Page:Poems upon Several Occasions.djvu/80

68 Be bloody, false, flatter, forswear, and lie, Turn Pander, Pathick, Parasite, or Spy; Such thriving Arts may your wish’d Purpose bring, At least a General be, perhaps a King. Fortune we most unjustly partial call, A Mistress free, who bids alike to all, But on such Terms as only suit the Base, Honour denies, and shuns the foul Embrace; The honest Man, who starves and is undone, Not Fortune, but his Virtue, keeps him down. Had Cato bent beneath the conquering Cause, He might have liv’d to give new Senates Laws: But on vile Terms disdaining to be great, He perish’d by his Choice, and not his Fate: Honours and Life th’ Usurper bids, and all That vain mistaken Men good Fortune call, Virtue forbids, and sets before his Eyes An honest Death, which he accepts, and dies, O glorious Resolution! Noble Pride! More honour’d than the Tyrant liv’d, he dy’d, More prais’d, more lov’d, more envy’d in his Doom, Than Cæsar trampling on the Rights of Rome. The Virtuous nothing fear, but Life with Shame, And Death’s a pleasant Road, that leads to Fame. On Bones and Scraps of Dogs let me be fed, My Limbs uncover’d, and expos’d my Head To bleakest Colds, a Kennel be my Bed, This,