The Works of John Sheffield :: :: University of Virginia Library

'Tis said, that Favorite, Mankind,
Was made the Lord of all below;
But yet the Doubtful are concern'd to find,
'Tis only one Man tells another so.
And, for this great Dominion here,
Which over other Beasts we claim,
Reason our best Credential does appear;
By which, indeed, we domineer;
But how absurdly, we may see with Shame.

147

Reason, that solemn Trifle! light as Air;
Driv'n up and down by Censure or Applause:
By partial Love away 'tis blown,
Or the least Prejudice can weigh it down;
Thus our high Privilege becomes our Snare.
In any nice and weighty Cause,
How weak, at best, is Reason! yet the Grave
Impose on that small Judgment which we have.

II.

In all those Wits, whose Names have spread so wide,
And ev'n the Force of Time defy'd,
Some Failings yet may be descry'd.
Among the rest, with Wonder be it told,
That Brutus is admir'd for Cæsar's Death;
By which he yet survives in Fame's immortal Breath.
Brutus, ev'n he, of all the rest,
In whom we should that Deed the most detest,
Is of Mankind esteem'd the best.

148

As Snow descending from some lofty Hill,
Is by its rolling Course augmenting still;
So from illustrious Authors down have roll'd
Those great Encomiums he receiv'd of old:
Republick Orators still shew Esteem,
And gild their Eloquence with Praise of him.
But Truth unveil'd like a bright Sun appears,
To shine away this Heap of sev'nteen hundred Years.

III.

In vain 'tis urg'd by an illustrious Wit,
(To whom in all besides I willingly submit)
That Cæsar's Life no Pity could deserve
From one who kill'd himself, rather than serve.
Had Brutus chose rather himself to slay,
Than any Master to obey;
Happy for Rome had been that noble Pride;
The World had then remain'd in Peace, and only Brutus dy'd.

149

For he, whose Soul disdains to own
Subjection to a Tyrant's Frown,
And his own Life would rather end;
Would, sure, much rather kill himself, than only hurt his Friend.
To his own Sword in the Philippian Field
Brutus, indeed, at last did yield:
But in those Times Self-killing was not rare;
And his proceeded only from Despair:
He might have chosen else to live,
In hopes another Cæsar would forgive;
Then, for the Good of Rome, he could once more
Conspire against a Life which had spar'd his before.

IV.

Our Country challenges our utmost Care,
And in our Thoughts deserves the tender'st Share;
Her to a thousand Friends we should prefer
Yet not betray 'em, tho' it be for her.

150

Hard is his Heart, whom no Desert can move,
A Mistress or a Friend to love,
Above what e'er he does besides enjoy;
But may he, for their Sakes, his Sire or Sons destroy?
For sacred Justice, or for publick Good,
Scorn'd be our Wealth, our Honour, and our Blood:
In such a Cause, Want is a happy State;
Ev'n low Disgrace would be a glorious Fate;
And Death itself, when noble Fame survives,
More to be valu'd than a thousand Lives.
But 'tis not, surely, of so fair Renown,
To spill another's Blood, as to expose our own:
Of all that's ours we cannot give too much;
But what belongs to Friendship, oh! 'tis Sacrilege to touch.

V.

Can we stand by unmov'd, and see
Our Mother robb'd and ravish'd? Can we be

151

Excus'd, if in her Cause we never stir,
Pleas'd with the Strength and Beauty of the Ravisher?
Thus sings our Bard with almost Heat divine;
'Tis Pity that his Thought was not as strong as fine.
Wou'd it more justly did the Case express,
Or that its Beauty and its Grace were less.
(Thus a Nymph sometimes we see,
Who so charming seems to be,
That, jealous of a soft Surprize,
We scarce durst trust our eager Eyes)
Such a fallacious Ambush to escape,
It were but vain to plead a willing Rape;
A valiant Son would be provok'd the more;
A Force we therefore must confess, but acted long before;
A Marriage since did intervene,
With all the solemn and the sacred Scene;

152

Loud was the Hymenean Song;
The violated Dame walk'd smilingly along,
And in the Midst of the most sacred Dance,
As if enamour'd of his Sight,
Often she cast a kind admiring Glance
On the bold Strugler for Delight;
Who afterwards appear'd so moderate and cool,
As if for publick Good alone he so desir'd to rule.

VI.

But, oh! that this were all which we can urge,
Against a Roman of so great a Soul!
And that fair Truth permitted us to purge
His Fact, of what appears so foul!
Friendship, that sacred and sublimest Thing!
The noblest Quality, and chiefest Good,
(In this dull Age scarce understood)
Inspires us with unusual Warmth, her injur'd Rites to sing.
Assist, ye Angels! whose immortal Bliss,
Tho' more refin'd, chiefly consists in this!

153

How plainly your bright Thoughts to one another shine!
Oh! how ye all agree in Harmony divine!
The Race of mutual Love with equal Zeal ye run;
A Course, as far from any End, as when at first begun.
Ye saw, and smil'd upon this matchless Pair,
Who still betwixt 'em did so many Virtues share,
Some which belong to Peace, and some to Strife,
Those of a calm, and of an active Life,
That all the Excellence of Human-Kind
Concurr'd to make of both but one united Mind;
Which Friendship did so fast and closely bind,
Not the least Cement could appear, by which their Souls were join'd.
That Tye which holds our mortal Frame,
Which poor unknowing we a Soul and Body name,
Seems not a Composition more divine,
Or more abstruse, than all that does in Friendship shine.

154

VII.

From mighty Cæsar, and his boundless Grace,
Tho' Brutus once at least, his Life receiv'd;
Such Obligations, tho' so high believ'd,
Are yet but slight in such a Case,
Where Friendship so possesses all the Place,
There is no Room for Gratitude; since he,
Who so obliges, is more pleas'd than his sav'd Friend can be.
Just in the midst of all this noble Heat,
While their great Hearts did both so kindly beat,
That it amaz'd the Lookers on,
And forc'd them to suspect a Father and a Son;
(Tho' here ev'n Nature's Self still seem'd to be outdone)
From such a Friendship unprovok'd to fall,
Is horrid; yet I wish that Fact were all,
Which does with too much Cause ungrateful Brutus call.

155

VIII.

In coolest Blood he laid a long Design
Against his best and dearest Friend;
Did ev'n his Foes in Zeal exceed,
To spirit others up to work so black a Deed;
Himself the Centre where they all did join.
Cæsar, mean time, fearless, and fond of him,
Was as industrious all the while,
To give such ample Marks of fond Esteem,
As made the gravest Romans smile,
To see with how much Ease Love can the Wise beguile.
He, whom thus Brutus doom'd to bleed,
Did, setting his own Race aside,
Nothing less for him provide,
Than in the World's great Empire to succeed:
Which we are bound in Justice to allow,
Is all-sufficient Proof to show,
That Brutus did not strike for his own Sake:
And if, alas! he fail'd, 'twas only by Mistake.

Rome.

Cæsar was suspected to have begotten Brutus.