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CATO. A TRAGEDY.

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CATO. A TRAGEDY. As it is Acted at the THEATRE-ROYAL in Drury-Lane, BY Her MAJESTY's Servants.

By Mr. ADDISON.

Ecce Spectaculum dignum, ad quod reſpiciat, intentus operi ſuo, Deus! Ecce par Deo dignum, vir fortis cum malâ fortunâ compoſitus! Non video, inquam, quid habeat in terris Jupi⯑ter pulchrius, ſi convertere animum velit, quàm ut ſpectet Catonem, jam partibus non ſemel fractis, nihilominùs inter ru⯑inas publicas erectum. Sen. de Divin. Prov.

LONDON: Printed for J. TONSON, at Shakeſpear's Head [...] againſt Catherine-Street in the Strand. MDCCXIII.

PROLOGUE,

[]

By Mr. POPE.

Spoken by Mr. Wilks.

TO wake the Soul by tender Strokes of Art,
To raiſe the Genius, and to mend the Heart,
To make Mankind in conſcious Virtue bold,
Live o'er each Scene, and Be what they behold:
For this the Tragic-Muſe firſt trod the Stage,
Commanding Tears to ſtream thro' every Age;
Tyrants no more their Savage Nature kept,
And Foes to Virtue wonder'd how they wept.
Our Author ſhuns by vulgar Springs to move
The Hero's Glory, or the Virgin's Love;
In pitying Love we but our Weakneſs ſhow,
And wild Ambition well deſerves its Woe.
Here Tears ſhall ſlow from a more gen'rous Cauſe,
Such Tears as Patriots ſhed for dying Laws:
[] He bids your Breaſts with Ancient Ardor riſe,
And calls forth Roman Drops from Britiſh Eyes.
Virtue confeſs'd in human Shape he draws,
What Plato Thought, and God-like Cato Was:
No common Object to your Sight diſplays,
But what with Pleaſure Heav'n it ſelf ſurveys;
A brave Man ſtruggling in the Storms of Fate,
And greatly falling with a falling State!
While Cato gives his little Senate Laws,
What Boſom beats not in his Country's Cauſe?
Who ſees him act, but envies ev'ry Deed?
Who hears him groan, and does not wiſh to bleed?
Ev'n when proud Caeſar 'midſt triumphal Cars,
The Spoils of Nations, and the Pomp of Wars,
Ignobly Vain, and impotently Great,
Show'd Rome her Cato's Figure drawn in State;
As her dead Father's rev'rend Image paſt,
The Pomp was darken'd, and the Day o'ercaſt,
The Triumph ceas'd—Tears guſh'd from ev'ry Eye;
The World's great Victor paſt unheeded by;
Her Laſt good Man dejected Rome ador'd,
And honour'd Caeſar's leſs than Cato's Sword.

Britains attend: Be Worth like this approv'd,
And ſhow you have the Virtue to be mov'd.
With honeſt Scorn the firſt fam'd Cato view'd
Rome learning Arts from Greece, whom ſhe ſubdu'd;
[] Our Scene precariouſly ſubſiſts too long
On French Tranſlation, and Italian Song.
Dare to have Senſe your ſelves; Aſſert the Stage,
Be juſtly warm'd with your own Native Rage.
Such Plays alone ſhould pleaſe a Britiſh Ear,
As Cato's ſelf had not diſdain'd to hear.

Dramatis Perſonae.

[]

MEN.

CATO.

Mr. Booth.

Lueius, a Senator.

Mr. Keen.

Sempronius, a Senator.

Mr. Mills.

Juba, Prince of Numidia.

Mr. Wilks.

Syphax, General of the Numidians.

Mr. Cibber.

Sons of Cato.

Portius,: Mr. Powell.
Marcus,: Mr. Ryan.

Decius, Ambaſſador from Caeſar.

Mr. Bowman.

Mutineers, Guards, &c.

WOMEN.

Marcia, Daughter to Cato.: Mrs. Oldfield.
Lucia, Daughter to Lucius.: Mrs. Porter.

SCENE a large Hall in the Governor's Palace of Utica.

[1]CATO.

ACT I. SCENE I.Portius, Marcus.
Por.
THE Dawn is over-caſt, the Morning low'rs,
And heavily in Clouds brings on the Day,
The great, th' important Day; big with the Fate
Of Cato and of Rome.—Our Father's Death
Would fill up all the Guilt of Civil War,
And cloſe the Scene of Blood. Already Caeſar
Has ravaged more than half the Globe, and ſees
Mankind grown thin by his deſtructive Sword:
Should he go further, Numbers would be wanting
To form new Battels, and ſupport his Crimes.
Ye Gods, what Havock does Ambition make
Among your Works!
Marc.
Thy ſteddy Temper, Portius,
Can look on Guilt, Rebellion, Fraud, and Caeſar,
In the calm Lights of mild Philoſophy;
I'm tortured, ev'n to Madneſs, when I think
On the proud Victor: ev'ry time he's named
Pharſalia riſes to my View—I ſee
[2] Th' Inſulting Tyrant prancing o'er the Field
Strow'd with Rome's Citizens, and drench'd in Slaughter,
His Horſe's Hoofs wet with Patrician Blood.
Oh Portius, is there not ſome choſen Curſe,
Some hidden Thunder in the Stores of Heav'n,
Red with uncommon Wrath, to blaſt the Man
Who owes his Greatneſs to his Country's Ruin?
Por.
Believe me, Marcus, 'tis an impious Greatneſs,
And mixt with too much Horrour to be envy'd:
How does the Luſtre of our Father's Actions,
Through the dark Cloud of IIIs that cover him,
Break out, and burn with more triumphant Brightneſs!
His Suff'rings ſhine, and ſpread a Glory round him;
Greatly unfortunate, he fights the Cauſe
Of Honour, Virtue, Liberty, and Rome.
His Sword ne'er fell but on the Guilty Head;
Oppreſſion, Tyranny, and Pow'r uſurp'd,
Draw all the Vengeance of his Arm upon 'em.
Marc.
Who knows not this? But what can Cato do
Againſt a World, a baſe degenerate World,
That court's the Yoke, and bows the Neck to Caeſar?
Pent up in Utica he vainly forms
A poor Epitome of Roman Greatneſs,
And, cover'd with Numidian Guards, directs
A feeble Army, and an empty Senate,
Remnants of mighty Battels fought in vain.
By Heav'ns, ſuch Virtues, join'd with ſuch Succeſs,
Diſtract my very Soul: Our Father's Fortune
Wou'd almoſt tempt us to renounce his Precepts.
Por.
Remember what our Father oft has told us:
The Ways of Heav'n are dark and intricate,
Puzzled in Mazes, and perplext with Errors;
Our Underſtanding traces 'em in vain,
Loſt and bewilder'd in the fruitleſs Search;
Nor ſees with how much Art the Windings run,
Nor where the regular Confuſion ends.
Marc.
[3]Theſe are Suggeſtions of a Mind at Eaſe:
Oh Portius, didſt thou taſte but half the Grieſs
That wring my Soul, thou cou'dſt not talk thus calmly.
Paſſion unpity'd, and ſucceſsleſs Love,
Plant Daggers in my Heart, and aggravate
My other Griefs. Were but my Lucia kind!—
Por.
Thou ſee'ſt not that thy Brother is thy Rival:
But I muſt hide it, for I know thy Temper. [Aſide.
Now, Marcus, now, thy Virtue's on the Proof:
Put forth thy utmoſt Strength, work ev'ry Nerve,
And call up all thy Father in thy Soul:
To quell the Tyrant Love, and guard thy Heart
On this weak Side, where moſt our Nature fails,
Would be a Conqueſt worthy Cato's Son.
Marc.
Portius, the Council which I cannot take,
Inſtead of healing, but upbraids my Weakneſs.
Bid me for Honour plunge into a War
Of thickeſt Foes, and ruſh on certain Death,
Then ſhalt thou ſee that Marcus is not ſlow
To follow Glory, and confeſs his Father.
Love is not to be reaſon'd down, or loſt
In high Ambition, and a Thirſt of Greatneſs;
'Tis ſecond Life, it grows into the Soul,
Warms ev'ry Vein, and beats in ev'ry Pulſe,
I feel it here: My Reſolution melts—
Por.
Behold young Juba, the Numidian Prince!
With how much Care he forms himſelf to Glory,
And breaks the Fierceneſs of his Native Temper
To copy out our Father's bright Example.
He loves our Siſter Marcia, greatly loves her,
His Eyes, his Looks, his Actions all betray it:
But ſtill the ſmother'd Fondneſs burns within him.
When moſt it ſwells and labours for a Vent,
Then Senſe of Honour and Deſire of Fame
Drive the big Paſſion back into his Heart.
What! ſhall an African, ſhall Juba's Heir
Reproach great Cato's Son, and ſhow the World
[4] A Virtue wanting in a Roman Soul?
Marc.
Portius, no more! your Words leave Stings behind 'em.
When-e're did Juba, or did Portius, ſhow
A Virtue that has caſt me at a Diſtance,
And thrown me out in the Purſuits of Honour?
Por.
Marcus, I know thy generous Temper well;
Fling but th' Appearance of Diſhonour on it,
It ſtrait takes Fire, and mounts into a Blaze.
Marc.
A Brother's Suff'rings claim a Brother's Pity.
Por.
Heav'n knows I pity thee: Behold my Eyes
Ev'n whilſt I ſpeak.—Do they not ſwim in Tears?
Were but my Heart as naked to thy View,
Marcus would ſee it bleed in his Behalf.
Marc.
Why then doſt treat me with Rebukes, inſtead
Of kind condoling Cares and friendly Sorrow?
Por.
O Marcus, did I know the Way to eaſe
Thy troubled Heart, and mitigate thy Pains,
Marcus, believe me, I could die to do it.
Marc.
Thou beſt of Brothers, and thou beſt of Friends!
Pardon a weak diſtemper'd Soul, that ſwells
With ſudden Guſts, and ſinks as ſoon in Calms,
The Sport of Paſſions—But Sempronius comes:
He muſt not find this Softneſs hanging on me. [Exit.

SCENE II.Sempronius ſolus.
Conſpiracies no ſooner ſhou'd be form'd
Than executed. What means Portius here?
I like not that cold Youth. I muſt diſſemble,
And ſpeak a Language foreign to my Heart.
Sempronius, Portius.
Semp.
Good Morrow Portius! let us once embrace,
Once more embrace; whilſt yet we both are free.
To-Morrow ſhou'd we thus expreſs our Friendſhip,
Each might receive a Slave into his Arms:
[5] This Sun perhaps, this Morning Sun's the laſt
That e're ſhall riſe on Roman Liberty.
Por.
My Father has this Morning call'd together
To this poor Hall his little Roman Senate,
(The Leavings of Pharſalia) to conſult
If yet he can oppoſe the mighty Torrent
That bears down Rome, and all her Gods, before it,
Or muſt at length give up the World to Caeſar.
Semp.
Not all the Pomp and Majeſty of Rome
Can raiſe her Senate more than Cato's Preſence.
His Virtues render our Aſſembly awful,
They ſtrike with ſomething like religious Fear,
And make ev'n Caeſar tremble at the Head
Of Armies fluſh'd with Conqueſt: O my Portius,
Could I but call that wondrous Man my Father,
Wou'd but thy Siſter Marcia be propitious
To thy Friend's Vows: I might be bleſs'd indeed!
Por.
Alas! Sempronius, wou'dſt thou talk of Love
To Marcia, whilſt her Father's Life's in Danger?
Thou might'ſt as well court the pale trembling Veſtal,
When ſhe beholds the holy Flame expiring.
Semp.
The more I ſee the Wonders of thy Race,
The more I'm charm'd. Thou muſt take heed, my Portius!
The World has all its Eyes on Cato's Son.
Thy Father's Merit ſets thee up to View,
And ſhows thee in the faireſt point of Light,
To make thy Virtues or thy Faults conſpicuous.
Por.
Well doſt thou ſeem to check my Lingring here
On this important Hour—I'll ſtrait away,
And while the Fathers of the Senate meet
In cloſe Debate, to weigh th' Events of War,
I'll animate the Soldier's drooping Courage,
With Love of Freedom, and Contempt of Life.
I'll thunder in their Ears their Country's Cauſe,
And try to rouſe up all that's Roman in 'em.
'Tis not in Mortals to command Succeſs,
But we'll do more, Sempronius; we'll deſerve it. [Exit.
[6] Sempronius ſolus.
Curſe on the Stripling! how he Ape's his Sire?
Ambitiouſly ſententious!—But I wonder
Old Syphax comes not; his Numidian Genius
Is well diſpoſed to Miſchief, were he prompt
And eager on it; but he muſt be ſpurr'd,
And ev'ry Moment quickned to the Courſe.
Cato has uſed me Ill: He has refuſed
His Daughter Marcia to my ardent Vows.
Beſides, his baffled Arms and ruined Cauſe
Are Barrs to my Ambition. Caeſar's Favour,
That ſhow'rs down Greatneſs on his Friends, will raiſe me
To Rome's firſt Honours. If I give up Cato,
I claim in my Reward his Captive Daughter.
But Syphax comes!—

