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Distinction should be rich in.:-Where? how liv'd
And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
three motives to the battle, with
My good master,
Happy be you! Cym. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought, He would have well becom'd this place, and grac'd The thankings of a king. Post,
I am, sir,
si.c. Which ought to be rendered distinct by an ample
The soldier that did company these three
I am down again :
Kneel not to me;
You holp us, sir,
you did mean indeed to be our brother ; Joy'd are we,
that Post. Your servant, princes. Good my lord of
Rome, Call forth your soothsayer: As I slept, methought, Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back, Appear’d to me, with other spritely shows 8 Of mine own kindred : when I wak'd, I found This label on my bosom; whose containing Is so from sense in hardness, that I can Make no collection of it; let him show
& Ghostly appearances.
His skill in the construction.
Read, and declare the meaning.
This hath some seeming.
My peace we will begin :-And, Caius Lucius,
Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tune
Laud we the gods ; And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils From our bless'd altars ! Publish we this peace To all our subjects. Set we forward : Let A Roman and a British ensign wave Friendly together : so through Lud's town march: And in the temple of great Jupiter Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.-Set on there :-Never was a war did cease, Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace.
This play has many just sentiments, some natural dialogues, and some pleasing scenes, but they are obtained at the expence of much incongruity. To remark the folly of the fiction, the
absurdity of the conduct, the confusion of the names, and manners of different times, and the impossibility of the events in any system of life, were to waste criticism upon unresisting imbecility, upon faults too evident for detection, and too gross for aggravation.
SUNG BY GUIDERIUS AND ARVIRAGUS OVER FIDELE,
SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD.
BY MR. WILLIAM COLLINS.
Soft maids and village hinds shall bring
And rifle all the breathing spring.
To ver with shrieks this quiet grove ;
And melting virgins own their love.
No goblins lead their nightly crew:
And dress thy grave with pearly dew.
Shall kindly lend his little aid,
To deck the ground where thou art laid.
In tempests shake the sylvan cell ;
The tender thought on thee shall dwell.