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But still the lovely maid improves her charms,
With inward greatness, unaffected wisdom,
And fanctity of manners. Cato's soul
Shines out in ev'ry thing she acts or speaks,
While winning mildness and attractive smiles
Dwell in her looks, and with becoming grace
Soften the rigour' of her father's virtues.
SYPH How does your tongue grow wanton in her praise!


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IT must be so-Plato, thou reason'st well-
1 Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality ?
Or whence this secret dread, and in ward horror,
Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction ?
'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us; .
'Tis Heav'n itself that points out an hereafter,
And intimates eternity to man.
Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful, thought! :
Through what variety of untry'd being,
Thro' what new scenes and changes muit'we pafs !
The wide, th’unbounded prospect lies before me;
But shadows, clouds, and darkness, reft upon it.
Here will I hold. If there's a pow'r above us,
(And that there is, all Nature cries aloud
Thro' 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 Cæfar;
I'm weary of conjecturés-this mest end 'em.

Thus am I doubly arm’d. My death and life,
My bane and antidotè, are both before me. ' .
This in a moment brings me tở an end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secur’d in her existencë, 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 wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.



N Y Lord,

IVI We bring an order for your exécution,
And hope you are prepar'd; for you must die
This very hour.

SOUTH. Indeed! the time is fudden!

Ess. Is death th' event of all my flatter'a hope?
False Sex! and Queen more perjur'd than them all!
Bat die I will without the least complaint,
My foul Máll vanish filent as the dew,
Attracted by the fun from verdant fields,
And leaves of weeping flowers--Come, my dear friend,
Partner in fate, give me thy body in :
These faithful arms, and O now let me tell thee,
And you, my Lords, and Heaven my witnefs too, .

I have no weight, nd heaviness on my soul,
But that I've lost my dearest friend his life.

South. And I proteft, by the same powers divine,
And to the world, 'tis all my happiness,
The greatest bliss my mind yet e’er enjoy'd,
Şince we muff die, my Lord, to die together.
Officer. The Queen, my Lord Southampton, has been

To grant particular mercy to your person ;
And has by us sent you a reprieve from death;
With pardon of your treasons, and commands
You to depart immediately from hence.

South. O my unguarded soul! Sure never was
A man with mercy wounded so before !

Ess. Then I am loose to steer my wand'ring voyage ; Like a bad vessel that has long been croft, And bound by adverse winds, at last gets liberty, And joyfully makes all the fail she can, To reach its wish'd-for port- Angels protect The Queen, for her my chiefest prayers shall be, That as in time she has spar'd my noble friend, And owns his crimes worth mercy, may she ne'er Think so of me too late when I am dead----Again, Southampton, let me hold thee fast, For 'tis my last embrace.

South. O be less kind, my friend, or more less pity,
Or I shall sink beneath the weight of sadness !
I weep that I am doom'd to live without you,
And should have smild to share the death of Essex.

Ess. O spare this tenderness for one that needs it,
For her that I commit to thee, 'tis all that I
Can claim of my Southampton my wife !


Methinks that very name should stop thy pity,
And make thee covetous of all as lost
That is not meant to her be a kind friend
To her, as we have been to one another ;
Name not the dying Essex to thy Queen,
Left it should cost a tear, nor e’er offend her.

South. O stay, my Lord, let me have one word more:
One last farewel, before the greedy axe
Shall part my friend, my only friend from me,
And Essex from himself-I know not what
Are call'd the pangs of death, but sure I am
I feel an agony that's worse than death

Ess. Why, that's well faid- Farewel to thee
Then let us part, just like two travellers,
Take distant paths, only this diffeience is,
Thine is the longest, mine the shortest way
Now let me go--if there's a throne in heaven
For the most brave of men and best of friends,
I will bespeak it for Southampton.

South. And I, while I have life, will hoard thy memory: When I am dead, we then shall meet again.

Ess. Till then, Farewel.
South. Till then, Farewel..


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Jaff.DY Heav'n, you stir not,

D I must be heard, I must have leave to speak : Thou hast disgrac'd me, Pierre, by a vile blow :


Had not a dagger done thee nobler justice?
But use me as thou wilt, thou can't not wrong me,
For I am fallen beneath the baseft injuries :
Yet look upon me with an eye of mercy,
With pity and with charity behold me;
Shut not thy heart against a friend's repentance;
But, as there dwells a godlike nature in thee,
Listen with mildness to my supplications..
· Pier. What whining mönk art thou? what holy cheat,
That would'st incroach upon my credulous ears,
And cant'st thus vilely? hence! I know thee not.

Jaff. Not know me, Pierre !
Pier. No, know thee not ; what art thou ?
Jaff. Jaffier, thy friend, thy once lov’d, valu'd friend!
Tho' now desery’dly fcorn'd, and us'd most hardly.

Pier. Thou Jaffier! thou my once lov’d, valu'd friend! By heav'ns thou ly’ft; the man so call'd my friend, Was generous, honest, faithful, just, and valiant, Noble in mind, and in his person lovely, Dear to my eyes, and tender to my heart: But thou a wretched, base, false, worthless coward, Poor even in foul, and loathsome in thy aspect : 'All eyes muft fhun thee, and all hearts deteft thee. Prithee avoid, nor longer cling thus round me, Like something baneful, that my nature's chill'd at.

Jaff. I have not wrong'd thee, by these tears I have not, But still am honest, true, and hope too, valiant; My mind ftill full of thee, therefore still noble. Let not thy eyes then shun me, nor thy heart Detest me utterly: Oh! look upon me, Look back and fee my fad, fincere submission! How my heart swells, as e'en 'twould burst my bosom;


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