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Campania, Fortune's malice to prevent,
To Pompey an indulgent fever sent;

But public prayers imposed on heaven to give
Their much loved leader an unkind reprieve;
The city's fate and his conspired to save
The head reserved for an Egyptian slave. *
Cethegus, though a traitor to the state,
And tortured, 'scaped this ignominious fate; †
And Sergius, who a bad cause bravely tried,
All of a piece, and undiminished, died. ‡

To Venus, the fond mother makes a prayer,
That all her sons and daughters may be fair :
True, for the boys a mumbling vow she sends,
But for the girls the vaulted temple rends:
They must be finished pieces; 'tis allowed
Diana's beauty made Latona proud,
And pleased to see the wondering people pray
To the new-rising sister of the day.

And yet Lucretia's fate would bar that vow;
And fair Virginia § would her fate bestow
On Rutila, and change her faultless make
For the foul rumple of her camel back.

But, for his mother's boy, the beau, what frights His parents have by day, what anxious nights!

Pompey, in the midst of his glory, fell into a dangerous fit of sickness, at Naples. A great many cities then made public supplications for him. He recovered; was beaten at Pharsalia; fled to Ptolemy, king of Egypt; and, instead of receiving protection at his court, had his head struck off by his order, to please Cæsar. + Cethegus was one that conspired with Catiline, and was put to death by the senate.

Sergius Catiline died fighting.

§ Virginia was killed by her own father, to prevent her being exposed to the lust of Appius Claudius, who had ill designs upon her. The story at large is in Livy's third book; and it is a remarkable one, as it gave occasion to the putting down the power of the Decemviri, of whom Appius was one.

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Form joined with virtue is a sight too rare;
Chaste is no epithet to suit with fair.
Suppose the same traditionary strain
Of rigid manners in the house remain;
Inveterate truth, an old plain Sabine's heart;
Suppose that nature too has done her part,
Infused into his soul a sober
grace,
And blushed a modest blood into his face,
(For nature is a better guardian far
Than saucy pedants, or dull tutors are;)
Yet still the youth must ne'er arrive at man,
(So much almighty bribes and presents can ;)
Even with a parent, where persuasions fail,
Money is impudent, and will prevail.

We never read of such a tyrant king,
Who gelt a boy deformed, to hear him sing;
Nor Nero, in his more luxurious rage,
E'er made a mistress of an ugly page:
Sporus, his spouse, nor crooked was, nor lame,
With mountain back, and belly, from the game
Cross-barred; but both his sexes well became.
Go, boast your Springal, by his beauty curst
To ills, nor think I have declared the worst;
His form procures him journey-work; a strife
Betwixt town-madams, and the merchant's wife:
Guess, when he undertakes this public war,
What furious beasts offended cuckolds are.

Adulterers are with dangers round beset; Born under Mars, they cannot 'scape the net; And, from revengeful husbands, oft have tried Worse handling than severest laws provide: One stabs, one slashes, one, with cruel art, Makes colon suffer for the peccant part.

But your Endymion, your smooth smock-faced boy,

Unrivalled, shall a beauteous dame enjoy.

Not so: one more salacious, rich, and old,
Outbids, and buys her pleasure for her gold:
Now, he must moil, and drudge, for one he lothes;
She keeps him high in equipage and clothes;
She pawns her jewels, and her rich attire,
And thinks the workman worthy of his hire.
In all things else immoral, stingy, mean,
But, in her lusts, a conscionable quean.

She may be handsome, yet be chaste, you say;Good observator, not so fast away;

Did it not cost the modest youth his life,

Who shunned the embraces of his father's wife?*
And was not t'other stripling forced to fly,
Who coldly did his patron's queen deny,
And pleaded laws of hospitality? †

}

The ladies charged them home, and turned the tale;
With shame they reddened, and with spite grew pale.
'Tis dangerous to deny the longing dame;
She loses pity, who has lost her shame.

Now Silius wants thy counsel, give advice;
Wed Cæsar's wife, or die—the choice is nice.
Her comet-eyes she darts on every grace,
And takes a fatal liking to his face.
Adorned with bridal pomp, she sits in state;
The public notaries and Aruspex wait;

* Hippolytus, the son of Theseus, was loved by his mother-inlaw, Phædria; but he not complying with her, she procured his death.

+ Bellerophon, the son of King Glaucus, residing some time at the court of Pætus, king of the Argives, the queen, Sthenobæa, fell in love with him; but he refusing her, she turned the accusation upon him, and he narrowly escaped Pætus's vengeance.

Messalina, wife to the emperor Claudius, infamous for her lewdness. She set her eyes upon C. Silius, a fine youth; forced him to quit his own wife, and marry her, with all the formalities of a wedding, whilst Claudius Cæsar was sacrificing at Hostia. Upon his return, he put both Silius and her to death.

The genial bed is in the garden dressed,
The portion paid, and every rite expressed,
Which in a Roman marriage is professed.
'Tis no stolen wedding this; rejecting awe,
She scorns to marry, but in form of law:
In this moot case, your judgment to refuse
Is present death, besides the night you lose:
If you consent, 'tis hardly worth your pain,
A day or two of anxious life you gain;
Till loud reports through all the town have past,
And reach the prince-for cuckolds hear the last.
Indulge thy pleasure, youth, and take thy swing,
For not to take is but the self-same thing;
Inevitable death before thee lies,

But looks more kindly through a lady's eyes.
What then remains? are we deprived of will;
Must we not wish, for fear of wishing ill?
Receive my counsel, and securely move;-
Intrust thy fortune to the powers above;
Leave them to manage for thee, and to grant
What their unerring wisdom sees thee want:
In goodness, as in greatness, they excel;
Ah, that we loved ourselves but half so well!
We, blindly by our head-strong passions led,
Are hot for action, and desire to wed;
Then wish for heirs; but to the gods alone
Our future offspring, and our wives, are known;
The audacious strumpet, and ungracious son.
Yet, not to rob the priests of pious gain,
That altars be not wholly built in vain,
Forgive the gods the rest, and stand confined
To health of body, and content of mind;
A soul, that can securely death defy,
And count it nature's privilege to die;
Serene and manly, hardened to sustain
The load of life, and exercised in pain;

Guiltless of hate, and proof against desire,
That all things weighs, and nothing can admire;
That dares prefer the toils of Hercules,
To dalliance, banquet, and ignoble ease.

The path to peace is virtue: what I show,
Thyself may freely on thyself bestow;
Fortune was never worshipped by the wise,
But, set aloft by fools, usurps the skies.

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