SCENE III.Syphax, Sempronius.
Syph.
—Sempronius, all is ready,
I've ſounded my Numidians, Man by Man,
And find 'em ripe for a Revolt: They all
Complain aloud of Cato's Diſcipline,
And wait but the Command to change their Maſter.
Semp.
Believe me, Syphax, there's no Time to waſte;
Ev'n whilſt we ſpeak, our Conqueror comes on,
And gathers Ground upon us ev'ry Moment.
Alas! thou know'ſt not Caeſar's active Soul,
With what a dreadful Courſe he ruſhes on
From War to War: In vain has Nature form'd
Mountains and Oceans to oppoſe his Paſſage;
He bound's o'er all, victorious in his March,
The Alpes and Pyreneans ſink before him;
Through Winds, and Waves, and Storms, he works his way,
[7] Impatient for the Battel: One Day more
Will ſet the Victor thundring at our Gates.
But tell me, haſt thou yet drawn o'er young Juba?
That ſtill wou'd recommend thee more to Caeſar,
And challenge better Terms—
Syph.
—Alas! he's loſt,
He's loſt, Sempronius; all his Thoughts are full
Of Cato's Virtues—But I'll try once more
(For ev'ry Inſtant I expect him here)
If yet I can ſubdue thoſe ſtubborn Principles
Of Faith, of Honour, and I know not what,
That have corrupted his Numidian Temper,
And ſtruck th' Infection into all his Soul.
Semp.
Be ſure to preſs upon him ev'ry Motive.
Juba's Surrender, ſince his Father's Death,
Would give up Africk into Caeſar's Hands,
And make him Lord of half the burning Zone.
Syph.
But is it true, Sempronius, that your Senate
Is call'd together? Gods! Thou muſt be cautious!
Cato has piercing Eyes, and will diſcern
Our Frauds, unleſs they're cover'd thick with Art.
Semp.
Let me alone, good Syphax, I'll conceal
My Thoughts in Paſſion ('tis the ſureſt way;)
I'll bellow out for Rome and for my Country,
And mouth at Caeſar till I ſhake the Senate.
Your cold Hypocriſie's a ſtale Device,
A worn-out Trick: Wouldſt thou be thought in Earneſt?
Cloath thy feign'd Zeal in Rage, in Fire, in Fury!
Syph.
In troth, thou'rt able to inſtruct Grey-hairs,
And teach the wily African Deceit!
Semp.
Once more, be ſure to try thy Skill on Juba.
Mean while I'll haſten to my Roman Soldiers,
Inflame the Mutiny, and underhand
Blow up their Diſcontents, till they break out
Unlook'd for, and diſcharge themſelves on Cato.
Remember, Syphax, we muſt work in Haſte:
O think what anxious Moments paſs between
[8] The Birth of Plots, and their laſt fatal Periods.
Oh! 'tis a dreadful Interval of Time,
Fill'd up with Horror all, and big with Death!
Deſtruction hangs on ev'ry Word we ſpeak,
On ev'ry Thought, 'till the concluding Stroke
Determines all, and cloſes our Deſign. [Exit.
Syphax ſolus.
I'll try if yet I can reduce to Reaſon
This head-ſtrong Youth, and make him ſpurn at Cato.
The Time is ſhort, Caeſar comes ruſhing on us—
But hold! young Juba ſees me, and approaches.

SCENE IV.

Juba, Syphax.

Jub.

Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone.

I have obſerved of late thy Looks are fall'n,

O'ercaſt with gloomy Cares, and Diſcontent;

Then tell me, Syphax, I conjure thee, tell me,

What are the Thoughts that knit thy Brow in Frowns,

And turn thine Eye thus coldly on thy Prince?

Syph.

'Tis not my Talent to conceal my Thoughts,

Nor carry Smiles and Sun-ſhine in my Face,

When Diſcontent ſits heavy at my Heart.

I have not yet ſo much the Roman in me.

Jub.

Why do'ſt thou caſt out ſuch ungen'rous Terms

Againſt the Lords and Sov'reigns of the World?

Doſt thou not ſee Mankind fall down before 'em,

And own the Force of their Superior Virtue?

Is there a Nation in the Wilds of Africk,

Amidſt our barren Rocks and burning Sands,

That does not tremble at the Roman Name?

Syph.

Gods! where's the Worth that ſets this People up

Above your own Numidia's tawny Sons!

[9] Do they with tougher Sinews bend the Bow?

Or flies the Javelin ſwifter to its Mark,

Launch'd from the Vigour of a Roman Arm?

Who like our active African inſtructs

The fiery Steed, and trains him to his Hand?

Or guide's in Troops th' embattled Elephant,

Loaden with War? Theſe, theſe are Arts, my Prince,

In which your Zama does not ſtoop to Rome.

Jub.

Theſe all are Virtues of a meaner Rank,

Perfections that are placed in Bones and Nerves.

A Roman Soul is bent on higher Views:

To civilize the rude unpoliſh'd World,

And lay it under the Reſtraint of Laws;

To make Man mild and ſociable to Man;

To cultivate the wild licentious Savage

With Wiſdom, Diſcipline, and lib'ral Arts;

Th' Embelliſhments of Life: Virtues like theſe,

Make Human Nature ſhine, reform the Soul,

And break our fierce Barbarians into Men.

Syph.

Patience kind Heav'ns!—Excuſe an old Man's warmth.

What are theſe wond'rous civilizing Arts,

This Roman Poliſh, and this ſmooth Behaviour,

That render Man thus tractable and tame?

Are they not only to diſguiſe our Paſſions,

To ſet our Looks at variance with our Thoughts,

To check the Starts and Sallies of the Soul,

And break off all its Commerce with the Tongue;

In ſhort, to change us into other Creatures

Than what our Nature and the Gods deſign'd us?

Jub.

To ſtrike thee Dumb: Turn up thy Eyes to Cato!

There may'ſt thou ſee to what a Godlike Height

The Roman Virtues lift up mortal Man.

While good, and juſt, and anxious for his Friends,

He's ſtill ſeverely bent againſt himſelf;

Renouncing Sleep, and Reſt, and Food, and Eaſe,

He ſtrives with Thirſt and Hunger, Toil and Heat;

And when his Fortune ſets before him all

[10] The Pomps and Pleaſures that his Soul can wiſh,

His rigid Virtue will accept of none.

Syph.

Believe me, Prince, there's not an African

That traverſes our vaſt Numidian Deſarts

In queſt of Prey, and lives upon his Bow,

But better practiſes theſe boaſted Virtues.

Coarſe are his Meals, the Fortune of the Chaſe,

Amidſt the running Stream he ſlakes his Thirſt,

Toil's all the Day, and at th' approach of Night

On the firſt friendly Bank he throws him down,

Or reſts his Head upon a Rock 'till Morn:

Then riſes freſh, purſues his wonted Game,

And if the following Day he chance to find

A new Repaſt, or an untaſted Spring,

Bleſſes his Stars, and thinks it Luxury.

Jub.

Thy Prejudices, Syphax, won't diſcern

What Virtues grow from Ignorance and Choice,

Nor how the Hero differs from the Brute.

But grant that others cou'd with equal Glory

Look down on Pleaſures and the Baits of Senſe;

Where ſhall we find the Man that bears Affliction,

Great and Majeſtick in his Griefs, like Cato?

Heav'ns, with what Strength, what Steadineſs of Mind,

He Triumphs in the midſt of all his Sufferings!

How does he riſe againſt a Load of Woes,

And thank the Gods that throw the Weight upon him!

Syph.

'Tis Pride, rank Pride, and Haughtineſs of Soul:

I think the Romans call it Stoiciſm.

Had not your Royal Father thought ſo highly

Of Roman Virtue, and of Cato's Cauſe,

He had not fall'n by a Slave's Hand inglorious:

Nor would his ſlaughter'd Army now have lain

On Africk's Sands, disfigut'd with their Wounds,

To gorge the Wolves and Vultures of Numidia

Jub.

Why do'ſt thou call my Sorrows up afreſh?

My Father's Name brings Tears into my Eyes.

Syph.

Oh, that you'd profit by your Father's ills!

Jub.

[11]

What wou'dſt thou have me do?

Syph.

Abandon Cato.

Jub.

Syphax, I ſhou'd be more than twice an Orphan

By ſuch a Loſs.

Syph.

Ay, there's the Tie that binds you!

You long to call him Father. Marcia's Charms

Work in your Heart unſeen, and plead for Cato.

No wonder you are deaf to all I ſay.

Jub.

Syphax, your Zeal becomes importunate;

I've hitherto permitted it to rave,

And talk at large; but learn to keep it in,

Leaſt it ſhould take more Freedom than I'll give it.

Syph.

Sir, your great Father never uſed me thus.

Alas, he's Dead! But can you e'er forget

The tender Sorrows, and the Pangs of Nature,

The fond Embraces, and repeated Bleſſings;

Which you drew from him in your laſt Farewel?

Still muſt I cheriſh the dear ſad Remembrance,

At once to torture and to pleaſe my Soul.

The good old King, at parting, wrung my Hand,

(His Eyes brim-full of Tears) then ſighing cry'd,

Prithee be careful of my Son!—his Grief

Swell'd up ſo high he could not utter more.

Jub.

Alas, thy Story melts away my Soul.

That beſt of Fathers! how ſhall I diſcharge

The Gratitude and Duty, which I owe him!

Syph.

By laying up his Councils in your Heart.

Jub.

His Councils bade me yield to thy Directions:

Then, Syphax, chide me in ſevereſt Terms,

Vent all thy Paſſion, and I'll ſtand its ſhock,

Calm and unruffled as a Summer-Sea,

When not a Breath of Wind flic's o'er its Surface.

Syph.

Alas, my Prince, I'd guide you to your Safety:

Jub.

I do believe thou wou'dſt; but tell me how?

Syph.

Fly from the Fate that follows Caeſar's Foes.

Jub.

My Father ſcorn'd to do't.

Syph.

And therefore dy'd.

Jub.

[12]

Better to die ten thouſand thouſand Deaths,

Than wound my Honour.

Syph.

Rather ſay your Love.

Jub.

Syphax, I've promis'd to preſerve my Temper.

Why wilt thou urge me to confeſs a Flame,

I long have ſtifled, and wou'd fain conceal?

Syph

Believe me, Prince, 'tis hard to conquer Love,

But eaſie to divert and break its Force:

Abſence might cure it, or a ſecond Miſtreſs

Light up another Flame, and put out this.

The glowing Dames of Zama's Royal Court

Have Faces fluſht with more exalted Charms.

The Sun, that rolls his Chariot o'er their Heads,

Works up more Fire and Colour in their Cheeks:

Were you with theſe, my Prince, you'd ſoon forget

The pale unripen'd Beauties of the North.

Jub.

'Tis not a Sett of Features, or Complexion,

The Tincture of a Skin, that I admire.

Beauty ſoon grows familiar to the Lover,

Fades in his Eye, and palls upon the Senſe.

The virtuous Marcia tow'rs above her Sex:

True, ſhe is fair, (Oh, how divinely fair!)

But ſtill the lovely Maid improves her Charms

With inward Greatneſs, unaffected Wiſdom,

And Sanctity of Manners. Cato's Soul

Shines out in every thing ſhe acts or ſpeaks.

While winning Mildneſs and attractive Smiles

Dwell in her Looks, and with becoming Grace

Soften the Rigour of her Father's Virtues.

Syph.

How does your Tongue grow wanton in her Praiſe!

But on my Knees I beg you wou'd conſider—

Enter Marcia and Lucia.

Jub.

Hah! Syphax, is't not ſhe!—She moves this Way:

And with her Lucia, Lucius's fair Daughter,

My Heart beats thick—I prithee Syphax leave me.

Syph.

[13]

Ten thouſand Curſes faſten on 'em both!

Now will this Woman with a ſingle Glance

Undo, what I've been lab'ring all this while.

[Exit.

Juba, Marcia, Lucia.

Jub.

Hail charming Maid, how does thy Beauty ſmooth

The Face of War, and make ev'n Horror ſmile!

At Sight of thee my Heart ſhakes off its Sorrows;

I feel a Dawn of Joy break in upon me,

And for a while forget th' Approach of Caeſar.

Mac.

I ſhou'd be griev'd, young Prince, to think my Preſence

Unbent your Thoughts, and ſlacken'd 'em to Arms,

While, warm with Slaughter, our victorious Foe,

Threatens aloud, and calls you to the Field.

Jub.

O Marcia, let me hope thy kind Concerns

And gentle Wiſhes follow me to Battel!

The Thought will give new Vigour to my Arm,

Add Strength and Weight to my deſcending Sword,

And drive it in a Tempeſt on the Foe.

Marc.

My Prayers and Wiſhes always ſhall attend

The Friends of Rome, the glorious Cauſe of Virtue,

And Men approv'd of by the Gods and Cato.

Jub.

That Juba may deſerve thy pious Cares,

I'll gaze for ever on thy Godlike Father,

Tranſplanting, one by one, into my Life

His bright Perfections, 'till I ſhine like him.

Marc.

My Father never at a Time like this

Wou'd lay out his great Soul in Words, and waſte

Such precious Moments.

Jub.

Thy Reproofs are juſt,

Thou virtuous Maid; I'll haſten to my Troops,

And fire their languid Souls with Cato's Virtue;

If e're I lead them to the Field, when all

The War ſhall ſtand ranged in its juſt Array,

And dreadful Pomp: Then will I think on thee!

O lovely Maid, Then will I think on Thee!

[14] And, in the ſhock of charging Hoſts, remember

What glorious Deeds ſhou'd grace the Man, who hopes

For Marcia's Love.

[Exit.

Luc.

Marcia, you're too ſevere:

How cou'd you chide the young good-natured Prince,

And drive him from you with ſo ſtern an Air,

A Prince that loves and dotes on you to Death?

Mar.

'Tis therefore, Lucia, that I chide him from me.

His Air, his Voice, his Looks, and honeſt Soul

Speak all ſo movingly in his Behalf,

I dare not truſt my ſelf to hear him talk.

Luc.

Why will you fight againſt ſo ſweet a Paſſion,

And ſteel your Heart to ſuch a World of Charms?

Mar.

How, Lucia, wou'dſt thou have me ſink away

In pleaſing Dreams, and loſe my ſelf in Love,

When ev'ry moment Cato's Life's at Stake?

Caeſar comes arm'd with Terror and Revenge,

And aims his Thunder at my Father's Head:

Shou'd not the ſad Occaſion ſwallow up

My other Cares, and draw them all into it?

Luc.

Why have not I this Conſtancy of Mind,

Who have ſo many Griefs to try its Force?

