THE SOLILOQUY OF CATO.

CATO, Solus, sitting in a thoughtful posture. In his hand, PLATO's book on The Immortality of the Soul. A drawn sword on a table by him.

It must be so! PLATO, thou reason'st well!
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after Immortality!

Or whence this secret dread and inward horror
Of falling into nought! Why shrinks the Soul
Back on herself; and startles at destruction?
'Tis the divinity that stirs within us!

'Tis Heaven itself, that points out an Hereafter; And intimates Eternity to Man!

Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought! Through what variety of untried Being,

Through what new scenes and changes, must we pass! The wide, th' unbounded, prospect lies before me; But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it!

Here, will I hold! If there's a Power above us (And that there is, all Nature cries aloud.

Through 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

CÆSAR!

I'm weary of conjectures! This must end them! [Laying his hand on his sword.

Thus am I doubly armed! 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 shall never die! The Soul, secured in her existence, smiles At the drawn dagger, and defies its point! The stars shall fade away, the sun himself Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years: But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth; Unhurt amidst the war of Elements,

The wrecks of Matter, and the crush of Worlds!

What means this heaviness, that hangs upon me? This lethargy, that creeps through all my senses? Nature, oppressed and harassed out with care, Sinks down to rest. This once, I'll favour her! That my awakened Soul may take her flight, Renewed in all her strength, and fresh with life, An off'ring fit for Heaven! Let guilt, or fear, Disturb Man's rest: CATO knows neither of them! Indiff'rent in his choice, to sleep, or die.

WHY, DAMON! why, why, why so pressing?
The heart you beg 's not worth possessing!
Each look, each word, each smile, 's affected;
And inward charms are quite neglected!
Then scorn her! scorn her! foolish Swain;
And sigh no more, no more in vain!

Beauty's worthless! fading! flying!
Who would, for trifles, think of dying?
Who, for a face, a shape, would languish;
And tell the brooks and groves his anguish,
Till She, till She thinks fit to prize him;
And all, and all beside, despise him?

Fix, fix your thoughts on what 's inviting!
On what will never bear the slighting!
Wit and Virtue claim your duty!

They're much more worth than Gold and Beauty!
To them, to them, your heart resign;

And you'll no more, no more repine!

WHEN DAPHNE first her Shepherd saw;
A sudden trembling seized her!
Honour, her wond'ring looks did awe;
She durst not view what pleased her!

When, at her feet, he sighing lay,
She found her heart complying;
Yet would not to her love give way,
To save her Swain from dying!

The little God stood laughing by,
To see her dext'rous feigning.
He bid the blushing Fair comply!
The Shepherd leave complaining!

DAMON. Cease, fair CALISTRIS! cease disdaining!

'Tis time to leave that useless art! Your Shepherd 's weary of complaining! Be kind; or he'll resume his heart!

CALISTRIS. DAMON, be gone! I hate complying!
Go, court some fond, believing Maid!
I take more pleasure in denying,
Than in the conquests I have made!

DAMON. Why, cruel Nymph! why, why so slighting?
Is this the treatment I must have?
Were not your beauty so inviting,
I would no longer be your slave!

CALISTRIS. DAMON, be gone! I hate complying!
Your heart's not worth the having!
Were there ten thousand Shepherds dying;
Not one were worth the saving!

Of all the torments, all the cares,
With which our lives are curst;
Of all the plagues a Lover bears,
Sure, Rivals are the worst!
By partners, in each other kind,
Afflictions easier grow!

In Love alone, we hate to find
Companions of our woe!

SYLVIA! for all the pangs you see
Are lab'ring in my breast,
I beg not you would favour me;
Would you but slight the rest!
How great soe'er your rigours are;
With them alone, I'll cope!
I can endure my own despair;
But not another's hope!

THE DESPAIRING LOVER.

DISTRACTED with care

For PHILLIS the fair,

Since nothing could move her,
Poor DAMON, her Lover,

Resolves, in despair,

No longer to languish,

Nor bear so much anguish!