Catiline. a. U. C. 690

But while new empires thus to Rome were join'd, Her deep destruction was at home design'd. Flagitious Catiline, his country's pest, Hatch'd the huge mischief in his daring breast. Unmov'd his adamantine frame could bear Hunger's keen fang, and all the extremes of air; Pursuing aught his furious soul desir'd, No fear deterr'd him, and no labour tir'd. With fluent words his tongue was well endu'd, But wisdom thinly o'er those words was strew'd; And small respect could eloquence produce, For projects wild, on wealth's or power's abuse; When his dire schemes each evil to efface, Brought tenfold guilt and ruin in us place: A fierce empirick, whose relentless steel Would lop the limb a gentler hand might heal: 'Tis time to doubt the doctor's skill, or truth, Who cuts the throat,—to cure an aching tooth. Though for his crimes expell'd from every station, Still roar'd he for redress and reformation: But sober reason saw the ill-hid snare, And of REFORMING VILLAINS bade beware. This certain test her steady rule affords; She trusts men's lives, and reprobates their words: For knaves, whose deeds and doctrines disagree, Were never form'd to mend society. Their murd'rous arts misguiding beacons rear, To light a course, where rocks alone are near; Lurking insidious on the faithless coast, They strip the vessel, by their treachery lost. O nations bless'd, and by experience wise, Preserve your ancient tried securities! For some small faults, by prying mischief found, Pull not a noble fabrick to the ground: Examine well;—if such indeed there are, Patient endure them,—or correct with care; Nor from the hasty innovator's word, Fly to new ills, and dangers unexplor'd. The pile ascends with labour and delay, The work of ruin asks but one short day; Science and skill must join to build with grace, But every fool or madman can deface: Though virtue's mask disguise the dark design, Too sure beneath it lurks—a Catiline. All moods he could assume, all feelings feign, Weep without anguish, and wear smiles in pain; Alike for avarice and profusion known, To covet others' wealth, and waste his own. To win a haughty strumpet to his bed, With aconite his only son he sped; Their fulsome Hymen then with trembling hand Lit at the funeral pile their nuptial brand. Yet nature, ev'n in his atrocious heart, Forgot not quite to vindicate her part; Though wanting power to stop the shuddering deed, In black array her vengeful pangs succeed. Short was the trance of joy; his colour flies; Foul sleepless mists o'erwhelm his care-worn eyes; Pale horrour sits on his distracted brow, And sudden starts the stings within avow; He runs, he stops, he hears in every wind Fierce furies, and his gasping son behind. Could not repentance shed her healing balm? No! publick woe his private griefs must calm; To sooth his care one way remain'd alone, In Rome's expiring groans to drown his own. Glaring dismay to every breast he meets, Like a grim beast unchain'd, he prowls the streets; While in chill'd silence each pale passer by Shrunk from the terrour of his deadly eye. All modes of waste consum'd, his birth disgrac'd, His name from honour's record quite effac'd; Restless and wretched, in the eternal strife To live with splendour, or escape from life; Conscience, thy fiends his nightly visions haunt, His joys by day, pale luxury and want. Each shameful sin fastidious lust devis'd, His frequent orgies had familiariz'd; Yet, to consummate all the former ill, One comprehensive act was wanting still; For never could his appetites and pride To their full guilty gorge be gratified. Round him, like hemlock round the noxious yew, All infant crimes found shelter as they grew; Till fat with poison, near his baleful sides Rome's petty villains swell'd to parricides. These bold abettors of his desperate cause Had oft escap'd, and now defy'd the laws; Remorse was banish'd from their dire abodes; Murder their priest, and furies were their gods. If any dar'd to hesitate at wrong, He lash'd the puny impulse with his tongue; Bade them from vulgar, mean restraints be free, And scoff'd and sham'd them into infamy. For spoil, on him and havock they rely, Confederate vice their bond of amity. Remorseless as they were, combin'd with hell, Scarce can we trust what ancient records tell: Ere yet his chart of ruin was disclos'd, Himself the pledge of secresy propos'd; Stabb'd in their sight he bade a slave expire, Then, fit libation for a league so dire, The blood distilling from the victim's wound He swill'd, and sent the dreadful bev'rage round. Defenceless Italy (her legions far Led off by Pompey to the eastern war,) Extended seem'd to their devouring eyes, A tempting, rich, and unresisting prize. Already their exulting hope surveys The senate's bleeding throats, the city's blaze; Themselves dispers'd for slaughter through the land, And lords of all the ruin he had plann'd. But cords and dungeons on their crimes await; On him attends a less ignoble fate: Abhorring all good men, by all abhorr'd, Fighting he perish'd by his country's sword; Stretch'd over slaughter'd foes, his visage bore The same grim aspect which in life it wore.