Sure, Nature form'd me of her ſofteſt Mould,

Enfeebled all my Soul with tender Paſſions,

And ſunk me ev'n below my own weak Sex:

Pity and Love, by turns, oppreſs my Heart.

Mar.

Lucia, disburthen all thy Cares on me,

And let me ſhare thy moſt retired Diſtreſs;

Tell me who raiſes up this Conflict in thee?

Luc.

I need not bluſh to name them, when I tell thee

They're Marcia's Brothers, and the Sons of Cato.

Mar.

They both behold thee with their Siſter's Eyes:

And often have reveal'd their Paſſion to me.

But tell me, whoſe Addreſs thou favour'ſt moſt?

I long to know, and yet I dread to hear it.

Luc.

Which is it Marcia wiſhes for?

Mar.

For neither—

[15] And yet for both—The Youths have equal Share

In Marcia's Wiſhes, and divide their Siſter:

But tell me which of them is Lucia's Choice?

Luc.

Marcia, they both are high in my Eſteem,

But in my Love—Why wilt thou make me name him?

Thou know'ſt it is a blind and fooliſh Paſſion,

Pleas'd and diſguſted with it knows not what.

Mar.

O Lucia, I'm perplex'd, O tell me which

I muſt hereafter call my happy Brother?

Luc.

Suppoſe 'twere Portius, cou'd you blame my Choice?

O Portius, thou haſt ſtol'n away my Soul!

With what a graceful Tenderneſs he loves!

And breath's the ſofteſt, the ſincereſt Vows!

Complacency, and Truth, and manly Sweetneſs

Dwell ever on his Tongue, and ſmooth his Thoughts.

Marcus is over-warm, his fond Complaints

Have ſo much Earneſtneſs and Paſſion in them,

I hear him with a ſecret kind of Dread,

And tremble at his Vehemence of Temper.

Mar.

Alas poor Youth! how can'ſt thou throw him from thee?

Lucia, thou know'ſt not half the Love he bears thee;

Whene'er he ſpeaks of thee, his Heart's in Flames,

He ſends out all his Soul in ev'ry Word,

And thinks, and talks, and looks like one tranſported.

Unhappy Youth! how will thy Coldneſs raiſe

Tempeſts and Storms in his afflicted Boſom!

I dread the Conſequence—

Luc.

You ſeem to plead

Againſt your Brother Portius—

Mar.

Heav'n forbid!

Had Portius been the unſucceſsful Lover,

The ſame Compaſſion wou'd have fall'n on him.

Luc.

Was ever Virgin Love diſtreſt like mine!

Portius himſelf oft falls in Tears before me,

As if he mourn'd his Rival's ill Succeſs,

Then bids me hide the Motions of my Heart,

Nor ſhow which Way it turns. So much he fears

[16] The ſad Effects, that it would have on Marcus.

Mar.

He knows too well how eaſily he's fired,

And wou'd not plunge his Brother in Deſpair,

But waits for happier Times, and kinder Moments.

Luc.

Alas, too late I find my ſelf involved

In endleſs Griefs and Labyrinths of Woe,

Born to afflict my Marcia's Family,

And ſow Diſſention in the Hearts of Brothers.

Tormenting Thought! it cuts into my Soul.

Mar.

Let us not, Lucia, aggravate our Sorrows,

But to the Gods permit th' Event of Things.

Our Lives, diſcolour'd with our preſent Woes,

May ſtill grow bright, and ſmile with happier Hours.

So the pure limpid Stream, when foul with Stains

Of ruſhing Torrents, and deſcending Rains,

Work's it ſelf clear, and as it runs, refines;

'Till by Degrees, the floating Mirrour ſhines,

Reflects each Flow'r that on the Border grows,

And a new Heav'n in its fair Boſom ſhows.

[Exeunt.

End of the Firſt Act.

[17]

ACT II. SCENE I.

The Senate.

Sem.

ROME ſtill ſurvives in this aſſembled Senate!

Let us remember we are Cato's Friends,

And act like Men who claim that glorious Title.

Luc.

Cato will ſoon be here, and open to us

Th' Occaſion of our Meeting. Heark! he comes!

[A Sound of Trumpets.

May all the Guardian Gods of Rome direct him!

Enter Cato.

Cato.

Fathers, we once again are met in Council.

Caeſar's Approach has ſummon'd us together,

And Rome attends her Fate from our Reſolves:

How ſhall we treat this bold aſpiring Man?

Succeſs ſtill follows him, and backs his Crimes:

Pharſalia gave him Rome, Egypt has ſince

Receiv'd his Yoke, and the whole Nile is Caeſar's.

Why ſhould I mention Juba's Overthrow,

And Scipio's Death? Numidia's burning Sands

Still ſmoak with Blood. 'Tis time we ſhould decree

What Courſe to take. Our Foe advances on us,

And envies us ev'n Libya's ſultry Deſarts.

Fathers, pronounce your Thoughts, are they ſtill fixt

To hold it out, and fight it to the laſt?

Or are your Hearts ſubdu'd at length, and wrought

By Time and ill Succeſs to a Submiſſion?

Sempronius ſpeak.

Semp.

[18]

My Voice is ſtill for War.

Gods, can a Roman Senate long debate

Which of the two to chuſe, Slav'ry or Death!

No, let us riſe at once, gird on our Swords,

And, at the Head of our remaining Troops,

Attack the Foe, break through the thick Array

Of his throng'd Legions, and charge home upon him.

Perhaps ſome Arm, more lucky than the reſt,

May reach his Heart, and free the World from Bondage.

Riſe, Fathers, riſe; 'tis Rome demands your Help;

Riſe, and revenge her ſlaughter'd Citizens,

Or ſhare their Fate: The Corps of half her Senate

Manure the Fields of Theſſaly, while we

Sit here, delib'rating in cold Debates,

If we ſhould ſacrifice our Lives to Honour,

Or wear them out in Servitude and Chains.

Rouſe up for Shame! our Brothers of Pharſalia

Point at their Wounds, and cry aloud—To Battel!

Great Pompey's Shade complain's that we are ſlow,

And Scipio's Ghoſt walk's unrevenged amongſt us.

Cato.

Let not a Torrent of impetuous Zeal

Tranſport thee thus beyond the Bounds of Reaſon:

True Fortitude is ſeen in great Exploits

That Juſtice warrant's, and that Wiſdom guide's,

All elſe is tow'ring Frenzy and Diſtraction.

Are not the Lives of thoſe, who draw the Sword

In Rome's Defence, entruſted to our Care?

Should we thus lead them to a Field of Slaughter,

Might not th' impartial World with Reaſon ſay

We laviſht at our Deaths the Blood of Thouſands

To grace our Fall, and make our Ruin glorious?

Lucius, we next would know what's your Opinion.

Luc.

My Thoughts, I muſt confeſs, are turn'd on Peace.

Already have our Quarrels fill'd the World

With Widows and with Orphans: Seythia mourn's

Our guilty Wars, and Earth's remoteſt Regions

Lie half unpeopled by the Feuds of Rome:

[19] 'Tis time to ſheath the Sword, and ſpare Mankind.

It is not Caeſar, but the Gods, my Fathers,

The Gods declare againſt us, and repell

Our vain Attempts. To urge the Foe to Battel,

(Prompted by blind Revenge and wild Deſpair)

Were to refuſe th' Awards of Providence,

And not to reſt in Heav'ns Determination.

Already have we ſhown our Love to Rome,

Now let us ſhow Submiſſion to the Gods.

We took up Arms, not to revenge our ſelves,

But free the Common-wealth; when this End fail's,

Arms have no further Uſe: Our Country's Cauſe,

That drew our Swords, now wreſts 'em from our Hands,

And bid's us not delight in Roman Blood,

Unprofitably ſhed; what Men could do

Is done already: Heav'n and Earth will witneſs,

If Rome muſt fall, that we are innocent.

Semp.

This ſmooth Diſcourſe and mild Behaviour oft

Conceal a Traytor—Something whiſpers me

All is not right—Cato, beware of Lucius.

[Aſide to Cato.

Cato.

Let us appear nor Raſh nor Diffident:

Immod'rate Valour ſwell's into a Fault,

And Fear, admitted into publick Councils,

Betray's like Treaſon. Let us ſhun 'em both.

Fathers, I cannot ſee that our Affairs,

Are grown thus deſp'rate. We have Bulwarks round us;

Within our Walls are Troops enur'd to Toil

In Africk's Heats, and ſeaſon'd to the Sun;

Numidia's ſpacious Kingdom lie's behind us,

Ready to riſe at its young Prince's Call.

While there is Hope, do not diſtruſt the Gods;

But wait at leaſt till Caeſar's near Approach

Force us to yield. 'Twill never be too late

To ſue for Chains, and own a Conqucror.

Why ſhould Rome fall a Moment ere her time?

No, let us draw her Term of Freedom out

In its full Length, and ſpin it to the laſt.

[20] So ſhall we gain ſtill one Day's Liberty;

And let me periſh, but, in Cato's Judgment,

A Day, an Hour of virtuous Liberty,

Is worth a whole Eternity in Bondage.

Enter Marcus.

Marc.

Fathers, this Moment as I watch'd the Gates,

Lodg'd on my Poſt, a Herald is arrived

From Caeſar's Camp, and with him comes old Decius,

The Roman Knight; he carry's in his Looks

Impatience, and demands to ſpeak with Cato.

Cato.

By your Permiſſion, Fathers, bid him enter.

[Exit Marcus.

Decius was once my Friend, but other Proſpects

Have looſed thoſe Ties, and bound him faſt to Caeſar.

His Meſſage may determine our Reſolves.

Enter Decius.

Dec.

Caeſar ſends Health to Cato—

Cato.

Could he ſend it

To Cato's ſlaughter'd Friends, it would be welcome.

Are not your Orders to addreſs the Senate?

Dec.

My Buſineſs is with Cato: Caeſar ſee's

The Streights to which you're driv'n; and as he know's

Cato's high Worth, is anxious for his Life.

Cato.

My Life is grafted on the Fate of Rome:

Would he ſave Cato? Bid him ſpare his Country.

Tell your Dictator this, and tell him Cato

Diſdain's a Life, which he has Pow'r to offer.

Dec.

Rome and Her Senators ſubmit to Caeſar;

Her Gen'rals and her Conſuls are no more,

Who check'd his Conqueſts, and denied his Triumphs.

Why will not Cato be this Caeſar's Friend?

Cato.

Thoſe very Reaſons, thou haſt urged, forbid it.

Dec.

[21]

Cato, I've Orders to expoſtulate,

And reaſon with you as from Friend to Friend:

Think on the Storm that gather's o'er your Head,

And threaten's ev'ry Hour to burſt upon it;

Still may you ſtand high in your Country's Honours,

Do but comply, and make your Peace with Caeſar.

Rome will rejoice, and caſt its Eyes on Cato,

As on the Second of Mankind.

Cato.

No more!

I muſt not think of Life on ſuch Conditions.

Dec.

Caeſar is well acquainted with your Virtues,

And therefore ſets this Value on your Life:

Let him but know the Price of Cato's Friendſhip,

And name your Terms.

Cato.

Bid him disband his Legions,

Reſtore the Common-wealth to Liberty,

Submit his Actions to the Publick Cenſure,

And ſtand the Judgment of a Roman Senate.

Bid him do this, and Cato is his Friend.

Dec.

Cato, the World talk's loudly of your Wiſdom—

Cato.

Nay more, tho' Cato's Voice was ne'er employ'd

To clear the Guilty, and to varniſh Crimes,

My ſelf will mount the Roſtrum in his Favour,

And ſtrive to gain his Pardon from the People.

Dec.

A Stile like this become's a Conqueror.

Cato.

Decius, a Stile like this become's a Roman.

Dec.

What is a Roman, that is Caeſar's Foe?

Cato.

Greater than Caeſar, he's a Friend to Virtue.

Dec.

Conſider, Cato, you're in Utica;

And at the Head of your own little Senate;

You don't now thunder in the Capitol,

With all the Mouths of Rome to ſecond you.

Cato.

Let him conſider That 'who drives us hither:

'Tis Caeſar's Sword has made Rome's Senate little,

And thinn'd its Ranks. Alas, thy dazzled Eye

Behold's this Man in a falſe glaring Light,

Which Conqueſt and Succeſs have thrown upon him;

[22] Didſt thou but view him right, thou'dſt ſee him black

With Murder, Treaſon, Sacrilege, and Crimes,

That ſtrike my Soul with Horror but to name 'em.

I know thou look'ſt on me, as on a Wretch

Beſet with Ills, and cover'd with Misfortunes;

But, by the Gods I ſweat, Millions of Worlds

Shou'd never buy me to be like that Caeſar.

Dec.

Do's Cato ſend this Anſwer back to Caeſar,

For all his gen'rous Cares, and proffer'd Friendſhip?

Cato.

His Cares for me are inſolent and vain:

Preſumptuous Man! The Gods take Care of Cato.

Wou'd Caeſar ſhow the Greatneſs of his Soul,

Bid him employ his Care for theſe my Friends,

And make good uſe of his ill-gotten Pow'r,

By ſheltring Men much better than himſelf.

Dec.

Your high unconquer'd Heart make's you forget

That you're a Man. You ruſh on your Deſtruction.

But I have done. When I relate hereafter

The Tale of this unhappy Embaſſie

All Rome will be in Tears.

[Exit Decius.

Semp.

Cato, we thank thee.

The mighty Genius of Immortal Rome

Speak's in thy Voice, thy Soul breath's Liberty:

Caeſar will ſhrink to hear the Words thou utter'ſt,

And ſhudder in the midſt of all his Conqueſts.

Luc.

The Senate own's its Gratitude to Cato,

Who with ſo great a Soul conſult's its Safety,

And guard's our Lives, while he neglect's his own.

Semp.

Sempronius give's no Thanks on this Account.

Lucius ſeem's fond of Life; but what is Life?

