## PROLOGUE.

He bids your Breasts with Ancient Ardor rife,
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 Cæsar' 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 pass,
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 pass unbeeded by;
Her Last good Man dejected Rome ador'd,
And honour'd Cæsar's left 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

## PROLOGUE.

Our Scene precariously subsists too long
On Fench Translation, and Italian Song.
Dare to have Sense your selves; Affert 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

2

CATO.

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 Curfe,
Some hidden Thunder in the Stores of Heav'n,
Red with uncommon Wrath, to blast the Man
Who owes his Greatnefs to his Country's Ruin ?

Por. Believe me, Marcus, 'tis an impious Greatnefs,
And mixt with too much Horrour to be envy'd:
How does the Luftre of our Father's Actions,
Through the dark Cloud of Ills that cover him,
Break out, and burn with more triumphant Brightnefs!
His Suff'ring thine, and spread a Glory round him;
Greatly unfortunate, he fights the Caufe
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?
Againft a World, a bafe degenerate World,
That courts the Yoke, and bows the Neck to Cæsar?
Pent up in Utica he vainly forms
A poor Epitome of Roman Greatnefs,
And, cover'd with Namidian 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,
Diftraet 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,
Loft and bewilder'd in the fruitieſs Search;
Nor fees with how much Art the Windings run,
Nor where the regular Confuſion ends.

Marc.

3

CATO.

Marc. Theſe are Suggesions of a Mind at Eafe:
Oh Portius, didst thou tafe but half the Griefs
That wring my Soul, thou cou'dt not talk thus coldly.
Paffion unpity'd, and ſuccesſeſs Love
Plant Daggers in my Heart, and aggravate
My other Griefs. Were but my Lucra kind !

Por. Thou fee't not that thy Brother is thy Rival:
But I muſt hide it, for I know thy Temper.

Now, Marcus, now, thy Virtue 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 ruth on certain Death,
Then ſhalt thou fee that Marcus is not flow
To follow Glory, and confes his Father.
Love is not to be reaſon'd down, or loft
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 Fiercenefs of his Native Temper
To copy out our Father's bright Example.
He loves our Sifter Marcia, greatly loves her,
His Eyes, his Looks, his Actions all betray it:
But fill the ſmother'd Fondneſs burns within him.
When moſt it dwells and labours for a Vent,
The Senſe of Honour and Deſire of Fame
Drive the big Paffion back into his Heart.
What! ſhall an African, ſhall Juba's Heir
Reproach great Cato's Son, and ſhow the World

B 2

[Aſſa.

A

4

C A T O.

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 caft me at a Distance,
And thrown me out in the Purfuits of Honour?

Por. Marcus, I know thy generous Temper well ;
Fling but the Appearance of Difhonour 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 whilft 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 eafe
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 Soſtneſs hanging on me.

[Exit.]

S C E N E   II.

Sempronius *ſolus*.

Confpiracies 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 exprefs our Friendſhip,
Each might receive a Slave into his Arms:

This

5

C A T O.

This Sun perhaps, this Morning Sun's the laſt
That e're shall rife on Roman Liberty.

Por. My Father has this Morning call'd together
To this poor Hall his little Roman Senate,
(The Leavings of Pbarſalia) to confute
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 Cæsar.

Semp. Not all the Pomp and Majeſty of Rome
Can raſe her Senate more than Cato's Prefence,
His Virtues render our Affembly awful,
They ſtrike with ſomething like religious Fear,
And make ev'n Cæsar tremble at the Head
Of Armies ſluſh'd with Conqueſt: O my Portius,
Could I but call that wondrous Man my Father,
Wou'd but thy Sifter Marcia be propitious—
To thy Friend's Vows: I might be bleſs'd indeed!

Por. Alas! Sempronius, wou'd I thou talk of Love
To Marcia, whilſt her Father's Life's in Danger?
Thou mightſt as well court the pale trembling Vesper,
When the beholds the holy Flame expiring.

Semp. The more I fee 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 confpicuous.

Por. Well doſt thou feem 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 Caufe,
And try to rouſe up all that's Roman in 'em.
'Is not in Mortals to command Succeſs,
But we'll do more, Sempronius ; we'll deferve it.

[Exit.
Sera-

6

## CATO.

### Sempronius *sotus*.

Courfe 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 Courfe.
*Cato* has ufed me III: He has refuted
His Daughter Marcia to my ardent Vows.
Besides, his baffled Arms and ruined Cause
Are Barrs to my Ambition. Cæsar's Favour,
That showrs down Greatnefs 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 founded 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 Mafter.

Semp. Believe me, Syphax, there's no Time to wafe;
Ev'n whilft we speak, our Conqueror comes on,
And gathers Ground upon us ev'ry Moment.
Alas! thou know'ft not Cæsar's active Soul,
With what a dreadful Courfe he rufhes on
From War to War: In vain has Nature form'd
Mountains and Oceans to oppofe his Paffage;
He bounds o'er all, victorious in his March,
The Alpes and Pyreneans fink before him;
Through Winds, and Waves, and Storms, he works his Way,
Impa-

## CATO.

7

Impatient for the Battel: One Day more
Will fet 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 Cæsar,
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 expeſt 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 Cæsar'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 Paffion, (tis the ſureſt Way ;)
I'll bellow out for Rome and for my Country,
And mouth at Cæsar 'till I ſhake the Senate.

Your cold Hypocriſes 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 Hafe:
O think what anxious Moments paſs between

The

8

CATO.

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!
Defrustration hangs on ev'ry Word we speak,
On ev'ry Thought, 'till the concluding Stroke
Determines all, and clofes our Defiga.

Syphax folus.

I'll try if yet I can reduce to Reafon
This head-ftrong Youth, and make him spurn at Cato.
The Time is short, Cæsar comes rusfing on us—
But hold! young Juba sees me, and approaches.

[Exit.]

## SCENE IV.

Juba, Syphax.

