Back on herself, and startles at destruction? 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us; 'Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter, Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought! Through what new scenes and changes, must we pass? Through all her works), he must delight in virtue; But when, or where ?-This world was made for Cæsar. [Laying his hand on his sword. Thus am I doubly armed: my death and life, The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. Renewed in all her strength, and fresh with life, .... Portius, thou mayst rely upon my conduct: "CATO falls on his own sword.” The tragedy ends with the following lines: From hence, let fierce contending nations know, What dire effects from civil discord flow: "Tis this that shakes our country with alarms, That fatal mistress of the young, the lazy, The coward, and the fool, condemned to lose A useless life in waiting for to-morrow— Το gaze with longing eyes upon to-morrow, George Lillo. FATAL CURIOSITY. Young WILMOT, supposed by Parents and Friends to have been shipwrecked on his return from the Indies, has escaped Death, and arrives in England, where he learns that his Parents are reduced to great Poverty. He has acquired a large Fortune, and, impelled by a “fatal Curiosity," he visits his Father and Mother in disguise; and afterwards, to increase their pleasure by the surprise of his discovery, he puts his design in execution, and delivers into his Mother's hands a Casket of Jewels, and then retires to rest, still under his disguise. Old WILMOT's House.-AGNES enters alone, with the Casket in her hand. He Agn. Who should this stranger be? And then this casket— says it is of value, and yet trusts it, As if a trifle, to a stranger's hand. His confidence amazes me—perhaps It is not what he says-I'm strongly tempted Why should my curiosity excite me, To search and pry into th' affairs of others; My eyes are dazzled, and my ravished heart Leaps at the glorious sight. How bright's the lustre, The galling scorn, or more provoking pity At our approach, and once more bend before us.— Though but a moment, such a treasure mine. "Tis here 'tis mine-I have it in possession- Am I in love with misery and want To rob myself, and court so vast a loss?— Why sinks my heart? why does my blood run cold? Enter OLD WILMOT. O. Wil. The mind contented, with how little pains, The wand'ring senses yield to soft repose, And die to gain new life! He's fallen asleep Already-happy man!--What dost thou think, He seems to me a youth of great humanity : Why have you opened it? Should this be known, Agn. And who shall know it? O. Wil. There is a kind of pride, a decent dignity, Due to ourselves; which, spite of our misfortunes, May be maintained, and cherished to the last. To live without reproach, and without leave To quit the world, shows sovereign contempt, Agn. Shows sov'reign madness, and a scorn of sense. Pursue no further this detested theme: I will not die, I will not leave the world For all that you can urge, until compelled. O. Wil. To chase a shadow, when the setting sun Is darting his last rays, were just as wise As your anxiety for fleeting life, Now the last means for its support are failing: Were famine not as mortal as the sword, Your warmth might be excused-But take thy choice; Die how you will, you shall not die alone. Agn. Nor live, I hope. 0. Wil. There is no fear of that |