'Tis not to ſtalk about, and draw freſh Air

From time to time, or gaze upon the Sun;

'Tis to be free. When Liberty is gone,

Life grow's inſipid, and has loſt its Reliſh.

O cou'd my dying Hand but lodge a Sword

In Caeſar's Boſom, and revenge my Country,

[23] By Heav'ns I cou'd enjoy the Pangs of Death,

And Smile in Agony.

Luc.

Others perhaps

May ſerve their Country with as warm a Zeal,

Tho' 'tis not kindled into ſo much Rage.

Semp.

This ſober Conduct is a mighty Vertue

In luke-warm Patriots.

Cato.

Come! no more, Sempronius,

All here are Friends to Rome, and to each other.

Let us not weaken ſtill the weaker Side,

By our Diviſions.

Semp.

Cato, my Reſentments

Are ſacrificed to Rome—I ſtand reproved.

Cato.

Fathers, 'tis time you come to a Reſolve.

Luc.

Cato, we all go into your Opinion.

Caeſar's Behaviour has convinced the Senate

We ought to hold it out till Terms arrive.

Semp.

We ought to hold it out till Death; but, Cato,

My private Voice is drown'd amid the Senate's.

Cato.

Then let us riſe, my Friends, and ſtrive to fill

This little Interval, this Pauſe of Life,

(While yet our Liberty and Fates are doubtful)

With Reſolution, Friendſhip, Roman Brav'ry,

And all the Virtues we can crowd into it;

That Heav'n may ſay, it ought to be prolong'd.

Fathers, farewell—The young Numidian Prince

Comes forward, and expects to know our Councils.

[Ex. Senators.

Enter Juba.

Cato.

Juba, the Roman Senate has reſolv'd,

Till Time give better Proſpects, ſtill to keep

The Sword unſheath'd, and turn its Edge on Caeſar.

Jub.

The Reſolution fit's a Roman Senate.

But, Cato, lend me for a while thy Patience,

And condeſcend to hear a young Man ſpeak.

[24] My Father, when ſome Days before his Death

He order'd me to march for Utica

(Alas, I thought not then his Death ſo near!)

Wep't o'er me, preſs'd me in his aged Arms,

And, as his Griefs gave way, My Son, ſaid he,

Whatever Fortune ſhall befall thy Father,

Be Cato's Friend; he'll train thee up to Great

And Virtuous Deeds: Do but obſerve him well,

Thou'lt ſhun Misfortunes, or thou'lt learn to bear 'em.

Cato.

Juba, thy Father was a worthy Prince,

And merited, alas! a better Fate;

But Heav'n thought otherwiſe.

Juba.

My Father's Fate,

In ſpight of all the Fortitude, that ſhine's

Before my Face, in Cato's great Example,

Subdue's my Soul, and fill's my Eyes with Tears.

Cato.

It is an honeſt Sorrow, and becomes thee.

Juba.

My Father drew Reſpect from foreign Climes:

The Kings of Africk ſought him for their Friend;

Kings far remote, that rule, as Fame report's,

Behind the hidden Sources of the Nile,

In diſtant Worlds, on t'other ſide the Sun:

Oft have their black Ambaſſadors appear'd,

Loaden with Gifts, and fill'd the Courts of Zama.

Cato.

I am no Stranger to thy Father's Greatneſs.

Juba.

I would not boaſt the Greatneſs of my Father,

But point out new Alliances to Cato.

Had we not better leave this Utica,

To arm Numidia in our Cauſe, and court

Th' Aſſiſtance of my Father's pow'rful Friends?

Did they know Cato, our remoteſt Kings

Wou'd pour embattled Multitudes about him;

Their ſwarthy Hoſts would darken all our Plains,

Doubling the native Horrour of the War,

And making Death more grim.

Cato.

And canſt thou think

Cato will fly before the Sword of Caeſar?

[25] Reduced, like Hannibal, to ſeek Relief

From Court to Court, and wander up and down,

A Vagabond in Africk!

Jub.

Cato, perhaps

I'm too officious, but my forward Cares

Wou'd fain preſerve a Life of ſo much Value.

My Heart is wounded, when I ſoe ſuch Virtue

Afflicted by the Weight of ſuch Misfortunes.

Cato.

Thy Nobleneſs of Soul obliges me.

But know, young Prince, that Valour ſoar's above

What the World calls Misfortune and Affliction.

Theſe are not Ills; elſe wou'd they never fall

On Heav'ns firſt Fav'rites, and the beſt of Men:

The Gods, in Bounty, work up Storms about us,

That give Mankind Occaſion to exert

Their hidden Strength, and throw out into Practice

Virtues, that ſhun the Day, and lie conceal'd

In the ſmooth Seaſons, and the Calms of Life.

Jub.

I'm charm'd when e'er thou talk'ſt! I pant for Virtue!

And all my Soul endeavours at Perfection.

Cato.

Doſt thou love Watchings, Abſtinence, and Toil,

Laborious Virtues all? Learn them from Cato:

Succeſs and Fortune muſt thou learn from Caeſar.

Jub.

The beſt good Fortune that can fall on Juba,

The whole Succeſs, at which my Heart aſpires,

Depends on Cato.

Cato.

What does Juba ſay?

Thy Words confound me.

Jub.

I would fain retract them.

Give 'em me back again. They aim'd at nothing.

Cato.

Tell me thy Wiſh, young Prince; make not my Ear

A Stranger to thy Thoughts.

Jub.

Oh, they're extravagant;

Still let me hide them.

Cato.

What can Juba ask

That Cato will refuſe!

Jub.

I fear to name it.

[26] Marcia—inherits all her Father's Virtues.

Cato.

What wou'dſt thou ſay?

Jub.

Cato, thou haſt a Daughter.

Cato.

Adieu, young Prince: I wou'd not hear a Word

Shou'd leſſen thee in my Eſteem: Remember

The Hand of Fate is over us, and Heav'n

Exact's Severity from all our Thoughts:

It is not now a Time to talk of aught

But Chains, or Conqueſt; Liberty, or Death.

[Exit.

Enter Syphax.

Syph.

How's this, my Prince! What, cover'd with Confuſion?

You look as if you ſtern Philoſopher

Had juſt now chid you.

Jub.

Syphax, I'm undone!

Syph.

I know it well.

Jub.

Cato thinks meanly of me.

Syph.

And ſo will all Mankind.

Jub.

I've open'd to him

The Weakneſs of my Soul, my Love for Marcia.

Syph.

Cato's a proper Perſon to entruſt

A Love-Tale with.

Jub.

Oh, I could pierce my Heart,

My fooliſh Heart! Was ever Wretch like Juba?

Syph.

Alas, my Prince how are you changed of late!

I've known young Juba riſe, before the Sun,

To beat the Thicket where the Tyger ſlept,

Or ſeek the Lion in his dreadful Haunts:

How did the Colour mount into your Cheeks,

When firſt you rous'd him to the Chace! I've ſeen you

Ev'n in the Lybian Dog-days hunt him down,

Then charge him cloſe, provoke him to the Rage

Of Fangs and Claws, and ſtooping from your Horſe

Rivet the panting Savage to the Ground.

Jub.

Prithee, no more!

Syph.

How wou'd the old King ſmile

[27] To ſee you weigh the Paws, when tipp'd with Gold,

And throw the ſhaggy Spoils about your Shoulders!

Jub.

Syphax, this old Man's Talk (tho' Honey flow'd

In ev'ry Word) wou'd now loſe all its Sweetneſs.

Cato's diſpleas'd, and Marcia loſt for ever!

Syph.

Young Prince, I yet cou'd give you good Advice.

Marcia might ſtill be yours.

Jub.

What ſay'ſt thou, Syphax?

By Heav'ns, thou turn'ſt me all into Attention.

Syph.

Marcia might ſtill be yours.

Jub.

As how, Dear Syphax?

Syph.

Juba command's Numidia's hardy Troops,

Mounted on Steeds, unuſed to the Reſtraint

Of Curbs or Bits, and fleeter than the Winds:

Give but the Word, we'll ſnatch this Damſel up,

And bear her off.

Jub.

Can ſuch diſhoneſt Thoughts

Riſe up in Man! wou'dſt thou ſeduce my Youth

To do an Act that wou'd deſtroy my Honour?

Syph.

Gods, I cou'd tear my Beard to hear you talk!

Honour's a fine imaginary Notion,

That draws in raw and unexperienced Men

To real Miſchiefs, while they hunt a Shadow.

Jub.

Wou'dſt thou degrade thy Prince into a Ruſſian?

Syph.

The boaſted Anceſtors of theſe great Men,

Whoſe Virtues you admire, were all ſuch Ruffians.

This Dread of Nations, this Almighty Rome,

That comprehends in her wide Empire's Bounds

All under Heav'n, was founded on a Rape.

Your Scipios', Caeſar's, Pompey's, and your Cato's,

(Theſe Gods on Earth) are all the ſpurious Brood

Of violated Maids, of raviſh'd Sabines.

Jub.

Syphax, I fear that hoary Head of thine

Abound's too much in our Numidian Wiles.

Syph.

Indeed my Prince, you want to know the World,

You have not read Mankind, your Youth admire's

The Throws and Swellings of a Roman Soul,

[28] Cato's bold Flights, th' Extravagance of Virtue.

Jub.

If Knowledge of the World makes Man perfidious,

May Juba ever live in Ignorance!

Syph.

Go, go, you're young.

Jub.

Gods, muſt I tamely bear

This Arrogance unanſwer'd! Thou'rt a Traitor,

A falſe old Traitor.

Syph.

I have gone too far.

[Aſide.

Jub.

Cato ſhall know the Baſeneſs of thy Soul.

Syph.

I muſt appeaſe this Storm, or periſh in it.

[Aſide.

Young Prince, behold theſe Locks, that are grown white

Beneath a Helmet in your Father's Battels.

Jub.

Thoſe Locks ſhall ne'er protect thy Inſolence.

Syph.

Muſt one raſh Word, th' Infirmity of Age,

Throw down the Merit of my better Years?

This the Reward of a whole Life of Service!

Curſe on the Boy! How ſteadily he hears me!

[Aſide.

Jub.

Is it becauſe the Throne of my Fore-fathers

Still ſtands unfill'd, and that Numidia's Crown

Hangs doubtful yet, whoſe Head it ſhall encloſe,

Thou thus preſumeſt to treat thy Prince with Scorn?

Syph.

Why will you rive my Heart with ſuch Expreſſions?

Do's not old Syphax follow you to War?

What are his Aims? Why do's he load with Darts

His trembling Hand, and cruſh beneath a Cask

His wrinkled Brows? What is it he aſpires to?

Is it not this? to ſhed the ſlow Remains,

His laſt poor Ebb of Blood in your Defence?

Jub.

Syphax, no more! I wou'd not hear you talk.

Syph.

Not hear me talk! What, when my Faith to Juba,

My royal Maſter's Son, is call'd in queſtion?

My Prince may ſtrike me dead, and I'll be dumb:

But whilſt I live I muſt not hold my Tongue,

And languiſh out old Age in his Diſpleaſure.

Jub.

Thou know'ſt the Way too well into my Heart,

I do believe thee loyal to thy Prince.

Syph.

[29]

What greater Inſtance can I give? I've offer'd

To do an Action which my Soul abhor's,

And gain you whom you love at any Price.

Jub.

Was this thy Motive? I have been too haſty.

Syph.

And 'tis for this my Prince has call'd me Traytor.

Jub.

Sure thou miſtakeſt; I did not call thee ſo.

Syph.

You did indeed, my Prince, you call'd me Traytor:

Nay, further, threaten'd you'd complain to Cato.

Of what, my Prince, wou'd you complain to Cato?

That Syphax loves you, and wou'd ſacrifice

His Life, nay more, his Honour in your Service.

Jub.

Syphax, I know thou lov'ſt me, but indeed

Thy Zeal for Juba carried thee too far.

Honour's a ſacred Tie, the Law of Kings,

The noble Mind's diſtinguiſhing Perfection,

That aid's and ſtrengthens Virtue, where it meets her,

And imitates her Actions, where ſhe is not:

It ought not to be ſported with.

Syph.

By Heav'ns

I'm raviſht when you talk thus, tho' you chide me.

Alas, I've hitherto been uſed to think

A blind officious Zeal to ſerve my King

The ruling Principle, that ought to burn

And quench all others in a Subject's Heart.

Happy the People who preſerve their Honour

By the ſame Duties that oblige their Prince!

Jub.

Syphax, thou now begin'ſt to ſpeak thy ſelf.

Numidia's grown a Scorn among the Nations

For Breach of publick Vows. Our Punick Faith

Is infamous, and branded to a Proverb.

Syphax, we'll join our Cares, to purge away

Our Country's Crimes, and clear her Reputation.

Syph.

Believe me, Prince, you make old Syphax weep

To hear you talk—but 'tis with Tears of Joy.

If e're your Father's Crown adorn your Brows,

Numidia will be bleſt by Cato's Lectures.

Jub.

[30]

Syphax, thy Hand! we'll mutually forget

The Warmth of Youth, and Frowardneſs of Age:

Thy Prince eſteems thy Worth, and loves thy Perſon.

If e're the Scepter comes into my Hand,

Syphax ſhall ſtand the ſecond in my Kingdom.

Syph.

Why will you overwhelm my Age with Kindneſs?

My Joy grows burdenſome, I ſha'n't ſupport it.

Jub.

Syphax, farewell. I'll hence, and try to find

Some bleſt Occaſion that may ſet me right

In Cato's Thoughts. I'd rather have that Man

Approve my Deeds, than Worlds for my Admirers.

[Exit.

Syphax ſolus.

Young Men ſoon give, and ſoon forget Affronts;

Old Age is ſlow in both—A falſe old Traytor!

Thoſe Words, raſh Boy, may chance to coſt thee dear:

My Heart had ſtill ſome fooliſh Fondneſs for thee:

But hence! 'tis gone: I give it to the Winds:—

Caeſar, I'm wholly thine—

Enter Sempronius.