Jub. Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone.
I have obferved 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 fits heavy at my Heart.
I have not yet so much the Roman in me.

Jub. Why doft thou caft out such ungen'rous Terms
Against the Lords and Sov'reigns of the World?
Doft thou not fee Mankind fall down before 'em,
And own the Force of their Superior Virtue?
Is there a Nation in the Wilds of Africk,
Amidft our barren Rocks and burning Sands,
That does not tremble at the Roman Name?

Syph. Gods! where's the Worth that fets this People up
Above your own Numidia's tawny Sons!

Do

CATO.

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 inftucts
The fiery Steed, and trains him to his Hand?
Or guide's in Troops th'embattled Elephant,
Loaden with War? Thefe, thefe are Arts, my Prince,
In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome.

Jub. Thefe 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 unpolifh'd World,
And lay it under the Reftraint of Laws;
To make Man mild and sociable to Man;
To cultivate the wild licentious Savage
With Wifdom, Discipline, and lib'ral Arts;
Th'Embellifhments of Life: Virtues like thefe,
Make Human Nature ſhine, reform the Soul,
And break our fierce Barbarians into Men.

Syph. Patience kind Heav'ns!—Excufe an old Man's warmth.
What are thefe wondrous civilizing Arts,
This Roman Polifh, and this smooth Behaviour,
That render Man thus traftable and tame?
Are they not only to difguife our Paffions,
To fet 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 defign'd us?

Jub. To strike thee Dumb: Turn up thy Eyes to Cato!
There may'ft thou fee to what a Godlike Height
The Roman Virtues lift up mortal Man.
While good, and juſt, and anxious for his Friends,
He's ſtill feverely bent against himself;
Renouncing Sleep, and Reſt, and Food, and Eaſe,
He ſtrives with Thirst and Hunger, Toil and Heat;
And when his Fortune fets before him all

C

The

10

C A T O.

The Pomps and Pleasures that his Soul can wifh,
His rigid Virtue will accept of none.

*Syph. Believe me, Prince, there's not an African*
That traverses our vaft Numidian Defarts
In quest of Prey, and lives upon his Bow,
But better practifes these boafted Virtues.
Coarfe are his Meals, the Fortune of the Chafe,
Amidft the running Stream he flakes his Thirft,
Toil's all the Day, and at th' approach of Night
On the firft friendly Bank he throws him down,
Or refts his Head upon a Rock'till Morn:
Then rifes fresh, purfues his wonted Game,
And if the following Day he chance to find
A new Repaft, or an untafted Spring,
Bleffes 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 Senfe,
Where ſhall we find the Man that bears Affliction,
Great and Majeflick in his Griefs, like Cato ?
Heav'ns, with what Strength, what Steadineſs of Mind,
He Triumphs in the midft of all his Sufferings !
How does he rife 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 Stoicifm.*

Had not your Royal Father thought so highly
Of Roman Virtue, and of Cato's Caufe,
He had not fall'n by a Slave's Hand inglorious:
Nor would his flaughter'd Army now have lain
On Africk's Sands, disfigur'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 Fears into my Eyes.*

*Syph. Oh, that you'd profit by your Father's ills.*

Jub.

C A T O.

II

*Jub. What wou'd ſt thou have me do ?*

*Syph. Abandon Cato.*

*Jub. Syphax, I ſhould be more than twice an Orphan
By ſuch a Lofs.*

*Syph. Ay, there's the Tie that binds you!
You long to call him Father. Marcia's Charms
Work in your Heart unſeen, and pleād 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 ſed me thus.
Alas, he's dead! But can you e'er forget
The tender Sorrows, and the Pangs of Nature,
The fond Embraceſs, 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 pleafe my Soul.*

The good old King, at parting, wrung my Hand,
(His Eyes brim-full of Tears) then fighting cry'd,
Prithee be careful of my Son ! — his Grief
Swell'd up ſo high he cou'd 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 Paffion, and I'll ſtand its ſhock,
Calm and unruffled as a Summer-Sea,*

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

*Syph. Alas, my Prince, I'd guide you to your Safety.*

*Jub. I do believe thou wou'd ſt, but tell me how ?*

*Syph. Fly from the Fate that follows Cæsar's Foes.*

*Jub. My Father ſcorn'd to do't.*

*Syph. And therefore dy'd.*

C 2

Jub.

12

C A T O.

Jub. Better to die ten thoufand thoufand Deaths,
Than wound my Honour.

Syph. Rather say your Love.

Jub. Syphax, I've promis'd to preferve my Temper.
Why wilt thou urge me to confes a Flame,
I long have flitfled, and wou'd fain conceal?

Syph. Believe me, Prince, 'tis hard to conquer Love,
But eafie to divert and break its Force:
Abfence might cure it, or a ſecond Miftrels
Light up another Flame, and put out this.
The glowing Dames of Zama's Royal Court
Have Faces fluſt 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 Tinſture 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, unaſſected Wifdom,
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 confider—

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.

C A T O.

13

Syph. 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 Cæsar.

Marc. I thou'd be griev'd, young Prince, to think my Prefence
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 Wifhes follow me to Battel!
The Thought will give new Vigour to my Arm,
Add Strength and Weight to my defcending Sword,
And drive it in a Tempeſt on the Foe.

Marc. My Prayers and Wifhes always ſhall attend
The Friends of Rome, the glorious Caufe of Virtue,
And Men approv'd of by the Gods and Cato.

Jub. That Juba may deferve 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'er 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!

And

14

C A T O.

And, in the Shock of charging Hofts, remember
What glorious Deeds fhould grace the Man, who hopes
For Marcia's Love.

Luc. Marcia, you're too severe:

How cou'd you chide the young good-natur'd Prince,
And drive him from you with fo ftern 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 fo movingly in his Behalf,
I dare not truft my felf to hear him talk.

