XIII.

BRUTUS [w],

AN ODE

E

XCELLENT Brutus, of all human race The beft, till nature was improv'd by grace, Till men above themselves faith raised more,

Than reason above beasts, before. Virtue was thy life's centre, and from thence Did filently and conftantly difpenfe

[w] The fubject of this ode feems to have been chofen by the poet, for the fake of venting his indignation against Cromwell. It has been generally fuppofed, that Mr. Cowley had no ear for harmony, and even no taste of elegant expreffion. And one should be apt to think fo, from his untuned verfe and rugged ftyle: but the cafe was only this: Donne and Jonfon were the favourite poets of the time, and therefore the models, on which our poet was ambitious to form himself. But unhappily thefe poets affected harsh numbers and uncouth expreffion; and what they affected, eafily came to be looked upon as beauties. Even Milton himself, in his younger days, fell into this delufion. [See his poem on Shakespear.] But the vigour of his genius, or, perhaps, his courfe of life, which led him out of the high-road of fashion, enabled him, in good time, to break through the fnare of exemplar vitiis imitabile. The court, which had worse things to answer for, kept poor Cowley eternally in it. He forfook the conversation (fays Dr. Sprat, who defigned him a compliment in the obfervation), but never THE LANGUAGE OF

THE COURT.

The

The gentle vigorous influence

To all the wide and fair circumference:
And all the parts upon it lean'd so easily,
Obey'd the mighty force fo willingly,
That none could difcord or disorder fee
In all their contrariety.

Each had his motion natural and free,

And the whole no more mov'd, than the whole world could be.

2.

From the ftrict rule fome think that thou didft fwerve (Miftaken honeft men) in Cæfar's blood:

What mercy could the tyrant's life deferve

From him, who kill'd himself, rather than ferve?

Th' heroic exaltations of good

Are fo far from understood,

We count them vice: alas, our fight's fo ill,
That things, which swifteft move, seem to stand still.
We look not upon virtue in her height,
On her fupreme idea, brave and bright,
In the original light:

But, as her beams reflected pafs
Through our own nature, or ill custom's glass.

And 'tis no wonder fo,

If, with dejected eye,

In ftanding pools we feek the sky,

That stars, fo high above, should seem to us below.

3.

Can we ftand by, and fee

Our mother robb'd, and bound, and ravifh'd be,

Yet

Yet not to her affistance stir,

Pleas'd with the ftrength and beauty of the ra

visher [x]?

Or, fhall we fear to kill him, if before

The cancell'd name of friend he bore?
Ingrateful Brutus do they call?
Ingrateful Cæfar, who could Rome enthral!
In act more barbarous and unnatural
(In th' exact balance of true virtue try'd)
Than his fucceffor Nero's parricide!

There's none, but Brutus, could deserve

That all men else should wish to serve, And Cæfar's ufurpt place to him should proffer; None can deferve't, but he, who would refufe the offer.

4.

Ill fate affuin'd a body thee t' affright,
And wrapt itself i' th' terrors of the night,
I'll meet thee at Philippi, said the spright;

[x] This is well put. But piety to the mother must not extinguish all regard for the mother's fons. Nothing contributed fo much, as the affaffination of the first Cæfar, to bring on all thofe tragedies, with which the gloomy and unappeafable jealousy of his fuccefors, afterwards, filled the Roman annals. The queftion is not, what Cæfar deserved, but what the true intereft of the Roman people required. For in thefe cafes, as Macbeth well observes,

"we but teach

"Bloody inftructions, which, being taught, return "To plague th' inventor"

A. I. S. viii.

I'll meet thee there, faidft thou,

With fuch a voice, and fuch a brow, As put the trembling ghoft to fudden flight; It vanish'd, as a taper's light

Goes out, when spirits appear in fight.

One would have thought, t'had heard the morning

crow,

Or feen her well-appointed ftar
Come marching up the eastern hill afar [y].
Nor durft it in Philippi's field appear,

But unfeen attack'd thee there.

Had it prefum'd in any shape thee to oppofe,
Thou wouldst have forc'd it back upon thy foes:
Or flain't, like Cæfar, though it be

A conqueror, and a monarch, mightier far, than he.

5.

What joy can human things to us afford,
When we see perifh thus, by odd events,

Ill men, and wretched accidents,

The best cause, and best man that ever drew a fword? When we see

The falfe Octavius, and wild Antony,

God-like Brutus, conquer thee?

What can we say, but thine own tragic word,
That virtue, which had worship'd been by thee
As the most folid good, and greatest deity,

By this fatal proof became

An idol only, and a name ?
Hold, noble Brutus, and reftrain

The bold voice of thy generous difdain :
Thefe mighty gulphs are yet

Too deep for all thy judgment and thy wit.
The time's fet forth already, which fhall quell
Stiff reafon, when it offers to rebel ;

Which these great fecrets fhall unfeal,
And new philofophies reveal.

A few years more, fo foon hadft thou not dy'd,
Would have confounded human virtue's pride,
And fhew'd thee a God crucify'd.

XIV To