Syph.

All hail, Sempronius!

Well, Cato's Senate is reſolv'd to wait

The Fury of a Siege, before it yields.

Semp.

Syphax, we both were on the Verge of Fate:

Lucius declared for Peace, and Terms were offer'd

To Cato by a Meſſenger from Caeſar.

Shou'd they ſubmit, ere our Deſigns are ripe,

We both muſt periſh in the common Wreck,

Loſt in a gen'ral undiſtinguiſht Ruin.

Syph.

But how ſtands Cato?

Semp.

Thou haſt ſeen Mount Atlas:

While Storms and Tempeſts thunder on its Brows,

And Oceans break their Billows at its Feet,

It ſtands unmoved, and glorie's in its Height.

[31] Such is that haughty Man; his tow'ring Soul,

'Midſt all the Shocks and Injuries of Fortune,

Riſes ſuperior, and looks down on Caeſar.

Syph.

But what's this Meſſenger?

Semp.

I've practis'd with him,

And found a Means to let the Victor know

That Syphax and Sempronius are his Friends.

But let me now examine in my Turn:

Is Juba fixt?

Syph.

Yes, but it is to Cato.

I've try'd the Force of ev'ry Reaſon on him,

Sooth'd and carreſs'd, been angry, ſooth'd again,

Lay'd Safety, Life, and Int'reſt in his Sight,

But all are vain, he ſcorns them all for Cato.

Semp.

Come, 'tis no Matter, we ſhall do without him.

He'll make a pretty Figure in a Triumph,

And ſerve to trip before the Victor's Chariot.

Syphax, I now may hope thou haſt forſook

Thy Juba's Cauſe, and wiſheſt Marcia mine.

Syph.

May ſhe be thine as faſt as thou wou'dſt have her!

Semp.

Syphax, I love that Woman; tho' I curſe

Her and my ſelf, yet ſpight of me, I love her.

Syph.

Make Cato ſure, and give up Utica,

Caeſar will ne'er refuſe thee ſuch a Trifle.

But are thy Troops prepared for a Revolt?

Do's the Sedition catch from Man to Man,

And run among their Ranks?

Semp.

All, all is ready.

The factious Leaders are our Friends, that ſpread

Murmurs and Diſcontents among the Soldiers.

They count their toilſome Marches, long Fatigues,

Unuſual Faſtings, and will bear no more

This Medly of Philoſophy and War.

Within an Hour they'll ſtorm the Senate-Houſe.

Syph.

Mean while I'll draw up my Numidian Troops

Within the Square, to exerciſe their Arms,

And, as I ſee Occaſion, favour thee.

[32] I laugh to think how your unſhaken Cato

Will look aghaſt, while unforeſeen Deſtruction

Pou'rs in upon him thus from every Side.

So, where our wide Numidian Waſts extend,

Sudden, th' impetuous Hurricanes deſcend,

Wheel through the Air, in circling Eddies play,

Tear up the Sands, and ſweep whole Plains away.

The helpleſs Traveller, with wild Surprize,

Sees the dry Deſart all around him riſe,

And, ſmother'd in the duſty Whirlwind Dies.

[Exeunt.

End of the Second Act.

[33]

ACT III. SCENE I.

Marcus and Portius.

Marc.

THanks to my Stars, I have not ranged about

The Wilds of Life, 'ere I cou'd find a Friend;

Nature firſt pointed out my Portius to me,

And early taught me, by her ſecret Force,

To love thy Perſon, 'ere I knew thy Merit;

Till, what was Inſtinct, grew up into Friendſhip.

Port.

Marcus, the Friendſhips of the World are oft

Confed'racies in Vice, or Leagues of Pleaſure;

Ours has ſevereſt Virtue for its Baſis,

And ſuch a Friendſhip end's not but with Life.

Marc.

Portius, thou know'ſt my Soul in all its Weakneſs;

Then prithee ſpare me on its tender Side,

Indulge me but in Love, my other Paſſions

Shall riſe and fall by Virtue's niceſt Rules.

Port.

When Love's well timed, 'tis not a Fault to love.

The Strong, the Brave, the Virtuous, and the Wiſe,

Sink in the ſoft Captivity together.

I wou'd not urge thee to diſmiſs thy Paſſion,

(I know 'twere vain) but to ſuppreſs its Force,

Till better Times may make it look more graceful.

Marc.

Alas! thou talk'ſt like one who never felt

Th' impatient Throbbs and Longings of a Soul,

That pant's, and reache's after diſtant Good.

A Lover do's not live by vulgar Time:

Believe me, Portius, in my Lucia's Abſence

Life hang's upon me, and become's a Burden;

And yet when I behold the charming Maid

[34] I'm ten-times more undone; while Hope, and Fear,

And Grief, and Rage, and Love, riſe up at once,

And with Variety of Pain diſtract me.

Port.

What can thy Portius do to give thee Help?

Marc.

Portius, thou oft enjoy'ſt the Fair One's Preſence:

Then undertake my Cauſe, and plead it to her

With all the Strength and Heats of Eloquence

Fraternal Love and Friendſhip can inſpire.

Tell her thy Brother languiſhe's to Death,

And fade's away, and wither's in his Bloom;

That he forgets his Sleep, and loath's his Food,

That Youth, and Health, and War are joyleſs to him:

Deſcribe his anxious Days, and reſtleſs Nights,

And all the Torments that thou ſee'ſt me ſuffer.

Port.

Marcus, I beg thee give me not an Office

That ſuits with me ſo ill. Thou know'ſt my Temper.

Marc.

Wilt thou behold me ſinking in my Woes?

And wilt thou not reach out a friendly Arm,

To raiſe me from amidſt this Plunge of Sorrows?

Port.

Marcus, thou can'ſt not ask what I'd refuſe.

But here believe me I've a thouſand Reaſons—

Marc.

I know thou'lt ſay my Paſſion's out of Seaſon,

That Cato's great Example and Misfortunes

Should both conſpire to drive it from my Thoughts.

But what's all this to one who loves like me!

Oh Portius, Portius, from my Soul I wiſh

Thou didſt but know thy ſelf what 'tis to love!

Then wou'dſt thou pity and aſſiſt thy Brother.

Port.

What ſhou'd I do! If I diſcloſe my Paſſion

Our Friendſhip's at an end: If I conceal it,

The World will call me falſe to a Friend and Brother.

[Aſide.

Marc.

But ſee where Lucia at her wonted Hour,

Amid the cool of yon high Marble Arch,

Enjoys the Noon-day Breeze! Obſerve her, Portius!

That Face, that Shape, thoſe Eyes, that Heav'n of Beauty!

Obſerve her well, and blame me if thou can'ſt.

Port.

She ſees us, and advances—

Marc.

[35]

I'll withdraw,

And leave you for a while. Remember, Portius,

Thy Brother's Life depends upon thy Tongue.

[Exit.

Enter Lucia.

Luc.

Did not I ſee your Brother Marcus here?

Why did he fly the Place, and ſhun my Preſence?

Port.

Oh, Lucia, Language is too faint to ſhow

His Rage of Love; it prey's upon his Life;

He pines, he ſickens, he deſpairs, he dies:

His Paſſions and his Virtues lie confuſed,

And mixt together in ſo wild a Tumult,

That the whole Man is quite disfigur'd in him.

Heav'ns! wou'd one think 'twere poſſible for Love

To make ſuch Ravage in a noble Soul!

Oh, Lucia, I'm diſtreſs'd! my Heart bleeds for him;

Ev'n now, while thus I ſtand bleſt in thy Preſence,

A ſecret Damp of Grief comes o'er my Thoughts,

And I'm unhappy, tho' thou ſmileſt upon me.

Luc.

How wilt thou guard thy Honour, in the Shock

Of Love and Friendſhip! think betimes, my Portius,

Think how the Nuptial Tie, that might enſure

Our mutual Bliſs, wou'd raiſe to ſuch a Height

Thy Brother's Griefs, as might perhaps deſtroy him.

Port.

Alas, poor Youth! what doſt thou think, my Lucia?

His gen'rous, open, undeſigning Heart

Has beg'd his Rival to ſollicit for him.

Then do not ſtrike him dead with a Denial,

But hold him up in Life, and cheer his Soul

With the faint glimm'ring of a doubtful Hope:

Perhaps, when we have paſs'd theſe gloomy Hours,

And weather'd out the Storm that beats upon us—

Luc.

No, Portius, no! I ſee thy Siſter's Tears,

Thy Father's Anguiſh, and thy Brother's Death,

In the Purſuit of our ill-fated Loves.

And, Portius, here I ſwear, to Heav'n I ſwear,

[36] To Heav'n, and all the Pow'rs that judge Mankind,

Never to mix my plighted Hands with thine,

While ſuch a Cloud of Miſchiefs hang's about us.

But to forget our Loves, and drive thee out

From all my Thoughts, as far—as I am able

Port.

What haſt thou ſaid! I'm thunder-ſtruck!—Recall

Thoſe haſty Words, or I am loſt for ever.

Luc.

Has not the Vow already paſs'd my Lips?

The Gods have heard it, and 'tis ſeal'd in Heav'n.

May all the Vengeance, that was ever pour'd

On perjur'd Heads, o'erwhelm me, if I break it!

[After a Pauſe,

Port.

Fixt in Aſtoniſhment, I gaze upon thee;

Like one juſt blaſted by a Stroak from Heav'n,

Who pant's for Breath, and ſtiffen's, yet alive,

In dreadful Looks: A Monument of Wrath!

Luc.

At length I've acted my ſevereſt Part,

I feel the Woman breaking in upon me,

And melt about my Heart! my Tears will flow.

But oh I'll think no more! the Hand of Fate

Has torn thee from me, and I muſt forget thee.

Port.

Hard-hearted, cruel Maid!

Luc.

Oh ſtop thoſe Sounds,

Thoſe killing Sounds! Why doſt thou frown upon me?

My Blood run's cold, my Heart forget's to heave,

And Life its ſelf goe's out at thy Diſpleaſure.

The Gods forbid us to indulge our Loves,

But oh! I cannot bear thy Hate and live!

Port.

Talk not of Love, thou never knew'ſt its Force.

I've been deluded, led into a Dream

Of fancied Bliſs. O Lucia, cruel Maid!

Thy dreadful Vow, loaden with Death, ſtill ſound's

In my ſtunn'd Ears. What ſhall I ſay or do?

Quick, let us part! Perdition's in thy Preſence,

And Horror dwells about thee!—Hah, ſhe faints!

Wretch that I am! what has my Raſhneſs done!

Lucia, thou injur'd Innocence! thou beſt

And lovely'ſt of thy Sex! awake, my Lucia,

[37] Or Portius ruſhe's on his Sword to join thee.

—Her Imprecations reach not to the Tomb,

They ſhut not out Society in Death.—

But Hah! She moves! Life wander's up and down

Through all her Face, and light's up ev'ry Charm.

Luc.

O Portius, was this well!—to frown on her

That lives upon thy Smiles! to call in Doubt

The Faith of one expiring at thy Feet,

That love's thee more than ever Woman lov'd!

—What do I ſay? My half-recover'd Senſe

Forget's the Vow in which my Soul is bound.

Deſtruction ſtand's betwixt us! We muſt part.

Port.

Name not the Word, my frighted Thoughts run back,

And ſtartle into Madneſs at the Sound.

Luc.

What wou'dſt thou have me do? Conſider well

The Train of Ills our Love wou'd draw behind it.

Think, Portius, think, thou ſee'ſt thy dying Brother

Stabb'd at his Heart, and all beſmear'd with Blood,

Storming at Heav'n and thee! Thy awful Sire

Sternly demand's the Cauſe, th' accurſed Cauſe,

That robb's him of his Son! poor Marcia tremble's,

Then teares her Hair, and frantick in her Griefs

Call's out on Lucia! What cou'd Lucia anſwer?

Or how ſtand up in ſuch a Scene of Sorrow!

Port.

To my Confuſion, and Eternal Grief,

I muſt approve the Sentence that deſtroys me.

The Miſt that hung about my Mind clear's up;

And now, athwart the Terrors that thy Vow

Has planted round thee, thou appear'ſt more fair,

More amiable, and riſeſt in thy Charms.

Lovly'ſt of Women! Heav'n is in thy Soul,

Beauty and Virtue ſhine for ever round thee,

Bright'ning each other! Thou art all Divine!

Luc.

Portius, no more! thy Words ſhoot thro' my Heart,

Melt my Reſolves, and turn me all to Love.

Why are thoſe Tears of Fondneſs in they Eyes?

Why heaves thy Heart? Why [...] thy Soul with Sorrow?

[38] It ſoftens me too much—Farewell, my Portius,

Farewell, tho' Death is in the Word, For-ever!

Port.

Stay, Lucia, ſtay! What do'ſt thou ſay? For-ever!

Luc.

Have I not ſworn? If, Portius, thy Succeſs

Muſt throw thy Brother on his Fate, Farewell,

Oh, how ſhall I repeat the Word! For-ever!

Port.

Thus o'er the dying Lamp th' unſteady Flame

Hang's quiv'ring on a Point, leap's off by Fits,

And fall's again, as loath to quit its Hold

—Thou muſt not go, my Soul ſtill hover's o'er thee

And can't get looſe.

Luc.

If the firm Portius ſhake

To hear of Parting, think what Lucia ſuffer's!

Port.

'Tis true; unruffled and ſerene I've met

The common Accidents of Life, but here

Such an unlook'd for Storm of Ills fall's on me,

It beat's down all my Strength. I cannot bear it.

We muſt not part.

Luc.

What do'ſt thou ſay? Not part?

Haſt thou forgot the Vow that I have made?

Are there not Heav'ns and Gods and Thunder o'er us!

—But ſee thy Brother Marcus bend's this way!

I ſicken at the Sight. Once more, Farewell,

Farewell, and know thou wrong'ſt me, if thou think'ſt

Ever was Love, or ever Grief, like mine.