Luc. Why will you fight againft fo sweet a Paffion,
And feel your Heart to fuch a World of Charms?

Mar. How, Lucia, wou'dft thou have me funk away
In pleafing Dreams, and lofe my felf in Love,
When ev'ry Moment Cato's Life's at Stake?
Cefar comes arm'd with Terror and Revenge,
And aims his Thunder at my Father's Head:
Shou'd not the sad Occafion Swallow up
My other Cares, and draw them all into it?

Luc. Why have not I this Conftancy of Mind,
Who have fo many Griefs to try its Force?
Sure, Nature form'd me of her Softeft Mould,
Enfeebled all my Soul with tender Paffions,
And funk 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 Diftrefſs;
Tell me who raifes up this Conflict in thee?

Luc. I need not bluh to name them, when I tell thee
They're Marcia's Brothers, and the Sons of Cato.

Mar. I they both behold thee with their Sifter's Eyes:
And often have reveal'd their Paffion to me.
But tell me, whoſe Addrefs thou favour't moſt?
I long to know, and yet I dread to hear it.

Luc. Which is it Marcia withes for ?

Mar. For neither—

And

[Exit.]

C A T O.

15

And yet for both —The Youths have equal Share
In Marcia's Wifhes, and divide their Sifter:
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 Paffion,
Pleas'd and difgulſed with it knows not what.

Mar. O Lucia, I'm perplex'd, O tell me which
I muſt hereafter call my happy Brother?

Luc. Suppofe I were 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 Softeft, the ſinceret Vows !

Complacency, and Truth, and manly Sweetneſs
Dwell ever on his Tongue, and ſmooth his Thoughts.

Marcus is over-warm, his ſond Complaints
Have ſo much Earneſtneſs and Paffion 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 raife
Tempeſts and Storms in his affiſted Boſom!

I dread the Conſequence—

Luc. You ſeem to plead

Againſt your Brother Portius—

Mar. Heav'n forbid!

Had Portius been the unſucceſſul Lover,
The fame Compaſſion wou'd have fall'n on him.

Luc. Was ever Virgin Love diſtrefſt like mine!

Portius himself ſoft falls in Tears before me.

As if he mourn'd his Rival's ill Succeſſs.

Then bids me hide the Motions of my Heart,

Nor ſhow which Way it turns. So much he fears

The

16

C A T O.

The fad 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 Defpair,
But waits for happier Times, and kinder Moments.
Luc. Alas, too late I find my self involved
In endlefs Griefs and Labyrinths of Woe,
Born to afflict my Marcia's Family,
And few Diffention 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 difcolour'd with our preſent Woes,
May ſtill grow bright, and ſmile with happier Hours.
So the pure limpid Stream, when foul with Stains
Of rufing Torrents, and defcending Rains,
Work's it ſelf clear, and as it runs, refines;
'Till by Degrees, the floating Mirrour ſhines,
Reſeets each Flow'r that on the Border grows,
And a new Heav'n in its fair Boſom flows.

[Exeunt.]

End of the First Act.

ACT

C A T O.

17

## ACT II. SCENE I.

### The Senate.

Sem. ROME still survives in this affembled 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' Occafion of our Meeting. Héark! he comes!
May all the Guardian Gods of Rome direct him!

[A Sound of Trumpets.]

Enter Cato.

Cato. Fathers, we once again are met in Council.
Caſar's Approach has ſummon'd us together,
And Rome attends her Fate from our Refolves:
How ſhall we treat this bold alſpiring 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 Caſar's.
Why ſhould I mention Juba's Overthrow,
And Seipio'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 Defarts.
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.

D

Sem.

18

CATO.

CATO.

19

Semp. My Voice is still for War.
Gods, can a Roman Senate long debate
Which of the Two to choose, Slav'ry or Death!
No, let us rife 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 rife,
May reach his Heart, and free the World from Bondage.
Rife, Fathers, rife; 'tis Rome demands our Help;
Rife, and revenge her slaughter'd Citizens,
Or share their Fate: The Corps of half her Senate
Manure the Fields of Theffaly, 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.
Rouge 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 flow,
And Scipio's Ghost walk's unreveng'd among't us.

Cato. Let not a Torrent of impetuous Zeal
Transport thee thus beyond the Bounds of Reafon:
True Fortitude is seen in great Exploits
That Juftice warrant's, and that Wifdom guide's,
All else is tow'ring Frenzy and DiftraCTION.
Are not the Lives of thofe, 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 Reafon fay,
We lavifh at our Deaths the Blood of Thoufands
To grace our Fall, and make our Ruin glorious?
Lucius, we next would know what's your Opinion.
Luc. My Thoughts, I muſt confefs, are turn'd on Peace.
Already have our Quarrels fill'd the World
With Widows and with Orphans: Scythia mourn's
Our guilty Wars, and Earth's remoteft Regions
Lie half unpeopled by the Feuds of Rome:

'Tis

'Tis Time to ſheath the Sword, and ſpare Mankind.
It is not Cæsar, 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 rife 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 Commonwealth; when this End fail's,
Arms have no further Use: Our Country's Caufe,
That drew our Swords, now wrefts '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 Difcourſe and mild Behaviour oft
Conceal a Traytor— Something whifpers me
All is not right— Cato, beware of Lucius.

[Aſide to Cato.

Cato. Let us appear not Rafe nor Difſident:
Immod'rate Valour ſwell's into a Fault,
And Fear, admitted into publick Councils,
Betray's like Treafon. Let us ſhun 'em both.
Fathers, I cannot ſee that our Affairs,
Are grown thus desp'rate. We have Bulwarks rounds us;
Within our Walls are Troops enur'd to Toil
In Africa's Heats, and ſeaſon'd to the Sun;
Numidia's ſpacious Kingdom lie's behind us,
Ready to rife at its young Prince's Call.
Whilſt there is Hope, do not diftraſt the Gods;
But wait at leaſt till Cæsar's near Approach
Force us to yield. 'Twill never be too late
To ſue for Chains, and own a Conqueror.
Why ſhould Rome fall a Moment e're her Time?
No, let us draw her Term of Freedom out
In its full Length, and ſpin it to the laſt.

