When shall we there again behold him sit,
Midst shining boxes, and a courtly pit,
The lord of hearts, and president of wit?

When that blest day (quick may it come!) appears,
His cares once banish'd, and his nation's fears",
The joyful muses on their hills shall sing
Triumphant songs of Britain's happy king.
Plenty and peace shall flourish in our isle,
And all things like the English beauty smile.
You, critics, shall forget your nat❜ral spite,
And poets with unbounded fancy write;
Ev'n this day's poet shall be alter'd quite:
His thoughts more loftily and freely flow;
And he himself, whilst you his verse allow,
As much transported as he's humble now.

* The king had been attacked by an alarming illness.

}

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

CAIUS MARIUS.

SYLLA.

MARIUS Junior.

GRANIUS.

METELLUS.

QUINTUS POMPEIUS.

CINNA.

SULPITIUS.

ANCHARIUS, a Senator.

PRIEST.

APOTHECARY.

Q. POMPEIUS'S SON.

Guards, Lictors, Ruffians, &c.

LAVINIA.

NURSE.

MARTHA, a Prophetess.

THE

HISTORY AND FALL

OF

CAIUS MARIUS.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

[Within. Liberty! Liberty! Liberty! Marius and Sulpitius! Liberty! Liberty! Liberty! &c.]

Enter METELLUS, ANTONIUS, CINNA, and Senators,

Met. When will the tut'lar gods of Rome awake,
To fix the order of our wayward state,

That we may once more know each other; know
Th' extent of laws, prerogatives, and dues;
The bounds of rules and magistracy; who
Ought first to govern, and who must obey?
It was not thus when god-like Scipio held
The scale of pow'r; he, who with temp❜rate poise
Knew how to guide the people's liberty

In it's full bounds, nor did the nobles wrong,
For he himself was one-

Cin. He was indeed

A noble born; and still in Rome there are

Most worthy patrons of her ancient honour;
Such as are fit to fill the seat of pow'r,
And awe this riotous unruly rabble,

That bear down all authority before them,
Were we not sold to ruin.

Met. Cinna, there

Thou'st hit my mark: we are to ruin sold;
In all things sold; voices are sold in Rome:
And yet we boast of liberty. Just gods!
That guardians of an empire should be chosen
By the lewd noise of a licentious rout!

The sturdiest drinker makes the ablest statesman,
Ant. Would it not anger any true-born Roman,
To see the giddy multitude together,

Never consulting who 'tis best deserves,

But who feasts highest, to obtain their suffrage?
As 'tis not many years since two great men
In Rome stood equal candidates together,
For high command: in ev'ry house was riot.
To-day the drunken rabble reel'd to one;
To-morrow they were mad again for t'other;
Changing their voices with their entertainment:
And none could guess on whom the choice would settle;
Till at the last a stratagem was thought of;

A mighty vessel of Falernian wine

Was brought into the forum, crown'd with wreaths
Of ivy, sacred to the jolly god.

The monster-people roar'd aloud for joy:
When straight the candidate himself appears

In pomp, to grace the present he had made them.
The fools all gap'd. Then when a-while he had
With a smooth tale tickled their asses' ears,

He at both ends tapp'd his butt, and got the consulship,
Cin. This curse we owe to Marius's pride,

That made him first most basely bribe the people
For consul in the war against Jugurtha;
Where he went out, Metellus, your lieutenant;
And how the kindness was return'd, all know.
I never lov'd his rough untoward nature,
And wonder such a weed got growth in Rome.