[Exit.

Enter Marcus,

Marc.

Portius, what Hopes? how ſtands She? Am I doom'd

To Life or Death?

Port.

What wou'dſt thou have me ſay?

Marc.

What mean's this penſive Poſture? thou appear'ſt

Like one amazed and terrified.

Port.

I've Reaſon.

Marc.

Thy down-caſt Looks, and thy diſorder'd Thoughts

Tell me my Fate. I ask not the Succeſs

My Cauſe has found.

Port.

[39]

I'm griev'd I undertook it.

Mar.

What? do's the barb'rous Maid inſult my Heart,

My akeing Heart! and triumph in my Pains?

That I cou'd caſt her from my Thoughts for ever!

Port.

Away! you're too ſuſpicious in your Griefs;

Lucia, though ſworn never to think of Love,

Compaſſionate's your Pains, and pitie's you.

Marc.

Compaſſionate's my Pains, and pitie's me!

What is Compaſſion when 'tis void of Love!

Fool that I was to chuſe ſo cold a Friend

To urge my Cauſe! Compaſſionate's my Pains!

Prithee what Art, what Rhet'rick did'ſt thou uſe

To gain this mighty Boon? She pitie's me!

To one that ask's the warm Returns of Love,

Compaſſion's Cruelty, 'tis Scorn, 'tis Death—

Port.

Marcus, no more! have I deſerv'd this Treatment?

Marc.

What have I ſaid! O Portius, O forgive me!

A Soul exaſp'rated in Ills falls out

With ev'ry thing, its Friend, its ſelf—But hah!

What means that Shout, big with the Sounds of War?

What new Alarm?

Port.

A ſecond, louder yet,

Swells in the Winds, and comes more full upon us.

Marc.

Oh, for ſome glorious Cauſe to fall in Battel!

Lucia, thou haſt undone me! thy Diſdain

Has broke my Heart: 'tis Death muſt give me Eaſe.

Port.

Quick, let us hence, who knows if Cato's Life

Stand ſure? O Marcus, I am warm'd, my Heart

Leaps at the Trumpet's Voice, and burns for Glory.

[Exeunt.

Enter Sempronius with the Leaders of the Mutiny.

Semp.

At length the Winds are rais'd, the Storm blow's high,

Be it your Care, my Friends, to keep it up

In it's full Fury, and direct it right;

'Till it has ſpent it ſelf on Cato's Head.

Mean while I'll herd among his Friends, and ſeem

[40] One [...] the Number, that whate'er arrive,

My Friends and Fellow-Soldiers may be ſafe.

1 Lead.

We all are ſafe, Sempronius is our Friend,

Sempronius is as brave a Man as Cato.

But heark! he Enters. Bear up boldly to him;

Be ſure you beat him down, and bind him faſt:

This Day will end our Toils, and give us Reſt;

Fear nothing, for Sempronius is our Friend.

Enter Cato, Sempronius, Lucius, Portius, and Marcus.

Cato.

Where are theſe bold intrepid Sons of War,

That greatly turn their Backs upon the Foe,

And to their General ſend a brave Defiance?

Semp.

Curſe on their Daſtard Souls, they ſtand aſtoniſh'd!

[Aſide.

Cato.

Perfidious Men! and will you thus diſhonour

Your paſt Exploits, and fully all your Wars?

Do you confeſs 'twas not a Zeal for Rome,

Nor Love of Liberty, nor Thirſt of Honour,

Drew you thus far; but hopes to ſhare the Spoil

Of conquer'd Towns, and plunder'd Provinces?

Fired with ſuch Motives you do well to join

With Cato's Foes, and follow Caeſar's Banners.

Why did I'ſcape the invenom'd Aſpic's Rage,

And all the fiery Monſters of the Deſart,

To ſee this Day? Why cou'd not Cato fall

Without your Guilt? Behold, ungrateful Men,

Behold my Boſom naked to your Swords,

And let the Man that's injured ſtrike the Blow.

Which of you all ſuſpect's that he is wrong'd,

Or think's he ſuffer's greater Ills than Cato?

Am I diſtinguiſh'd from you but by Toils,

Superior Toils, and heavier Weight of Cares!

Painful Pre-eminence!

Semp.

By Heav'ns they droop!

Confuſion to the Villains! All is loſt.

[Aſide.

Cato.

[41]

Have you forgotten Lybia's burning Waſt,

Its barren Rocks, parch'd Earth, and Hills of Sand,

Its tainted Air, and all its Broods of Poiſon?

Who was the firſt to explore th' untrodden Path,

When Life was hazarded in ev'ry Step?

Or, fainting in the long laborious March,

When on the Banks of an unlook'd-for Stream

You ſunk the River with repeated Draughts,

Who was the laſt in all your Hoſt that thirſted?

Semp.

If ſome penurious Source by chance appear'd,

Scanty of Waters, when you ſcoop'd it dry,

And offer'd the full Helmet up to Cato,

Did not he daſh th' untaſted Moiſture from him?

Did not he lead you through the Mid-day Sun,

And Clouds of Duſt? Did not his Temples glow

In the ſame ſultry Winds, and ſcorching Heats?

Cato.

Hence worthleſs Men! Hence! and complain to Caeſar

You could not undergo the Toils of War,

Nor bear the Hardſhips that your Leader bore.

Luc.

See, Cato, ſee th' unhappy Men! they weep!

Fear, and Remorſe, and Sorrow for their Crime,

Appear in ev'ry Look, and plead for Mercy.

Cato.

Learn to be honeſt Men, give up your Leaders,

And Pardon ſhall deſcend on all the reſt.

Semp.

Cato, commit theſe Wretches to my Care.

Firſt let 'em each be broken on the Rack,

Then, with what Life remain's, impaled, and left

To writhe at leiſure round the bloody Stake.

There let 'em hang, and taint the Southern Wind.

The Partners of their Crime will learn Obedience,

When they look up and ſee their Fellow-Traitors

Stuck on a Fork, and black'ning in the Sun.

Luc.

Sempronius, why, why wilt thou urge the Fate

Of wretched Men?

Semp.

How! wou'dſt thou clear Rebellion!

Lucius, (good Man) pitie's the poor Offenders

That wou'd imbrue their Hands in Cato's Blood.

Cato.

[42]

Forbear, Sempronius!—See they ſuffer Death,

But in their Deaths remember they are Men.

Strain not the Laws to make their Tortures grievous.

Lucius, the baſe degenerate Age requires

Severity and Juſtice in its Rigour;

This awes an impious, bold, offending World,

Command's Obedience, and give's Force to Laws.

When by juſt Vengeance guilty Mortals periſh,

The Gods behold their Puniſhment with Pleaſure,

And lay th' uplifted Thunder-Bolt aſide.

Semp.

Cato, I execute thy Will with Pleaſure.

Cato.

Mean-while we'll ſacrifice to Liberty.

Remember, O my Friends, the Laws, the Rights,

The gen'rous Plan of Power deliver'd down,

From Age to Age, by your renown'd Forefathers,

(So dearly bought, the Price of ſo much Blood)

O let it never periſh in your Hands!

But piouſly tranſmit it to your Children.

Do thou, great Liberty, inſpire our Souls,

And make our Lives in thy Poſſeſſion happy,

Or our Deaths glorious in thy juſt Defence.

Exe. Cato, &c.

Sempronius and the Leaders of the Mutiny.

1 Lead.

Sempronius, you have acted like your Self,

One wou'd have thought you had been half in Earneſt.

Semp.

Villain, ſtand off! baſe grov'ling worthleſs Wretches,

Mongrils in Faction, poor faint-hearted Traitors!

2 Lead.

Nay, now you carry it too far, Sempronius:

Throw off the Mask, there are none here but Friends.

Semp.

Know, Villains, when ſuch paltry Slaves preſume

To mix in Treaſon, if the Plot ſucceed's,

They're thrown neglected by: But if it fail's,

They're ſure to die like Dogs, as you ſhall do.

Here, take theſe factious Monſters, dragg 'em forth

To ſudden Death.

[43] Enter Guards.

1 Lead.

Nay, ſince it comes to this—

Semp.

Diſpatch 'em quick, but firſt pluck out their Tongues,

Leaſt with their dying Breath they ſow Sedition.

[Exeunt Guards with the Leaders.

Enter Syphax.

Syph.

Our firſt Deſign, my Friend, has proved abortive;

Still there remains an After-game to play:

My Troops are mounted; their Numidian Steeds

Snuff up the Wind, and long to ſcow'r the Deſart:

Let but Sempronius head us in our Flight,

We'll force the Gate where Marcus keeps his Guard,

And hew down all that would oppoſe our Paſſage.

A Day will bring us into Caeſar's Camp.

Semp.

Confuſion! I have fail'd of half my Purpoſe.

Marcia, the charming Marcia's left behind!

Syph.

How? will Sempronius turn a Woman's Slave!

Semp.

Think not thy Friend can ever feel the ſoft

Unmanly Warmth, and Tenderneſs of Love.

Syphax, I long to claſp that haughty Maid,

And bend her ſtubborn Virtue to my Paſſion:

When I have gone thus far, I'd caſt her off.

Syph.

Well ſaid! that's ſpoken like thy ſelf, Sempronius.

What hinder's then, but that thou find her out,

And hurry her away by manly Force?

Semp.

But how to gain Admiſſion? for Acceſs

Is giv'n to none but Juba, and her Brothers.

Syph.

Thou ſhal't have Juba's Dreſs, and Juba's Guards:

The Doors will open, when Numidia's Prince

Seem's to appear before the Slaves, that watch them.

Semp.

Heav'ns, what a Thought is there! Marcia's my own!

How will my Boſom ſwell with anxious Joy,

[44] When I behold her ſtrugling in my Arms,

With glowing Beauty, and diſorder'd Charms,

While Fear and Anger, with alternate Grace,

Pant in her Breaſt, and vary in her Face!

So Pluto, ſeiz'd of Proſerpine, convey'd

To Hell's tremendous Gloom th' affrighted Maid,

There grimly ſmil'd, pleas'd with the beauteous Prize,

Nor envy'd Jove his Sun-ſhine and his Skies.

End of the Third Act.

[45]

ACT IV. SCENE I.

Lucia and Marcia.

Luc.

NOW tell me, Marcia, tell me from thy Soul,

If thou believ'ſt it poſſible for Woman

To ſuffer greater Ills than Lucia ſuffers?

Marc.

O Lucia, Lucia, might my big ſwoln Heart

Vent all its Griefs, and give a Looſe to Sorrow:

Marcia cou'd anſwer thee in Sighs, keep Pace

With all thy Woes, and count out Tear for Tear.

Luc.

I know thou'rt doom'd alike, to be belov'd

By Juba, and thy Father's Friend Sempronius;

But which of theſe has Pow'r to charm like Portius!

Marc.

Still muſt I beg thee not to name Sempronius?

Lucia, I like not that loud boiſt'rous Man:

Juba to all the Brav'ry of a Heroe

Adds ſofteſt Love, and more than Female Sweetneſs;

Juba might make the proudeſt of our Sex,

Any of Woman-kind, but Marcia, happy.

Luc.

And why not Marcia? Come, you ſtrive in vain

To hide your Thoughts from one, who know's too well

The inward Glowings of a Heart in Love.

Marc.

While Cato live's, his Daughter has no Right

To love or hate, but as his Choice directs.

Luc.

But ſhou'd this Father give you to Sempronius?

Marc.

I dare not think he will: but if he ſhou'd—

Why wilt thou add to all the Griefs I ſuffer

Imaginary Ills, and fancy'd Tortures?

[46] I hear the Sound of Feet! they march this Way!

Let us retire, and try if we can drown

Each ſofter Thought in Senſe of preſent Danger.

When Love once plead's Admiſſion to our Hearts

(In ſpight of all the Virtue we can boaſt)

The Woman that Deliberates is loſt.

[Exeunt.

Enter Sempronius, dreſs'd like Juba, with Numidian Guards.

Semp.

The Deer is lodg'd. I've trackt her to her Covert.

Be ſure you mind the Word, and when I give it,

Ruſh in at once, and ſeize upon your Prey.

Let not her Cries or Tears have Force to move you.

—How will the young Numidian rave, to ſee

His Miſtreſs loſt? If aught cou'd glad my Soul,

Beyond th' Enjoyment of ſo bright a Prize,

'T wou'd be to torture that young, gay, Barbarian.

—But hark, what Noiſe! Death to my Hopes! 'tis he,

'Tis Juba's ſelf! there is but one Way left—

He muſt be murder'd, and a Paſſage cut

Through thoſe his Guards.—Hah, Daſtards, do you tremble!

Or act like Men, or by yon azure Heav'n—

Enter Juba.

Jub.

What do I ſee? Who's this that dares uſurp

The Guards and Habits of Numidia's Prince?

Semp.

One that was born to ſcourge thy Arrogance,

Preſumptuous Youth!

Jub.

What can this mean? Sempronius!

Semp.

My Sword ſhall anſwer thee. Have at thy Heart.

Jub.

Nay, then beware thy own, proud, barbrous Man!

[Semp. falls. His Guards ſurrender.

Semp.

Curſe on my Stars! Am I then doom'd to fall

By a Boy's Hand? disfigur'd in a vile

Numidian Dreſs, and for a worthleſs Woman?

Gods, I'm Diſtracted! This my Gloſe of Life!

[47] O for a Peal of Thunder that wou'd make

Earth, Sea, and Air, and Heav'n, and Cato tremble!

[Dies.

Juba.

With what a Spring his ſurious Soul broke looſe,

And left the Limbs ſtill quiv'ring on the Ground!

Hence let us carry off thoſe Slaves to Cato,

That we may there at length unravel all

This dark Deſign, this Myſtery of Fate.

[Exit Juba with Priſoners, &c.

Enter Lucia and Marcia.

Luc.

Sure 'twas the Claſh of Swords; my troubled Heart

Is ſo caſt down, and ſunk amidſt its Sorrows,

It throb's with Fear, and ake's at ev'ry Sound.