D 2

So

20

CATO.

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 Poft, a Herald is arrived
From Cæsar'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 Profpects
Have loofed thofe Ties, and bound him faft to Cæsar.
His Meffage may determine our Refolves.

Enter Decius.

Dec. Cæsar tends Health to Cato —

Cato. Could he fend it

To Cato's flaughter'd Friends, it would be welcome.
Are not your Orders to addreſs the Senate?

Dec. My Busineſs is with Cato: Cæsar 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 fave Cato? Bid him ſpare his Country.
Tell your Dictator this, and tell him Cato
Difdain's a Life, which he has Pow'r to offer.

Dec. Rome and Her Senators ſubmit to Cæsar;
Her Gen'ralis and her Conſuls are no more,
Who check'd his Conqueſts, and denied his Triumphs.
Why will not Cato be this Cæsar's Friend?

Cato. Thofe very Reaſons, thou haſt urged, forbid it.

Dex.

21

CATO.

Dec. Cato, I've Orders to expoftulate,
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 Cæsar.
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. Cæsar is well acquainted with your Virtues,
And therefore lets 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 Commonwealth 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 Wifdom —

Cato. Nay more, tho' Cato's Voice was ne'er employ'd
To clear the Guilty, and to varnifh 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 Cæsar's Foe ?

Cato. Greater than Cæsar, 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 confider That who drives us hither :
'Tis Cæsar'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;

Didſt

22

CATO.

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
Befet with Ills, and cover'd with Misfortunes;
But, by the Gods I swear, Millions of Worlds
Shou'd never buy me to be like that Cæsar.

Dec. Do's Cato send this Anfwer back to Cæsar,
For all his gen'rous Cares, and proffer'd Friendship?

Cato. His Cares for me are infolent and vain:
Prefumptious Man! The Gods take Care of Cato.
Wou'd Cæsar 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 Deftruction.
But I have done. When I relate hereafter
The Tale of this unhappy Embaffle
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:
Cæsar will ſhrink to hear the Words thou utter'd
And ſhudder in the midft of all his Conqueſts.

Luc. The Senate own's its Gratitude to Cato,
Who with ſo great a Soul confult's its Safety,
And guard's our Lives, while he neglects 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 loft its Reliſh.
O cou'd my dying Hand but lodge a Sword
In Cæsar's Bosom, and revenge my Country,

By

CATO.

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 till the weaker Side,
By our Divisions.

Semp. Cato, my Refentments
Are ſacrificed to Rome — I ſtand reproved.
Cato. Father's, 'tis Time you come to a Refolve.
Luc. Cato, we all go into your Opinion.
Cæsar'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 rife, my Friends, and strive to fill
This little Interval, this Paufe of Life,
(While yet our Liberty and Fates are doubtful)
With Refolution, 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 unſhealth'd, and turn its Edge on Cæsar.

Jub. The Reſolution fits a Roman Senate.
But, Cato, lend me for a while thy Patience,
And conſeſcend to hear a young Man ſpeak.

My

24

C A T O.

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, prefs'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 obferve him well,
Thou'lt chun 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 otherwife.

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 fought 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 Greatnefs.
Juba. I would not boast the Greatnefs 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'Affistance of my Father's pow'rful Friends?
Did they know Cato, our remoteft Kings
Wou'd pour embattled Multitudes about him;
Their Swarthy Hoffs would darken all our Plains,
Doubling the native Horror of the War,
And making Death more grim.
Cato. And canft thou think
Cato will fly before the Sword of Cæsar?

Reduced

C A T O.

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 preferve a Life of so much Value.
My Heart is wounded, when I fee fuch Virtue
Afflicted by the Weight of fuch Misfortunes.
Cato. Thy Noblenefs of Soul obliges me.
But know, young Prince, that Valour foar's above
What the World calls Misfortune and Affliation.
These are not ills; eſſe 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 Occafion to exert
Their hidden Strength, and throw out into Practice
Virtues, which chun 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'ft! I pant for Virtue!
And all my Soul endeavours at Perfection.

Cato. Doſt thou love Watchings, Abſtinance, and Toil,
Laborious Virtues all? Learn them from Cato:
Success and Fortune muſt thou learn from Cæsar.

Jub. The beſt good Fortune that can fall on Juba,
The whole Successes, at which my Heart aspires,
Depends on Cato.

Cato. What does Juba ſay?
Thy Words confound me.

Jub. I would fain retraet them.
Give 'em me back again. They aim'd at nothing.

Cato. Tell me thy Wifh, 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 refufe!

Jub. I fear to name it.

E

Marcia

26

C A T O.

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 Eſtcem: Remember

The Hand of Fate is over us, and Heav'n
Exaſt's Severity from all our Thoughts:

It is not now a Time to talk of aught
But Chains, or Conqueſt; Liberty, or Death.

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 riche, before the Sun,
To beat the Thicket where the Tyger Slept,
Or feek 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

To

27

C A T O.

To fee 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 could 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 commands Numidia's hardy Troops,
Mounted on Steeds, unuſed to the Rerſtaint
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 diſhонeſt Thoughts
Rife up in Man! wou'dt thou ſeduce my Youth
To do an Act that wou'd deftroy my Honour?

Syph. Gods, I could tear my Beard to hear you talk!
Honour's a fine imaginary Notion,
That draws in raw and unexperienced Men
To real Mifchiefs, while they hunt a Shadow.

Jub. Wou'dt thou degrade thy Prince into a Ruffian?
Syph. The boafteſd Anceſtors of theſe great Men,
Whofe 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', Cæsar'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 heary 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,

E 2

Cato's

28

C A T O.

