 | Poems on several occasions |  |
150
PROLOGUE to CATO,
Written 1770, and intended for a Company of Strollers then at Woodstock.
Cato renown'd, in Freedom's cause expir'd;
His glorious theme has ever been admir'd
By Britain's sons: they Liberty maintain'd
With blest success, while Tyranny remain'd.
But, when he fell, what friendly hand did wait
On Freedom dear, in her then hapless state?
Why Britain's Genius watch'd his dying breath,
And snatch'd her hasty from the shades of death,
Then wasted her o'er to this happy isle:
And what like Freedom sooths the peasant's toil?
It makes his labours move on Pleasure's spring
While sweet Content keeps pace with Time's swift wing.
Oh happy Britons! Rome her tyrants knew;
And, what was worse, her race corrupted too.
His glorious theme has ever been admir'd
By Britain's sons: they Liberty maintain'd
With blest success, while Tyranny remain'd.
But, when he fell, what friendly hand did wait
On Freedom dear, in her then hapless state?
Why Britain's Genius watch'd his dying breath,
And snatch'd her hasty from the shades of death,
Then wasted her o'er to this happy isle:
And what like Freedom sooths the peasant's toil?
It makes his labours move on Pleasure's spring
While sweet Content keeps pace with Time's swift wing.
151
And, what was worse, her race corrupted too.
Hail chiefest bliss! thou Liberty divine
Inspire our souls, what tyrant then dares shine,
Or rear his head within thy sacred fields,
Altho' protected by ten thousand shields.
Cato, tho' pent within the rocky wall;
Enjoy'd his Freedom safe from Cæsar's thrall.
'Tis not confinement can the mind enslave,
The free-born soul goes honest to his grave,
And scorns to live when he his rights can't save.
Inspire our souls, what tyrant then dares shine,
Or rear his head within thy sacred fields,
Altho' protected by ten thousand shields.
Cato, tho' pent within the rocky wall;
Enjoy'd his Freedom safe from Cæsar's thrall.
'Tis not confinement can the mind enslave,
The free-born soul goes honest to his grave,
And scorns to live when he his rights can't save.
Excuse the efforts of a strolling band,
To act the champions of a once free land;
Champions whose deeds require a Garrick's fame,
Or now lost Powel's tender-touching frame!
Yet this we plead, our names still speak us free,
And shall not Britons plead for Liberty?
The galling chain of Slav'ry we defy,
And should the Fates call forth the patriot sigh ,
May we like Cato live, and for our Freedom die!
To act the champions of a once free land;
Champions whose deeds require a Garrick's fame,
Or now lost Powel's tender-touching frame!
Yet this we plead, our names still speak us free,
And shall not Britons plead for Liberty?
152
And should the Fates call forth the patriot sigh ,
May we like Cato live, and for our Freedom die!
| Poems on several occasions | |