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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.

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E PILOGUE

WRITTEN BY SIR SAMUEL GARTH.

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W ?

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 colt:
To give you pain, themselves they punish most.
Vows of virginity should well be weigh’d;
Too oft they're cancel'd, though in convents made.
Would you revenge such rafh 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.
Qur 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 sell :
He sighs with most success that settles well.
The woes of wedlock with the joys we mix:
'Tis best repenting in a coach and fix.

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

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What pains to get the gaudy thing you hate,
To fwell in show, and be a wretch in ftate !
At plays you ogle, at the ring you bow;
Ev'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 fincere;
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 shall listen to defert alone,
And every Luciz find a Cato's son.

CON

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