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 unanfwer'd! Thou'rt a Traitor,
A false old Traitor.

Syph. I have gone too far.

Jub. Cato shall know the Bafenefs of thy Soul.

Syph. I muſt appeafe this Storm, or peril in it.

Young Prince, behold theſe Locks, that are grown white
Beneath a Helmet in your Father's Battels.

Jub. Thoſe Locks ſhall ne'er proteſt thy Inſolence,

Syph. Muſt one raſh Word, th' Inſirmity of Age,

Throw down the Merit of my better Years?

This the Reward of a whole Life of Service!

Curſe on the Boy! How ſt readily he hears me!

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 flow 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 languifh 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.

[Aſide.]

[Aſide.]

[Aſide.]

Syph.

C A T O.

29

Syph. 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 Traitor.

Jub. Sure thou miſtakeſt, I did not call thee ſo.

Syph. You did indeed, my Prince, you call'd me Traitor:
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 facred Tie, the Law of Kings,
The noble Mind's diſtinguithing Perfection,
That aid's and ſtrengthenſt Virtue, where it meets her,
And imitates her Actions, where he 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 Subjeſt's Heart.
Happy the People who preferve their Honour
By the fame 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

CATO.

Jub. 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 Occafion that may fet 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 foon give, and foon forget Affronts,
Old Age is flow in both—A falſe old Traytor!
Thofe Words, raſh Boy, my chance to coſt thee dear:
My Heart had ſtill ſome ſoolſih Fondneſs for thee:
But hence! 'tis gone: I give it to the Winds:—
Cæsar, I'm wholly thine—

Enter Sempronius.

Syph. All hail, Sempronius !
Well, Cato's Senate is refolv'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 Cæsar.
Shou'd they ſubmit, ere our Defigns are ripe,
We both muſt perſih in the common Wreck,
Loft in a gen'ral undiſtinguicht 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.

Such

31

CATO.

Such is that haughty Man; his tow'ring Soul,
'Midſt all the Shocks and Injuries of Fortune,
Rifes ſuperior, and looks down on Cæsar.

Syph. But what's this Meſſenger?

Semp. I've præſtis'd with him,
And found a Means to let the Viftor 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 Reafon on him,
Sooth'd and carreſs'd, been angry, footh'd again,
Lay'd Safety, Life, and Int'reſt in his Sight,
But all are vain, he ſcorns them all for Cato.

Syph. Come, 'tis no Matter, we ſhall do without him.
He'll make a pretty Figure in a Triumph,
And ſerve to trip before the Viftor's Chariot.
Syphax, I now may hope thou haſt forſook
Thy Juba's Caufe, 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,
Cæsar will ne'er refufe 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 Difcontents among the Soldiers.

They count their toilſome Marches, long Fatigues,

Unuſual Faſtings, and will bear no more
This Medly of Philofophy 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 exercife their Arms,
And, as I fee Occafion, favour thee.

I

32

C A T O.

I laugh to think how your unshaken Cato
Will look aghast, while unforeseen Deftruction
Pou'rs in upon him thus from every Side.
So, where our wide Numidian Wafts extend,
Sudden, th' impetuous Hurricanes descend,
Wheel through the Air, in circling Eddies play,
Tear up the Sands, and sweep whole Plains away.
The helples Traveller, with wild Surprize,
Sees the dry Defart all around him rife,
And, mother'd in the dufty Whirlwind Dies.

End of the Second Act.

ACT

[Exeunt.]

C A T O.

33

ACT III. SCENE I.

Marcus and Portius.

Marc. T Hanks to my Stars, I have not ranged about
The Wilds of Life, 'ere I cou'd find a Friend;
Nature firft 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 fevereſt Virtue for its Bafis,
And ſuch a Friendſhip ends 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 Paffions
Shall rife 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 Wife,
Sink in the foſt Captivity together.
I wou'd not urge thee to diſmifs thy Paffion,
(I know 'twere vain) but to ſupprefſs 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

F

I'm

34

C A T O.

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 diftraict me.

*Port.* What can thy *Portius* do to give thee Help?

*Marc.* *Portius, thou oft enjoy'ft the Fair One's Prefence:*
Then undertake my Caufe, and plead it to her
With all the Strength and Heats of Eloquence
Fraternal Love and Friendfhip can infpire.

Tell her thy Brother languifhe'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 fee'ft me ſuffer.

*Port.* *Marcus, I beg thee give me not an Office*
That ſuits with me fo 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 raife me from amidſt this Plunge of Sorrows?

*Port.* *Marcus, thou can'ſt not ask what I'd reſufe.*
But here believe me I've a thouſand Reaſons—

*Marc.* I know thou'lt ſay my Paffion's out of Season,
That Cato's great Example and Misfortunes
Should both confpire to drive it from my Thoughts.
But what's all this to one who loves like me!

*Oh Portius, Portius, from my Soul I wifh*
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 Paffion
Our Friendſhip's at an end: If I conceal it,
The World will call me falſe to a Friend and Brother. [Aſide]

*Marc.* But fee where *Lucia* at her wonted Hour,
Amid the cool of yon high Marble Arch,
Enjoys the Noon-day Breeze! Obferve her, *Portius*!
That Face, that Shape, that ſhove Eyes, that Heav'n of Beauty!
Obferve her well, and blame me if thou can'ſt.

*Port.* She fees us, and advances—

*Marc.*

35

C A T O.

*Marc.* 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 fee your Brother *Marcus* here?
Why did he fly the Place, and ſhun my Prefence?

