Classic Poem

Critics affirm, a bookish, clownish Race ,
(I wish they durst affirm it to my Face )
That Love in Tragedies has nought to do:
Ladies, if so, what wou'd They make of You?
Why, make You useless, nameless, harmless Things:
How false their Doctrine, I appeal to — Kings;
Appeal to Afric, Asia, Greece and Rome:
And, faith, we need not go — so far from Home .
For Us the Lover burns and bleeds and dies,
I fancy We have Comets in our Eyes;
And They, you know, are — Signs of Tragedies .
Thanks to my Stars , or, rather, to my Face ,
Sempronius perish'd for that very Case.
The boist'rous Wretch bawl'd out for Peals of Thunder,
Because He cou'd not force Me — to come under.
Lard! how I tremble at the narrow Scape;
Which of you wou'd not — tremble — at a Rape?
Howe're that be, this Play will plainly prove,
That Liberty is not so sweet as Love .
Think, Ladies , think what Fancies fill'd my Head,
To find the living Juba for the dead!
Tho' much He suffer'd on my Father's side,
I'll make him cry, e're long, " I'm satisfied! "
For I shall prove a mighty — loving Bride.
But now, to make an End of Female Speeches,
I'll quit my Petticoats to — wear the Breeches .
Runs out and comes in his Night Gown.
We' have chang'd the Scene: For Gravity becomes
A Tragedy , as Hearses sable Plumes.
His Country's Father you have seen, to Night,
Unfortunately great, and sternly right.
Fair Liberty , by impious Power opprest,
Found no Asylum but Her Cato 's Breast:
Thither, as to a Temple, She retir'd,
And when He plung'd the Dagger She expir'd.
If Liberty revive at Cato 's Name,
And British Bosoms catch the Roman Flame:
If hoary Villains rouze your honest Ire,
And Patriot-Youths with Love of Freedom fire,
If Lucia 's Grief your graceful Pity move,
And Marcia teach the Virgins virtuous Love,
You'll own, ev'n in this methodizing Age,
The mildest School — of Morals is the Stage .
To you, the polish'd Judges of our Cause,
Whose Smiles are Honour, and whose Nods applause,
Humble we bend: encourage Arts like these;
For tho' the Actors fail'd — they strove to please .
Perhaps, in Time, your Favours of this Night
May warm Us like young Marcus self to fight,
Like Cato to defend, like Addison to write.