Attends the funeral with pious care,
To pay his last paternal office there
Takes a fad pleasure in the croud to go,
And be himself part of the pompous woe;
Then waits till, every ceremony past,
His own fond hand may light the pile at last.
So fix'd, fo faithful to thy cause, O Rome,
With fuch a conftancy and love I come,
Refolv'd for thee and liberty to mourn,
And never never from your fides be torn;
Refolv'd to follow ftill your common fate,
And on your very names, and last remains to wait.
Thus let it be, fince thus the gods ordain;
Since hecatombs of Romans must be flain,
Affift the facrifice with every hand,
And give them all the flaughter they demand.
O! were the gods contented with iny fall,
If Cato's life could answer for you all,
Like the devoted Decius would I go,
To force from either fide the mortal blow,
And for my country's fake, wish to be thought her foe.
To me, ye Romans, all your rage confine,
To me, ye nations from the barbarous Rhine,
Let all the wounds this war fhall make be mine.
Open my vital ftreams, and let them run,
Oh, let the purple facrifice atone
For all the ills offending Rome has done.
If flavery be all the faction's end,
If chains the prize for which the fools contend,
H
To me convert the war, let me bé flain; ad abral
Me, only me, who fondly ftrive, in vain,
Their useless laws and freedom to maintain:
So may the tyrant fafely mount his throne,
And rule his flaves in peace, when I am gone.
How-e'er, fince free as yet from his command,
For Pompey and the commonwealth we stand.
Nor he, if fortune should attend his arms,
Is proof against ambition's fatal charms;
But, urg'd with greatness, and defire of sway,
May dare to make the vanquish'd world his prey. 495
Then, left the hopes of empire fwell his pride,
Let him remember I was on his fide;
Nor think he conquer'd for himself alone,
To make the harveft of the war his own,
Where half the toil was ours. So spoke the fage.
His words the listening eager youth engage
Too much to love of arms, and heat of civil rage.
Now 'gan the fun to lift his dawning light,
Before him fled the colder fhades of night;
When lo the founding doors are heard to turn, 505 Chafte Martia comes from dead Hortenfius' urn.
Once to á better husband's happier bed,
With bridal rites, a virgin was she led:
When, every debt of love and duty paid,
And thrice a parent by Lucina made,
The teeming matron, at her lord's command,
To glad Hortenfius gave her plighted hand;
With a fair ftock his barren house to grace,
And mingle by the mother's fide the race.
1length this husband in his afhes laid,
And every rite of due religion paid,
Forth from his monument the mournful dame,
With beaten breafts, and locks difhevel'd, came;
Then with a pale dejected rueful look,
My powers at length with genial labours worn,
Weary to thee, and wafted, I return.
At length a barren wedlock let me prove,
Give me the name, without the joys of love;
No more to be abandon'd, let me come,
That Cato's wife may live upon my tomb.
So fhall my truth to latest times be read,
And none fhall ask if guiltily I fled,
Or thy command eftrang'd me from thy bed.
Nor ask I now thy happiness to share,
I feek thy days of toil, thy nights of care:
Give me, with thee, to meet my country's foe,
Thy weary marches and thy camps to know;
Nor let pofterity with fhame record,
Cornelia follow'd, Martia left her lord.
She faid: The hero's manly heart was mov'd, And the chafte matron's virtuous fuit approv'd. And though the tires far differing thoughts demand, Though war diffents from Hymen's holy band; In plain unfolemn wife his faith he plights, And calls the gods to view the lonely rites.
No garlands gay the chearful portal crown'd,
Nor woolly fillets wove the pofts around;
No genial bed, with rich embroidery grac'd,
On ivory steps in lofty ftate was plac'd;
No hymeneal torch preceding fhone,
No matron put the towery frontlet on,
Nor bade her feet the facred threshold fhun.
No yellow veil was loosely thrown, to hide
The rifing blushes of the trembling bride;
No glittering zone her flowing garments bound,
Nor fparkling gems her neck encompass'd round;
No filken scarf, nor decent winding lawn,
Was o'er her naked arms and fhoulders drawn:
But, as he was, in funeral attire,
With all the fadnefs forrow could infpire,
With eyes dejected, with a joyless face,
She met her husband's, like a fon's embrace.
No Sabine mirth provokes the bridegroom's ears,
Nor fprightly wit the glad affembly chears.
No friends, not ev'n their children grace the feaft, 565
Brutus attends, their only nuptial gueft:
He ftands a witnefs of the filent rite,
And sees the melancholy pair unite.
Nor he, the chief, his facred vifage chear'd,
Nor fmooth'd his matted locks, or horrid beard; 570
Nor deigns his heart one thought of joy to know,
But met his Martia with the fame ftern brow.
(For when he faw the fatal factions arm,
The coming war, and Rome's impending harm;
Regardlefs quite of every other care,
Unfhorn he left his loose neglected hair r;
Rude hung the hoary honours of his head,
And a foul growth his mournful cheeks o'erfpread.
No ftings of private hate his peace infest,
Nor partial favour grew upon his breast;
But, fafe from prejudice, he kept his mind.
Free, and at leifure to lament mankind.)
Nor could his former love's returning fire,
The warmth of one connubial with infpire,
But strongly he withstood the juft defire.
These were the ftricter manners of the man,
And this the stubborn course in which they ran;
The golden mean unchanging to purfue,
Conftant to keep the purpos'd end in view;
Religiously to follow nature's laws,
And die with pleasure in his country's cause,
To think he was not for himself defign'd,
But born to be of use to all mankind.
To him 'twas feasting, hunger to reprefs;
And home-fpun garments were his coftly drefs:
No marble pillars rear'd his roof on high,
'Twas warm, and kept him from the winter sky:
He fought no end of marriage, but increase,
Nor wish'd a pleasure, but his country's peace:
That took up all the tendereft parts of life,
His country was his children and his wife.
From juftice' righteous lore he never swerv'd,
But rigidly his honesty preserv'd.
On univerfal good his thoughts were bent,
Nor knew what gain, or self-affection meant; 1605 And while his benefits the public share,
Cato was always last in Cato's care.
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