*Port.* Oh, *Lucia*, Language is too faint to ſhow
His Rage of Love, it prey's upon his Life;
He pines, he fickens, he defpairs, he dies:
His Paffions and his Virtues lie confufed,
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 poffible for Love
To make ſuch Ravage in a noble Soul!
Oh, *Lucia*, I'm diſtrefs'd! my Heart bleeds for him;
Ev'n now, while thus I ſtand bleft in thy Prefence,
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 Blifs, wou'd raife 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, undefigning 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 pafs'd theſe gloomy Hours,
And weather'd out the Storm that beats upon us—

*Luc.* No, *Portius*, no! I fee thy Sifter's Tears,
Thy Father's Anguifh, and thy Brother's Death,
In the Purſuit of our ill-fated Loves.
And, *Portius*, here I ſwear, to Heav'n I ſwear,

F 2

To

36

C A T O.

To Heav'n, and all the Pow'rs that judge Mankind,
Never to mix my plighted Hands with thine,
While fuch a Cloud of Mifchiefs 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 haft thou faid! I'm thunder-struck! — Recall
Thofe hafty Words, or I am loft for ever.

Luc. Has not the Vow already pafs'd my Lips >
The Gods have heard it, and 'tis feal'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 Aftonifhment, I gaze upon thee;
Like one juft blafted 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 fevereft 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 muft forget thee.

Port. Hard-hearted, cruel Maid!

Luc. Oh ftop thofe Sounds,

Thofe killing Sounds! Why doft thou frown upon me?
My Blood run's cold, my Heart forget's to heave,
And Life its felf goe's out at thy Difpleafure.
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'ft its Force.
I've been deluded, led into a Dream
Of fancied Blifs. O Lucia, cruel Maid!
Thy dreadful Vow, loaden with Death, ſtill found's
In my ſunn'd Ears. What ſhall I fay or do?
Quick, let us part! Perdition's in thy Prefence,
And Horror dwells about thee! —Hah, the faints !
Wretch that I am! what has my Raffneſs done !
Lucia, thou injur'd Innocence! thou beſt
And lovely'ſt of thy Sex! awake, my Lucia,

Or

C A T O.

37

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

— Her Imprecations reach not to the Tomb,

They flut 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 fay? My half-recover'd Senſe
Forget's the Vow in which my Soul is bound.
Defruſtion 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'dft thou have me do? Confider well
The Train of Ills our Love wou'd draw behind it.

Think, Portius, think, thou feeſt thy dying Brother
Stabb'd at his Heart, and all befmeard with Blood,
Storming at Heav'n and thee! Thy awful Sire
Sternly demand's the Caufe, th' accuſed Caufe,
That robb's him of his Son! poor Marcia tremble's,
Then teares her Hair, and frantick in her Grieſs
Call's out on Lucia! What cou'd Lucia anſwer?

Or how ſtand up in ſuch a Scene of Sorrow!

Port. To my Confufion, and Eternal Grief,
I muſt approve the Sentence that deſtroys me.
The Mift 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 rifeſt in thy Charms.
Lovely'ſt of Women! Heav'n is in thy Soul,
Beauty and Virtue thine for ever round thee,
Bright'ning each other! Thou art all Divine!

Luc. Portius, no more! thy Words ſhoot through my Heart,
Melt my Refolves, and turn me all to Love.
Why are thofe Tears of Fondneſs in thy Eyes?
Why heaves thy Heart? Why ſwells thy Soul with Sorrow?

It

38

C A T O.

It softens me too much—Farewell, my Portius,

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

Port. Stay, Lucia, fay! What do't thou fay? For-ever!

Luc. Have I not fworn? If, Portius, thy Successes

Muft 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 muft not go, my Soul still hover's o'er thee

And can't get loofe.

Luc. If the firm Portius Thake

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

Port. 'Tis true; unruffled and ferene I've met

The common Accidents of Life, but here

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

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

We muft not part.

Luc. What do't thou fay? Not part?

Haft thou forgot the Vow that I have made?

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

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

I ficken at the Sight. Once more, Farewell,

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

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'dft thou have me fay?

Marc. What mean's this penfive Pofture? thou appear'ft

Like one amazed and terrified.

Port. I've Reafon.

Marc. Thy down-caft Looks, and thy disorder'd Thoughts

Tell me my Fate. I ask not the Successes

My Caufe has found.

Port.

C A T O.

39

Port. I'm griev'd I undertook it.

Mar. What? do's the barb'rous Maid infult my Heart,
My akeing Heart! and triumph in my Pains?

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

Port. Away! you're too suspicious in your Griefs;

Lucia, though fworn 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 chufe so cold a Friend

To urge my Caufe! Compassionate's my Pains!

Prithee what Art, what Rhet'rick did'ft thou ufe

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 deferv'd this Treatment?

Marc. What have I faid! O Portius, O forgive me!

A Soul exafp'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 fecond, louder yet,

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

Marc. Oh, for fome glorious Caufe to fall in Battel!

Lucia, thou haft undone me! thy Difdain

Has broke my Heart: 'tis Death muft give me Eafe.

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 feem

One

40

C A T O.

One of the Number, that whate'er arrive,
My Friends and Fellow-Soldiers may be fafe.

[Exit.]

I Lead. We all are fafe, Sempronius is our Friend,
Sempronius is as brave a Man as Cato.
But heark! he Enters. Bear up boldly to him;
Be fure you beat him down, and bind him faft:
This Day will end our Toils, and give us Reft;
Fear nothing, for Sempronius is our Friend.

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

Cato. Where are thefe bold intrepid Sons of War,
That greatly turn their Backs upon the Foe,
And to their General fend a brave Defiance!

Semp. Curfe on their Daftard Souls, they ſtand aftonifh'd!

[Aſide.]

Cato. Perfidious Men! and will you thus diſhonour
Your paſt Exploits, and fully all your Wars?
Do you confefs '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 fuch Motives you do well to join
With Cato's Foes, and follow Cæsar's Banners.
Why did I ſcape the invenom'd Aſpic's Rage,
And all the fiery Monſters of the Defart,
To fee 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 diſtinguifh'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.

C A T O.

41

Cato. 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 Poifon?
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 funk 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' untafked Moiſture from him?
Did not he lead you through the Mid-day Sun,
And Clouds of Duſt? Did not his Temples glow
In the fame ſultry Winds, and ſcorching Heats?

