire,
A wandering, felf-confuming fire.
But Hymen's kinder flames unite;
And burn for ever one;

Chafte as cold Cynthia's virgin light,
Productive as the Sun.

United wish, and mutual joy !

What various joys on one attend,

As fon, as father, brother, husband, friend?

Whether his hoary fire he fpies,

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While thousand grateful thoughts arise;

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Or meets his spouse's fonder

eye;

Or views his smiling progeny;

What tender paffions take their turns,

What home-felt raptures move!

His heart now melts, now leaps, now burns,
With reverence, hope, and love.

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CHORUS.

CHORUS.

Hence guilty joys, diftaftes, furmizes,
Hence falfe tears, deceits, difguifes,
Dangers, doubts, delays, furprizes;

Fires that fcorch, yet dare not fhine :
Pureft love's unwasting treasure,
Conftant faith, fair hope, long leisure;
Days of eafe, and nights of pleafure;
Sacred Hymen! these are thine.

ODE ON SOLITUDE.

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Written when the Author was about Twelve Years old.

H

APPY the man, whose wish and care

A few paternal acres bound,

Content to breathe his native air,

In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 5

Whofe flocks fupply him with attire,

Whofe trees in fummer yield him shade,

Sound fleep by night; study and ease,
Together mix'd; fweet recreation;
And innocence, which moft does please

With meditation,

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Thus

Thus let me live, unfeen, unknown,

Thus unlamented let me die,

Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.

O D E.

THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL.

I.

VITAL fpark of heavenly flame!

Quit, oh quit this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
Oh the pain, the blifs of dying!
Ceafe, fond Nature, ceafe thy ftrife,
And let me languish into life.

II.

Hark! they whisper; Angels fay,
Sifter Spirit, come away.
What is this absorbs me quite ?

Steals my fenfes, shuts my fight,

Drowns my fpirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my Soul, can this be Death?

III.

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The world recedes; it disappears!

Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears

With founds feraphic ring :

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Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!

O Grave! where is thy Victory?

O Death! where is thy Sting?

AN