O Marcia, ſhou'd thy Brothers for my Sake!—

I die away with Horror at the Thought.

Marc.

See, Lucia, ſee! here's Blood! here's Blood and Murder!

Hah! a Numidian! Heav'ns preſerve the Prince:

The Face lie's muffled up within the Garment.

But hah! Death to my Sight! a Diadem,

And Purple Robes! O Gods! 'tis he, 'tis he,

Juba, the lovelieſt Youth that ever warm'd

A Virgin's Heart, Juba lie's dead before us!

Luc.

Now Marcia, now call up to thy Aſſiſtance

Thy wonted Strength, and Conſtancy of Mind;

Thou can'ſt not put it to a greater Tryal.

Marc.

Lucia, look there, and wonder at my Patience.

Have I not cauſe to rave, and beat my Breaſt,

To rend my Heart with Grief, and run diſtracted!

Luc.

What can I think or ſay to give thee Comfort?

Mar.

Talk not of Comfort, 'tis for lighter Ills:

Behold a Sight, that ſtrike's all Comfort dead.

Enter Juba liſtning.

I will indulge my Sorrows, and give way

To all the Pangs and Fury of Deſpair,

That Man, that beſt of Men, deſerv'd it from me.

Juba.

[48]

What do I hear? and was the falſe Sempronius

That beſt of Men? O had I fall'n like him,

And cou'd have thus been mourn'd, I had been happy!

Luc.

Here will I ſtand, Companion in thy Woes,

And help thee with my Tears; when I behold

A Loſs like thine, I half forget my own.

Marc.

'Tis not in Fate to eaſe my tortured Breaſt.

This empty World, to me a joyleſs Deſart,

Has nothing left to make poor Marcia happy.

Juba.

I'm on the Rack! Was he ſo near her Heart?

Marc.

Oh he was all made up of Love and Charms,

Whatever Maid cou'd wiſh, or Man admire:

Delight of ev'ry Eye! When he appear'd,

A ſecret Pleaſure gladned all that ſaw him;

But when he talk'd, the proudeſt Roman bluſh'd

To hear his Virtues, and old Age grew wiſe.

Juba.

I ſhall run Mad—

Marc.

O Juba! Juba! Juba!

Juba.

What means that Voice? did ſhe not call on Juba?

Marc.

Why do I think on what he was! he's dead!

He's dead, and never knew how much I lov'd him.

Lucia, who know's but his poor bleeding Heart

Amidſt its Agonies, remember'd Marcia,

And the laſt Words he utter'd call'd me Cruel!

Alas, he knew not, hapleſs Youth, he knew not

Marcia's whole Soul was full of Love and Juba!

Juba.

Where am I! do I live! or am indeed

What Marcia think's! all is Eliſium round me!

Marc.

Ye dear Remains of the moſt lov'd of Men!

Nor Modeſty nor Virtue here forbid

A laſt Embrace, while thus—

Juba.

See, Marcia, ſee,

The happy Juba live's! he live's to catch

That dear Embrace, and to return it too

With mutual Warmth and Eagerneſs of Love.

Marc.

With Pleaſure and Amaze, I ſtand tranſported!

[49] Sure 'tis a Dream! Dead and Alive at oncel

If thou art Juba, who lies there?

Jub.

A Wretch,

Diſguiſed like Juba on a curs'd Deſign.

The Tale is long, nor have I heard it out,

Thy Father know's it all. I cou'd not bear

To leave thee in the Neighbourhood of Death,

But flew, in all the haſte of Love, to find thee.

I found thee weeping, and confeſs this once,

Am wrap'd with Joy to ſee my Marcia's Tears.

Marc.

I've been ſurprized in an unguarded Hour,

But muſt not now go back: The Love, that lay

Half ſmother'd in my Breaſt, has broke through all

Its weak Reſtraints, and burn's in its full Luſtre,

I cannot, if I wou'd, conceal it from thee.

Jub.

I'm loſt in Extaſie! and do'ſt thou love,

Thou charming Maid?

Marc.

And do'ſt thou live to ask it?

Jub.

This, this is Life indeed! Life worth preſerving!

Such Life as Juba never felt till now!

Marc.

Believe me, Prince, before I thought thee dead,

I did not know my ſelf how much I lov'd thee.

Jub.

O fortunate Miſtake!

Marc.

O happy Marcia!

Jub.

My Joy! my beſt Beloved! my only Wiſh!

How ſhall I ſpeak the Tranſport of my Soul!

Marc.

Lucia, thy Arm! Oh let me reſt upon it!—

The Vital Blood, that had forſook my Heart,

Return's again in ſuch tumultuous Tides,

It quite o'ercomes me. Lead to my Apartment.

O Prince! I bluſh to think what I have ſaid,

But Fate has wreſted the Confeſſion from me;

Go on, and proſper in the Paths of Honour,

Thy Virtue will excuſe my Paſſion for thee,

And make the Gods propitious to our Love.

[Ex. Marc. and Luc.

Jub.

I am ſo bleſs'd, I fear 'tis all a Dream.

Fortune, thou now haſt made amends for all

[50] Thy paſt Unkindneſs. I abſolve my Stars.

What tho' Numidia add her conquer'd Towns

And Provinces to ſwell the Victor's Triumph?

Juba will never at his Fate repine,

Let Caeſar have the World, if Marcia's mine.

[Exit.

A March at a Diſtance.

Enter Cato and Lucius.

Luc.

I ſtand aſtoniſh't! What, the bold Sempronius!

That ſtill broke foremoſt through the Croud of Patriots,

As with a Hurricane of Zeal tranſported,

And virtuous ev'n to Madneſs—

Cato.

Truſt me, Lucius,

Our civil Diſcords have produced ſuch Crimes,

Such monſtrous Crimes, I am ſurprized at nothing.

—O Lucius, I am ſick of this bad World!

The Day-light and the Sun grow painful to me.

Enter Portius.

But ſee where Portius come's! What mean's this Haſte?

Why are thy Looks thus changed?

Port.

My Heart is griev'd.

I bring ſuch News as will afflict my Father.

Cato.

Has Caeſar ſhed more Roman Blood?

Port.

Not ſo.

The Traytor Syphax, as within the Square

He exerciſed his Troops, the Signal giv'n,

Flew off at once with his Numidian Horſe

To the South Gate, where Marcus holds the Watch.

I ſaw, and call'd to ſtop him, but in vain,

He toſs'd his Arm aloft, and proudly told me,

He wou'd not ſtay and periſh like Sempronius.

Cato.

Perfidious Men! But haſte my Son, and ſee

[51] Thy Brother Marcus act's a Roman's Part.

[Exit Portius.

—Lucius, the Torrent bears too hard upon me:

Juſtice give's Way to Force: the conquer'd World

Is Caeſar's: Cato has no Buſineſs in it.

Luc.

While Pride, Oppreſſion, and Injuſtice reign,

The World will ſtill demand her Cato's Preſence.

In Pity to Mankind, ſubmit to Caeſar,

And reconcile thy Mighty Soul to Life.

Cato.

Wou'd Lucius have me live to ſwell the Number

Of Caeſar's Slaves, or by a baſe Submiſſion

Give up the Cauſe of Rome, and own a Tyrant?

Luc.

The Victor never will impoſe on Cato

Ungen'rous Terms. His Enemies confeſs

The Virtues of Humanity are Caeſar's.

Cato.

Curſe on his Virtues! They've undone his Country.

Such Popular Humanity is Treaſon—

But ſee young Juba! the good Youth appears

Full of the Guilt of his perfidious Subjects.

Luc.

Alas, poor Prince! his Fate deſerves Compaſſion.

Enter Juba.

Jub.

I bluſh, and am conſounded to appear

Before thy Preſence, Cato.

Cato.

What's thy Crime?

Jub.

I'm a Numidian.

Cato.

And a brave one too,

Thou haſt a Roman Soul.

Jub.

Haſt thou not heard

Of my falſe Countrymen?

Cato.

Alas, young Prince,

Falſhood and Fraud ſhoot up in ev'ry Soil,

The Product of all Climes—Rome has its Caeſars.

Jub.

'Tis gen'rous thus to comfort the Diſtreſs'd.

Cato.

'Tis juſt to give Applauſe where 'tis deſerv'd;

Thy Virtue, Prince, has ſtood the Teſt of Fortune,

Like pureſt Gold, that, tortur'd in the Furnace,

[52] Comes out more bright, and brings forth all its Weight.

Juba.

What ſhall I anſwer thee? my raviſh'd Heart

O'erflows with ſecret Joy: I'd rather gain

Thy Praiſe, O Cato, than Numidia's Empire.

Enter Portius haſtily.

Port.

Misfortune on Misfortune! Grief on Grief!

My Brother Marcus—

Cato.

Hah! what has he done?

Has he forſook his Poſt? has he giv'n way?

Did he look tamely on, and let 'em paſs?

Port.

Scarce had I left my Father, but I met him

Born on the Shields of his ſurviving Soldiers,

Breathleſs and pale, and cover'd o'er with Wounds.

Long, at the Head of his few faithful Friends,

He ſtood the Shock of a whole Hoſt of Foes,

Till obſtinately Brave, and bent on Death,

Oppreſt with Multitudes, he greatly fell.

Cato.

I'm ſatisfy'd.

Port.

Nor did he fall before

His Sword had pierc'd through the falſe Heart of Syphax:

Yonder he lie's. I ſaw the hoary Traytor

Grin in the Pangs of Death, and bite the Ground.

Cato.

Thanks to the Gods! my Boy has done his Duty.

—Portius, when I am dead, beſure thou place

His Urne near mine.

Port.

Long may they keep aſunder!

Luc.

O Cato, arm thy Soul with all its Patience;

See where the Corps of thy dead Son approaches!

The Citizens and Senators, alarm'd,

Have gather'd round it, and attend it weeping.

Cato meeting the Corps.

Cato.

Welcome my Son! Here lay him down, my Friends,

Full in my Sight, that I may view at leiſure

[53] The bloody Coarſe, and count thoſe glorious Wounds.

How beautiful is Death, when earn'd by Virtue!

Who wou'd not be that Youth? what Pity is it

That we can die but once to ſerve our Country!

Why ſit's this Sadneſs on your Brows, my Friends?

I ſhou'd have bluſh'd if Cato's Houſe had ſtood

Secure, and flouriſh'd in a Civil War.

—Portius, behold thy Brother, and remember

Thy Life is not thy own, when Rome demands it.

Juba.

Was ever Man like this!

[Aſide.

Cato.

Alas my Friends!

Why mourn you thus? Let not a private Loſs

Afflict your Hearts. 'Tis Rome requires our Tears.

The Miſtreſs of the World, the Seat of Empire,

The Nurſe of Heroes, the Delight of Gods,

That humbled the proud Tyrants of the Earth,

And ſet the Nations free, Rome is no more.

O Liberty! O Virtue! O my Country!

Juba.

Behold that upright Man! Rome fills his Eyes

With Tears, that ſlow'd not o'er his own dead Son.

[Aſide.

Cato.

Whate'er the Roman Virtue has ſubdu'd,

The Sun's whole Courſe, the Day and Year, are Caeſar's.

For him the ſelf-devoted Decii dy'd,

The Fabii fell, and the great Scipio's conquer'd:

Ev'n Pompey fought for Caeſar. Oh my Friends!

How is the Toil of Fate, the Work of Ages,

The Roman Empire fall'n! O curſt Ambition!

Fall'n into Caeſar's Hands! Our great Fore-Fathers

Had left him nought to Conquer but his Country.

Juba.

While Cato lives, Caeſar will bluſh to ſee

Mankind enſlaved, and be aſhamed of Empire.

Cato.

Caeſar aſhamed! Has not he ſeen 'Pharſalia!

Luc.

Cato, 'tis Time thou ſave thy ſelf and us.

Cato.

Loſe not a Thought on me. I'm out of Danger.

Heav'n will not leave me in the Victor's Hand.

Caeſar ſhall never ſay l've conquer'd Cato.

But oh! my Friends, your Safety fills my Heart

[54] With anxious Thoughts: A thouſand ſecret Terrors,

Riſe in my Soul: How ſhall I ſave my Friends!

'Tis now, O Caeſar, I begin to fear thee.

Luc.

Caeſar has Mercy, if we ask it of him.

Cato.

Then ask it, I conjure you! let him know

Whate'er was done againſt him, Cato did it.

Add, if you pleaſe, that I requeſt it of him,

That I my ſelf, with Tears, requeſt it of him,

The Virtue of my Friends may paſs unpuniſh'd.

Juba, my Heart is troubled for thy Sake.

Shou'd I adviſe thee to regain Numidia,

Or ſeek the Conqueror?—

Jub.

If I forſake thee

Whilſt I have Life, may Heav'n abandon Juba!

Cato.

Thy Virtues, Prince, if I foreſee aright,

Will one Day make thee Great; at Rome, hereafter,

'Twill be no Crime to have been Cato's Friend.

Portius, draw near! My Son, thou oft haſt ſeen

Thy Sire engaged in a corrupted State,

Wreſtling with Vice and Faction: Now thou ſee'ſt me

Spent, overpow'r'd, deſpairing of Succeſs;

Let me adviſe thee to retreat betimes

To thy Paternal Seat, the Sabine Field,

Where the great Cenſor toil'd with his own Hands,

And all our frugal Anceſtors were bleſs'd

In humble Virtues, and a Rural Life.

There live retired, pray for the Peace of Rome,

Content thy ſelf to be Obſcurely good.

When Vice prevails, and impious Men bear Sway,

The Poſt of Honour is a private Station.

Port.

I hope, my Father does not recommend

A Life to Portius, that he ſcorns himſelf.

Cato.

Farewel, my Friends! if there be any of you

That dares not truſt the Victor's Clemency,

Know there are Ships prepared by my Command,

(Their Sails already op'ning to the Winds)

That ſhall convey you to the wiſht-for Port.