Cato. Hence worthleſs Men! Hence! and complain to Cæsar
You could not undergo the Toils of War,
Nor bear the Hardſhips that your Leader bore.

Luc. See, Cato, fee 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 deflect 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 leifure 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 fee 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'dt thou clear Rebellion!
Lucius, (good Man) pitie's the poor Offenders
That wou'd imbrue their Hands in Cato's Blood.

G

Cato.

42

CATO.

Cato. 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 bafe 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 juft Vengeance guilty Mortals perish,
The Gods behold their Punishment with Pleasure,
And lay th' uplifted Thunder-Bolt afide.

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 piouly transmit it to your Children.
Do thou, great Liberty, infpire our Souls,
And make our Lives in thy Poffefion happy,
Or our Deaths glorious in thy juft 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 Earneft. Semp. Villain, fand off! bafe 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 prefume To mix in Treason, if the Plot succeed, They're thrown neglected by: But if it fails, They're fure to die like Dogs, as you ſhall do. Here, take thefe faſtious Monſters, dragg 'em forth To ſudden Death.

Enter

43

CATO.

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 Cæsar's Camp.

Semp. Conſuſion! I have fail'd of half my Purpofe.
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 clafp that haughty Maid,
And bend her ſtubborn Virtue to my Pafſion:

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

Syph. Well faid! that's ſpoken like thy ſelf, Sempronius.
What hinder's then, but that thou find her out,

And hurr y her away by manly Force?

Semp. But how to gain Admiſſion? for Acces
Is giv'n to none but Juba, and her Brothers.

Syph. Thou haſt have Juba's Drefs, 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 Bofom ſwell with anxious Joy,

G 2

When

44

C A T O.

When I behold her ftruggling 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*, feiz'd of *Proserpine*, convey'd
To Hell's tremendous Gloom th' affrighted Maid,
There grimly fmil'd, pleas'd with the beauteous Prize,
Nor envy'd *Jove* his Sun-fhine and his Skies.

*End of the Third Act.*

ACT

C A T O.

45

ACT IV. SCENE I.

Lucia and Marcia.

Luc. N
OW tell me, Marcia, tell me from thy Soul,
If thou believ'ft it poſſible for Woman
To ſuffer greater ills than Lucia ſuffers?

Marc. O Lucia, Lucia, might my big fwoln 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 boif'trous 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?

I

46 C A T O.

I hear the Sound of Feet ! they march this Way !
Let us retire, and try if we can drown
Each forter Thought in Senfe of prefent Danger.
When Love once plead's Admiffion to our Hearts
(Infpight of all the Virtue we can boast)
The Woman that Deliberates is loft.

[Exeunt.]

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

Semp. The Deer is lodg'd. I've trackt her to her Covert.
Be fure you mind the Word, and when I give it,
Rufh in at once, and feize upon your Prey.
Let not her Cries or Tears have Force to move you.
—How will the young Numidian rave, to fee
His Miftrefs loft? If aught cou'd glad my Soul,
Beyond th' Enjoyment of ſo bright a Prize,
'Twou'd be to torture that young, gay, Barbarian.
— But hark, what Noife ! 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 thofe his Guards. — Hah, Daſtards, do you tremble !
Or act like Men, or by yon azure Heav'n—

Enter Juba.

Jub. What do I fee ? Who's this that dares uſurp
The Guards and Habits of Numidia's Prince?
Semp. One that was born to ſcourge thy Arrogance,
Prefumptuous Youth !

Jub. What can this mean ? Sempronius !
Semp. My Sword ſhall anſwer thee. Have at thy Heart.
Jub. Nay, then beware thy own, proud, barbarous 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 Drefs, and for a worthleſs Woman?
Gods, I'm Diſtraſted! This my Cloſe of Life !

O

C A T O.

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 furious Soul broke loose,
And left the Limbs ſtill quiv'ring on the Ground!
Hence let us carry off thofe Slaves to Cato,
That we may there at length unravel all
This dark Deſign, this Mypſery of Fate.

[Exit Juba with Prisoners, &c.]

Enter Lucia and Marcia.

Luc. Sure 'twas the Clafh of Swords; my troubled Heart
Is ſo caſt down, and funk 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, fee ! here's Blood ! here's Blood and
Murder!

Hah ! a Numidian! Heav'ns preferve 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 Affiſtance
Thy wonted Strength, and Conſtancy of Mind;
Thou can't 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 diſtraſted!

Luc. What can I think or ſay to give thee Comfort ?
Marc. Talk not of Comfort, 'tis for lighter Ills :
Behold a Sight, that ſtrike's all Comfort dead.

Enter Juba, life'ning.

I will indulge my Sorrows, and give way
To all the Pangs and Fury of Despair,
That Man, that beſt of Men, deferv'd it from me.

Juba.

48

C A T O.

Juba. What do I hear? and was the falfe 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 Lofs like thine, I half forget my own.

Marc. 'Tis not in Fate to eafe 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 wifh, 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 wife.

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 thinks! all is Elifium 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, fee,

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!

Sure

49

C A T O.

Sure 'tis a Dream! Dead and Alive at once!
If thou art Juba, who lies there?

Jub. A Wretch,

Diguſed 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 confes this once,
Am wrap'd with Joy to ſee my Marcia's Tears.

Marc. I've been ſurprized in an unguard ed 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 doſt thou love,
Thou charming Maid?

Marc. And doſt thou live to ask it?

Jub. This, this is Life indeed! Life worth preferving!
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 Miftake!

Marc. O happy Marcia!

Jub. My Joy! my beſt Beloved! my only Wifh!
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 faſ'd,
But Fate has wrefted the Conſeſſion from me;
Go on, and proſper in the Paths of Honour,
Thy Virtue will excufe my Paffion 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

H

Thy

50

C A T O.

