So much Beauty in her Face, Are but Slaves, while fhe is free, Unless to fet the World on Fire. Thou, Fair Diffembler, doft but thus Gives truer Joys than Crouds refus'd. For what does Youth and Beauty serve? Why more than all your Sex deferve? Why fuch foft alluring Arts To catch our Eyes, and charm our Hearts? Unless you Love, you Please in vain. BRU T TU S. E By Mr. CowLEY. Xcellent Brutus, of all Human Race The beft, 'till Nature was improv'd by Grace, 'Till Men above themfelves Faith raised more Than Reason above Beasts before; Virtue was thy Life's Center, and from thence The gentle vigorous Influence That none cou'd Difcord or Disorder fee Each had his Motion natural and free, [cou'd be And the Whole no more mov'd, than the Whole World From thy ftrict Rule fome think that thou didst fwerve (Mistaken Honefe Man) in Cafar's Blood; What Mercy cou'd the Tyrant's Life deserve, From him who kill'd Himself, rather than serve ? Are fo far from Understood, We count them Vice: Alas, our Sight's so ill, On her Supream Idea brave and bright, In the Original Light: But as her Beams reflected pafs If with dejected Eye In ftanding Pools we feek the Sky, III, Can we ftand by and fee Our Mother Robb'd, and Bound, and Ravish'd be, Pleas'd with the Strength and Beauty of the Ravisher? The Cancell'd Name of Friend he bore? Ingrateful Cafar, who cou'd Rome enthral! (In th' exact Ballance of true Virtue try’d) Than his Succeffor Nero's Parricide! There's none but Brutus cou'd deferve 'That all Men elfe fhou'd wish to ferve, And Cafar's ufurp'd Place to him fhou'd proffer; None can deferve't but he who wou'd refuse the Offer IV. Ill Fate affum'd a Body thee t'affright, With fuch a Voice, and fuch a Brow, Goes out when Spirits appear in fight. Had it prefum'd in any Shape thee to oppose, A Conqueror and a Monarch mightier far than He. V. What Joy can Human things to us afford, The best Caufe and beft Man that ever drew a Sword The falfe Octavius, and wild Antonie, God-like Brutus, Conquer Thee; What can we fay, but thine own Tragick Word, An Idol only, and a Name? Hold, Noble Brutus, and reftrain These mighty Gulphs are yet Too deep for all thy Judgment and thy Wit. Which thefe great Secrets fhall unfeal, And new Philofophers reveal. A few Years more, fo foon hadft thou not dy'd, Would have confounded Human Virtue's Pride, And fhew'd thee a God Crucify'd. An ODE on BRUTUS. ------Si quid novifti rectius iftis, IS faid, that Favourite, Mankind, But yet the doubtful are concern'd to find, But how abfurdly, we may fee with Shame. Or the least Prejudice can weigh it down; How wav'ring are the Wifeft!' yet the Grave II. In Works of Fame, whofe Names have spread fo wide, And ev❜n the force of Time defy'd, Some Failings yet may be defcry'd. Among the reft, with Wonder be it told, That Brutus is ador'd for Cafar's Death; By which he ftill furvives in Fame's Immortal Breath: Brutus ev'n He, of all the reft, In whom we fhou'd that Deed the most deteft, And gild their Eloquence with Praise of him. III, In vain 'tis urg'd by an Illuftrious Wit,* (To whom I otherwise submit) That Cæfar's Life no Pity cou'd deferve From one who kill'd himself, rather than serve. Than any Mafter to obey, Happy for Rome had been that noble Pride; [dy'd: The World had then remain'd in Peace, and only Brutus For he, whose Virtue wou'd disdain to own Subjection to a Tyrant's Frown, And his own Life had rather end, [his Friend. Wou'd fure, much rather kill himself, than only hurt To his own Sword in the Philippian Field, Brutus indeed at laft did yield; But in thofe Times fuch Actions were not rare, In hopes another Cafar would forgive; That fo he might for Publick Good, once more, Conspire against a Life which had fpar'd his before. * Mr. Cowley. |