Who ferv'd Mark Antony, e'en to the last, Admit us, or reject us, at their will. Dol. I fhall go with you. Pro. Now, foldiers, march! (Soldiers and their Leaders march out.) SCENE-Alexandria. A GRAND FUNERAL PROCESSION: DURING WHICH I SUNG THE FOLLOWING EPICEDIUM: CHORU S. Cold in death the Hero lies; Nerveless, now, the Victor's arm; The Roman Glory sets on Egypt's shore, S 0 L 0. Oh, comrades! many a time has he Then, blush not, friends, at drops that force, TRIO OR QUARTETTO. A constant Fire his Courage glow'd; A ceaseless Stream his Bounty flow'd. If Riches in the field of Fame he reap'd, The Harvest was on Love and Friendship heap'd SOLO. When Mars no longer battled on his side, There her lov'd Antony inter; GRAND CHORUS. No monument, till now, could boast a pair And shouts of Warriors thunder o'er the tomb. FINIS. J. Barker, Printer, Great Russell Street, Covent Garden. |