Give us, on beds, our dying limbs to lay,
And figh, at home, our parting fouls
Nor think it much we make the bold demand,
And ask this wondrous favour at thy hand:
Let our poor babes and weeping wives be by,
To close our drooping eyelids when we die.
Be merciful, and let disease afford
Some other way to die, beside the sword;
Let us no more a common carnage burn,
But each be laid in his own decent urn.
Still wilt thou urge us, ignorant and blind,
To fome more monftrous mischief yet behind?
Are we the only fools, forbid to know
How much we may deserve by one fure blow?
Thy head, thy head is ours, whene'er we please;
Well has thy war infpir'd fuch thoughts as thefe: 405
What laws, what oaths, can urge their feeble bands,
To hinder these determin'd daring hands ?
That Cæfar, who was once ordain'd our head,
When to the Rhine our lawful arms he led,
Is now no more our chieftain, but our mate;
But his proud heart, henceforth, shall learn to own,
His power, his fate, depends on us alone.
Yes, Cæfar, fpite of all thofe rods that wait,
With mean obfequious fervice, on thy state;
Spite of thy gods, and thee, the war fhall ceafs, 420
And we thy foldiers will command a peace.
He spoke, and fierce tumultuous rage inspir'd,
The kindling legions round the camp were fir'd,
And with loud cries their abfent chief requir'd.
Permit it thus, ye righteous gods, to be;
Let wicked hands fulfil your great decree;
And, fince loft faith and virtue are no more,
Let Cæfar's bands the public peace restore.
What leader had not now been chill'd with fear,
And heard this tumult with the last despair?
But Cæfar, form'd for perils hard and great,
Headlong to drive, and brave oppofing fate;
While yet with fiercest fires their furies flame,
Secure, and fcornful of the danger, came..
Nor was he wroth to fee the madness rife,
And mark the vengeance threatening in their eyes;
With pleasure could he crown their curst designs,
With rapes of matrons, and the spoils of fhrines;
Had they but afk'd it, well he could approve
The wafte and plunder of Tarpeian Jove:
No mischief he, no facrilege, denies,
But would himself beftow the horrid prize.
With joy he fees their fouls by rage poffeft,
Sooths and indulges every frantic breast,
And only fears what reafon may suggest.
Still, Cæfar, wilt thou tread the paths of blood?
Wilt thou, thou fingly, hate thy country's good!
Shall the rude foldier firft of war complain,
And teach thee to be pitiful in vain.?
Give o'er at length, and let thy labours cease,
Nor vex the world, but learn to fuffer
Why fhouldft thou force each, now, unwilling hand,
And drive them on to guilt, by thy command?
When ev'n relenting rage itself gives place,
And fierce Enyo feems to fhun thy face.
High on a turfy bank the chief was rear'd,
Fearless, and therefore worthy to be fear'd;
Around the croud he caft an angry look,
And, dreadful, thus with indignation spoke:
Ye noify herd! who in fo fierce a strain
Against your abfent leader dare complain :
Behold! where naked and unarm'd he stands,
And braves the malice of your threatening hands.
Here find your end of war, your long-fought reft,
And leave your useless fwords in Cæfar's breaft. 465
But wherefore urge I the bold deed to you
To rail, is all your feeble rage can do.
In grumbling factions are you bold and loud,
Can fow fedition, and increase a croud;
You! who can loath the glories of the great,
And poorly meditate a base retreat.
But, hence! be gone from victory and me,
Leave me to what my better fates decree :
New friends, new troops, my fortune fhall afford,
And find a hand for every vacant fword.
Behold, what crouds on flying Pompey wait,
What multitudes attend his abject state!
And fhall fuccefs, and Cæfar, droop the while ?
Shall I want numbers to divide the spoil,
And reap the fruits of your forgotten toil?
Legions shall come to end the bloodless war,
And fhouting follow my triumphal car.
While you, a vulgar, mean, abandon'd race,
Shall view our honours with a downward face,
And curse yourselves in fecret as we pass.
Can your vain aid, can your departing force,
Withhold my conqueft, or delay my course?
So trickling brooks their waters may deny,
And hope to leave the mighty ocean dry;
The deep fhall ftill be full, and fcorn the poor fupply.
Nor think fuch vulgar fouls as yours were given,
To be the talk of fate, and care of heaven:
Few are the lordly, the diftinguith'd great,
On whom the watchful gods, like guardians, wait:
The reft for common ufe were all defign'd,
An unregarded rabble of mankind.
By my aufpicious name, and fortune, led,
Wideo'er the world your conquering arms were spread,
But fay, what had you done, with Pompey at your head?
Vaft was the fame by Labienus won,
500 When rank'd amidst my warlike friends, he fhone: Now mark what follows on his faithful change, And fee him with his chief new-chofen range;
By land, and fea, where-e'er my arms he spies,
An ignominious runagate he flies.
Such fhall you prove. Nor is it worth my care,
Whether to Pompey's aid your arms you
bear:
Who quits his leader, wherefoe'er he go,
Flies like a traitor, and becomes my foe.
Yes, ye great gods! your kinder care I own,
You made the faith of these false legions known :
You warn me well to change these coward bands,
Nor truft my fate to fuch betraying hands.
And thou too, Fortune, point'ft me out the way,
A mighty debt, thus, cheaply to repay :
Henceforth my care regards myself alone,
War's glorious gain shall now be all my own.
For you, ye vulgar herd, in peace return,
My enfigns fhall by manly hands be borne.
Some few of you my sentence here shall wait,
And warn fucceeding factions by your fate.
Down! groveling down to earth, ye traitors, bend,
And with your proftrate necks, my doom attend.
And you, ye younger striplings of the war,
You, whom I mean to make my future care;
Strike home! to blood, to death, inure your hands,
And learn to execute my dread commands.
He spoke; and, at the impious found dismay'd, The trembling unresisting croud obey'd :
No more their late equality they boast,
But bend beneath his frown a fuppliant hoft.
Singly fecure, he ftands confefs'd their lord,
And rules, in fpite of him, the foldier's fword.
Doubtful, at first, their patience he furveys,
And wonders why each haughty heart obeys;
Beyond his hopes he sees the stubborn bow,
And bare their breafts obedient to the blow;
Till ev'n his cooler thoughts the deed disclaim,
And would not find their fiercer fouls fo tame.
A few, at length, selected from the rest,
Bled for example; and the tumult ceas'd ;
|