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From hence, let fierce contending nations know
What dire effects from civil discord flow.
Tis this that shakes our country with alarms,
And gives up Rome a prey to Roman arms,
Produces fraud, and cruelty, and strife,
And robs the guilty world of Cato’s life.

[ Exeunt Omnes.

END OF THE FIFTH ACT.

EPI

EPILOGUE

WRITTEN BY SIR SAMUEL GART H.

WHA

}

HAT odd fantastic things we women do!

Who would not listen when young lovers woo? But die a maid, yet have the choice of two ! Ladies are often cruel to their coft : To give you pain, themselves they punish moft. Vows of virginity should well be weighd; Too oft they’re canceld, though in convents made. Would you revenge such rath resolves---you may Be spiteful---and believe the thing we say, We hate you when you're easily said nay. How needless, if you knew us, were your fears ! Let love have eyes, and beauty will have ears. Our hearts are form'd as you yourselves would chuse, Too proud to ask, too humble to refuse : We give to merit, and to wealth we fell : He sighs with most success that settles well. The woes of wedlock with the joys we mix : 'Tis best repenting in a coach and six.

Blame not our conduct, since we but pursue Those lively lessons we have learnt from you. Your breasts no more the fire of beputy warms, But wicked wealth usurps the power of charms.

22

What

What pains to get the gaudy thing you hate,
To fwell in show, and be a wretch in state !
At plays you ogle, at the ring you bow;
Ey'n churches are no fanctuaries now :
There golden idols all your vows receive,
She is no goddess that has nought to give.
Oh, may once more the happy age appear,
When words were artless, and the thoughts sincere ;
When gold and grandeur were unenvy'd things,
And courts less coveted than groves and springs :
Love then shall only mourn when truth complains,
And constancy feel transport in its chains :
Sighs with success their own soft anguish tell,
And

eyes shall utter what the lips conceal:
Virtue again to its bright station climb,
And beauty fear no enemy but time;
The fair fall listen to defert alone,
And every Lucia find a Cato's son.

CON

340 What pains to get the To fwell in show, At plays you ogia, Ev’n churches ar: : There golden iúe She is no goddeis. Oh, may once m When words wer: When gold and And courts less ( Love then thall o And constancy fu Sighs with success And eyes shall ut Virtue again to i And beauty fear The fair shall li.. And every Luci

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