[55] Is there aught elſe, my Friends, I can do for you?

The Conqueror draws near. Once more Farewel!

If e'er we meet hereafter, we ſhall meet

In happier Climes, and on a ſafer Shore,

Where Caeſar never ſhall approach us more.

There the brave Youth, with Love of Virtue fired,

[Pointing to the Body of his dead Son.

Who greatly in his Country's Cauſe expired,

Shall know he Conquer'd. The firm Patriot there

(Who made the Welfare of Mankind his Care)

Tho' ſtill, by Faction, Vice, and Fortune, croſt,

Shall find the gen'rous Labour was not loſt.

End of the Fourth Act.

[56]

ACT V. SCENE I.

Cato ſolus, ſitting in a thoughtful Poſture: In his Hand Plato's Book on the Immortality of the Soul. A drawn Sword on the Table by him.

IT muſt be ſo—Plato, thou reaſon'ſt well!—
Elſe whence this pleaſing Hope, this fond Deſire,
This Longing after Immortality?
Or whence this ſecret Dread, and inward Horror,
Of falling into Nought? Why ſhrinks the Soul
Back on her ſelf, and ſtartles at Deſtruction?
'Tis the Divinity that ſtir's within us;
'Tis Heav'n its ſelf, that point's out an Hereafter,
And intimate's Eternity to Man.
Eternity! thou pleaſing, dreadful, Thought!
Through what Variety of untry'd Being,
Through what new Scenes and Changes muſt we paſs!
The wide, th' unbounded Proſpect, lie's before me;
But Shadows, Clouds, and Darkneſs, reſt upon it.
Here will I hold. If there's a Pow'r above us,
(And that there is all Nature cries aloud
Through all her Works) He muſt delight in Virtue;
And that which he delights in muſt be happy.
But when! or where!—This World was made for Caeſar.
I'm weary of Conjectures—This muſt end 'em. [Laying his Hand on his Sword.

[57]Thus am I doubly arm'd: my Death and Life,
My Bane and Antidote are both before me:
This in a Moment brings me to an End:
But this inform's me I ſhall never die.
The Soul, ſecur'd in her Exiſtence, ſmile's
At the drawn Dagger, and defie's its Point.
The Stars ſhall fade away, the Sun himſelf
Grow dim with Age, and Nature ſink in Years;
But thou ſhalt flouriſh in immortal Youth,
Unhurt amidſt the War of Elements,
The Wrecks of Matter, and the Cruſh of Worlds.

What means this Heavineſs that hangs upon me?
This Lethargy that creeps through all my Senſes?
Nature oppreſs'd, and harraſs'd out with Care,
Sinks down to Reſt. This once I'll favour her.
That my awaken'd Soul may take her Flight,
Renew'd in all her Strength, and freſh with Life,
An Off'ring fit for Heav'n. Let Guilt or Fear
Diſturb Man's Reſt: Cato knows neither of 'em,
Indiff'rent in his Choice to ſleep or die.

Enter Portius.

But hah! how's this, my Son? Why this Intruſion?
Were not my Orders that I wou'd be private?
Why am I diſobey'd?

Port.

Alas, my Father!

What means this Sword? this Inſtrument of Death?

Let me convey it hence!

Cato.

Raſh Youth, forbear!

Port.

O let the Pray'rs, th' Entreaties of your Friends,

Their Tears, their common Danger wreſt it from you.

Cato.

Wou'd'ſt thou betray me? Wou'd'ſt thou give me up

A Slave, a Captive, into Caeſar's Hands?

Retire, and learn Obedience to a Father,

Or know, young Man!—

Port.

[58]

O Sir, forgive your Son,

Whoſe Grief hangs heavy on him! O my Father!

How am I ſure it is not the laſt Time

I e'er ſhall call you ſo! Be not diſpleaſed,

O be not angry with me whilſt I weep,

And, in the Anguiſh of my Heart, beſeech you

To quit the dreadful Purpoſe of your Soul.

Cato.

Thou haſt been ever good and dutiful.

[Embracing him.

Weep not, my Son. All will be well again.

The righteous Gods, whom I have ſought to pleaſe,

Will ſuccour Cato, and preſerve his Children.

Port.

Your Words give Comfort to my drooping Heart.

Cato.

Portius, thou may'ſt rely upon my Conduct.

Thy Father will not act what misbecome's him.

But go, my Son, and ſee if aught be wanting

Among thy Father's Friends, ſee them embarqued;

And tell me if the Winds and Seas befriend them.

My Soul is quite weigh'd down with Care, and asks

The ſoft Refreſhment of a Moment's Sleep.

[Exit.

Port.

My Thoughts are more at Eaſe, my Heart revives.

Enter Marcia.

O Marcia, O my Siſter, ſtill there's Hope!

Our Father will not caſt away a Life

So needful to us all, and to his Country.

He is retired to Reſt, and ſeems to cheriſh

Thoughts full of Peace. He has diſpatcht me hence

With Orders, that beſpeak a Mind compoſed,

And ſtudious for the Safety of his Friends.

Marcia, take care that none diſturb his Slumbers.

[Exit.

Marc.

O ye immortal Powers, that guard the Good,

Watch round his Couch, and ſoften his Repoſe,

Baniſh his Sorrows, and becalm his Soul

With eaſie Dreams; remember all his Virtues!

And ſhow Mankind that Goodneſs is your Care.

[59] Enter Lucia.

Luc.

Where is your Father, Marcia, where is Cato?

Marc.

Lucia, ſpeak low, he is retired to Reſt.

Lucia, I feel a gently-dawning Hope

Riſe in my Soul. We ſhall be happy ſtill.

Luc.

Alas, I tremble when I think on Cato,

In every View, in every Thought I tremble!

Cato is ſtern, and awful as a God,

He knows not how to wink at humne Frailty,

Or pardon Weakneſs, that he never felt.

Marc.

Though ſtern and awful to the Foes of Rome,

He is all Goodneſs, Lucia, always mild,

Compaſſionate, and gentle to his Friends.

Fill'd with Domeſtick Tenderneſs, the beſt,

The kindeſt Father! I have ever found him

Eaſie, and good, and bounteous to my Wiſhes.

Luc.

'Tis his Conſent alone can make us bleſs'd.

Marcia, we both are equally involv'd

In the ſame intricate, perplex'd, Diſtreſs.

The cruel Hand of Fate, that has deſtroy'd

Thy Brother Marcus, whom we both lament—

Marc.

And ever ſhall lament, unhappy Youth!

Luc.

Has ſet my Soul at large, and now I ſtand

Looſe of my Vow. But who knows Cato's Thoughts?

Who know's how yet he may diſpoſe of Portius,

Or how he has determin'd of thy ſelf?

Marc.

Let him but live! commit the reſt to Heav'n.

Enter Lucius.

Luc.

Sweet are the Slumbers of the virtuous Man!

O Marcia, I have ſeen thy Godlike Father:

Some Pow'r inviſible ſupport's his Soul,

And bear's it up in all its wonted Greatneſs.

A kind refreſhing Sleep is fall'n upon him:

[60] I ſaw him ſtretcht at Eaſe, his Fancy loſt

In pleaſing Dreams; as I drew near his Couch,

He ſmiled, and cry'd, Caeſar thou can'ſt not hurt me.

Marc.

His Mind ſtill labour's with ſome dreadful Thought.

Luc.

Lucia, why all this Grief, theſe Floods of Sorrow?

Dry up thy Tears, my Child, we all are ſafe

While Cato lives—His Preſence will protect us.

Enter Juba.

Juba.

Lucius, the Horſemen are return'd from viewing

The Number, Strength, and Poſture of our Foes,

Who now encamp within a ſhort Hour's March.

On the high Point of yon bright Weſtern Tower

We kenn them from afar, the ſetting Sun

Plays on their ſhining Arms and burniſh'd Helmets,

And cover's all the Field with Gleams of Fire.

Luc.

Marcia, 'tis time we ſhou'd awake thy Father.
Caeſar is ſtill diſpoſed to give us Terms,
And waits at Diſtance 'till he hears from Cato.

Enter Portius.

Portius, thy Looks ſpeak ſomewhat of Importance.
What Tidings doſt thou bring? methinks I ſee
Unuſual Gladneſs ſparkling in thy Eyes.

Port.

As I was haſting to the Port, where now

My Father's Friends, impatient for a Paſſage,

Accuſe the ling'ring Winds, a Sail arrived

From Pompey's Son, who through the Realms of Spain

Call's out for Vengeance on his Father's Death,

And rouſe's the whole Nation up to Arms.

Were Cato at their Head, once more might Rome

Aſſert her Rights, and claim her Liberty.

But heark! What mean's that Groan! O give me way,

And let me fly into my Father's Preſence.

Luc.

Cato, amidſt his Slumbers, thinks on Rome,

And in the wild Diſorder of his Soul

[61] Mourn's o'er his Country; Hah! a ſecond Groan!—

Heav'n guard us all—

Marc.

Alas, 'tis not the Voice

Of one who ſleep's! 'tis agonizing Pain,

'Tis Death is in that Sound—

Re-enter Portius.

Port.

O Sight of Woe!

O Marcia, what we fear'd is come to paſs!

Cato is fall'n upon his Sword—

Luc.

O Portius,

Hide all the Horrours of thy mournful Tale,

And let us gueſs the reſt

Port.

I've rais'd him up,

And placed him in his Chair, where pale, and faint,

He gaſp's for Breath, and, as his Life flow's from him,

Demand's to ſee his Friends.

His weeping Servants,

Obſequious to his Orders, bear him hither.

[The Back Scene opens, and diſcovers Cato.

Marc.

O Heav'n aſſiſt me in this dreadful Hour

To pay the laſt ſad Duties to my Father.

Juba.

Theſe are thy Triumphs, thy Exploits, O Caeſar!

Luc.

Now is Rome fall'n indeed!—

[Cato brought forward in his Chair.

Cato.

Here ſet me down—

Portius come near me—are my Friends embark'd?

Can any thing be thought of for their Service?

Whilſt I yet live, let me not live in vain.

—O Lucius, art thou here?—Thou art too good!—

Let this our Friendſhip live between our Children;

Make Portius happy in thy Daughter Lucia.

Alas poor Man, he weeps!—Marcia, my Daughter—

—O bend me forward!—Juba loves thee, Marcia.

A Senator of Rome, while Rome ſurvived,

[62] Wou'd not have match'd his Daughter with a King,

But Caeſar's Arms have thrown down all Diſtinction;

Whoe'er is Brave and Virtuous, is a Roman—

—I'm ſick to Death—O when ſhall I get looſe

From this vain World, th' Abode of Guilt and Sorrow!—

—And yet methinks a Beam of Light breaks in

On my departing Soul. Alas, I fear

I've been too haſty. O ye Pow'rs, that ſearch

The Heart of Man, and weigh his inmoſt Thoughts,

If I have done amiſs, impute it not!—

The beſt may Erre, but you are Good, and—oh!

[Dies.

Luc.

There fled the greateſt Soul that ever warm'd

A Roman Breaſt. O Cato! O my Friend!

Thy Will ſhall be religiouſly obſerv'd.

But let us bear this awful Corps to Caeſar,

And lay it in his Sight, that it may ſtand

A Fence betwixt us and the Victor's Wrath;

Cato, tho' dead, ſhall ſtill protect his Friends.

From hence, let fierce contending Nations know

What dire Effects from Civil Diſcord flow.

'Tis this that ſhakes our Country with Alarms,

And gives up Rome a Prey to Roman Arms,

Produces Fraud, and Cruelty, and Strife,

And robb's the Guilty World of Cato's Life.

[Exeunt Omnes.

End of the Fifth Act.

Appendix A EPILOGUE,

[]

By Dr. GARTH.

Spoken by Mrs. Porter.

WHAT odd fantaſtick Things we Women do!
Who wou'd not liſten when young Lovers woo?
But die a Maid, yet have the Choice of Two!
Ladies are often cruel to their Coſt;
To give you Pain, themſelves they puniſh moſt.
Vows of Virginity ſhou'd well be weigh'd;
Too oft they're cancell'd, tho' in Convents made.
Wou'd you revenge ſuch raſh Reſolves—you may:
Be ſpightful—and believe the thing we ſay,
We hate you when you're eaſily ſaid Nay.
How needleſs, if you knew us, were your Fears?
Let Love have Eyes, and Beauty will have Ears.
Our Hearts are form'd, as you your ſelves wou'd chuſe,
Too proud to ask, too humble to refuſe:
We give to Merit, and to Wealth we ſell;
He ſighs with moſt Succeſs that ſettles well.
The Woes of Wedlock with the Joys we mix;
'Tis beſt repenting in a Coach and ſix.

Blame not our Conduct, ſince we but purſue
Thoſe lively Leſſons we have learn'd from you:
Your Breaſts no more the Fire of Beauty warms,
But wicked Wealth uſurps the Power of Charms;
[] What Pains to get the Gaudy Thing you hate,
To ſwell in Show, and be a Wretch in State!
At Plays you ogle, at the Ring you bow;
Even Churches are no Sanctuaries now.
There, golden Idols all your Vows receive;
She is no Goddeſs that has nought to give.
Oh, may once more the happy Age appear,
When Words were artleſs, and the Thoughts ſincere;
When Gold and Grandeur were unenvy'd Things,
And Courts leſs coveted than Groves and Springs.
Love then ſhall only mourn when Truth complains,
And Conſtancy feel Tranſport in its Chains.
Sighs with Succeſs their own ſoft Anguiſh tell,
And Eyes ſhall utter what the Lips conceal:
Virtue again to its bright Station climb,
And Beauty fear no Enemy but Time.
The Fair ſhall liſten to Deſert alone,
And every Lucia find a Cato's Son.

FINIS.

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Citation Suggestion for this Object: TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 3875 Cato A tragedy As it is acted at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane by Her Majesty s servants By Mr Addison. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5E7D-0