Third CHORUS.
Of Roman Senators.
I.
Dark is the Maze poor Mortals tread;
Wisdom it self a Guide will need:
We little thought when Cæsar bled,
That a worse Cæsar would succeed.
And are we under such a Curse,
We cannot change, but for the worse?
II.
With fair Pretence of Foreign Force,
By which Rome must her self enthrall;
These, without Blushes or Remorse,
Proscribe the best, impov'rish all.
The Gauls themselves, our greatest Foes
Could act no Mischiefs worse than those.
III.
That Julius, with ambitious Thoughts,
Had Virtues too, his Foes could find;
These equal him in all his Faults,
But never in his noble Mind.
That Free-born Spirits shou'd obey
Wretches, who know not how to sway!
IV
Late we repent our hasty Choice,
In vain bemoan so quick a Turn.
Heark all to Rome's united Voice!
Better that we a while had born
Ev'n all those Ills which most displease,
Than sought a Cure far worse than the Disease.