Thy paſt Unkindneſs. I abſolve my Stars.
What tho' Numidia add her conquer'd Towns
And Provinces to ſwell the Viftor's Triumph?
Juba will never at his Fate repine,
Let Cæſar have the World, if Marcia's mine.

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 Patrioſs,
As with a Hurricane of Zeal tranſported,
And virtuous ev'n to Madneſs—

Cato. Truſt me, Lucius,
Our civil Difcords 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 fee where Portius come's! What mean's this Hafeſt?
Why are thy Looks thus changed?
Port. My Heart is griev'd.

I bring ſuch News as will afflict my Father.
Cato. Has Cæſar 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 perſiſh like Sempronius.

Cato. Perſidious Men! But hafeſt my Son, and fee

Thy

[Exit.]

C A T O.

51

Thy Brother Marcus act's a Roman's Part.
—Lucius, the Torrent bears too hard upon me:

Juſtice give's Way to Force: the conquer'd World
Is Cæſar'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 Cæſar,
And reconcile thy Mighty Soul to Life.

Cato. Wou'd Lucius have me live to ſwell the Number
Of Cæſar's Slaves, or by a bafe Submiſſion
Give up the Caufe of Rome, and own a Tyrant?

Luc. The Viftor never will impoſe on Cato
Ungen'rous Terms. His Enemies confefs
The Virtues of Humanity are Cæſar's.

Cato. Curſe on his Virtues! They've undone his Country.
Such Popular Humanity is Treaſon—

But fee young Juba! the good Youth appears
Full of the Guilt of his perſidious Subjects.

Luc. Alas, poor Prince! his Fate deſerves Compaſſion.

Enter Juba.

Jub. I bluſh, and am confounded to appear
Before thy Prefence, 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,

Falfhood and Fraud ſhoot up in ev'ry Soil,

The Produſt of all Climes—Rome has its Cæſars.

Jub. 'Tis gen'rous thus to comfort the Diſtrefſs'd.

Cato. 'Tis juſt to give Applaſe where 'tis deſerv'd;
Thy Virtue, Prince, has ſlood the Teſt of Fortune,
Like pureſt Gold, that, tortur'd in the Furnace,

H 2

Comes

52

C A T O.

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 Praife, 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 forfook his Poft? has he giv'n way?
Did he look tamely on, and let 'em pafs?

Port. Scarce had I left my Father, but I met him
Born on the Shields of his surviving Soldiers,
Breathlefs and pale, and cover'd o'er with Wounds.
Long, at the Head of his few faithful Friends,
He flood the Shock of a whole Hoft of Foes,
Till obliquately Brave, and bent on Death,
Oppreft with Multitudes, he greatly fell.

Cato. I'm satisfy'd.

Port. Nor did he fall before
His Sword had pierc'd through the falfe Heart of Syphax:
Yonder he lie's. I faw 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, before 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 leifure

The

C A T O.

53

The bloody Coarſe, and count thofe 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 fits this Sadneſs on your Brows, my Friends?
I ſhou'd have bluſh'd if Cato's Houſe had flood
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 Lofs
Affliet your Hearts. 'Tis Rome requires our Tears.
The Miftreſs of the World, the Seat of Empire,
The Nurſe of Heroes, the Delight of Gods,
That humbled the proud Tyrants of the Earth,
And fet 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 flow'd not o'er his own dead Son.

[Aſide.]

Cato. What e'er the Roman Virtue has ſubdu'd,
The Sun's whole Courſe, the Day and Year, are Cæsar's.

For him the ſelf-devoted Decii dy'd,
The Fabii ſell, and the great Scipio's conquer'd.

Ev'n Pompey ſought for Cæsar. O my Friends!
How is the Toil of Fate, the Work of Ages,
The Roman Empire fall'n! O curſt Ambition!

Fall'n into Cæsar's Hand! Our great Force-Fathers
Had left him nought to Conquer but his Country.

Juba. While Cato lives, Cæsar will bluſh to fee
Mankind enflaved, and be aſhamed of Empire.

Cato. Cæsar aſhamed! Has not he feen Pharſalia!

Luc. Cato, 'tis Time to ſave thy ſelf and us.

Cato. Lofe not a Thought on me. I'm out of Danger.
Heav'n will not leave me in the Victor's Hand.

Cæsar ſhall never ſay I've conquer'd Cato.

But oh! my Friends, your Safety fills my Heart

With

56

C A T O.

ACT V. SCENE I.

Cato folus, 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 reafon't well!—
Else whence this pleafing Hope, this fond Defire,
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 Deftruction?
'Tis the Divinity that fir's within us;
'Tis Heav'n its self, that point's out an Hereafter,
And intimate's Eternity to Man.
Eternity! thou pleafing, dreadful, Thought!
Through what Variety of untry'd Being,
Through what new Scenes and Changes muft we pafs!
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 Caſar.
I'm weary of Conjectures—This muſt end 'em.

[Laying his Hand on his Sword.

Thus

C A T O.

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, fecur'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 shall 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 would 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 wreft it from you.
Cato. Wou'd Ift thou betray me? Wou'd Ift thou give me up
A Slave, a Captive, into Caſar's Hands?
Retire, and learn Obedience to a Father,
Or know, young Man!—

I

Port.

58

CATO.

Port. Look not thus sternly on me,
You know I'd rather die than disobey you.

Cato. 'Tis well! again I'm Master of my self.
Now, Cæsar, let thy Troops beſet our Gates,
And barr each Avenue, thy gath'ring Fleets
O'er-spread the Sea, and ſtop up every Port,
Cato shall open to himself a Paffage,
And mock Thy Hopes—

Port. O Sir, forgive your Son,
Whose Grief hangs heavy on him! O my Father!
How am I fure it is not the last Time
I e'er shall call you so! Be not difpleased,
O be not angry with me whilft 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 fought to plearſe,
Will fuccour Cato, and preferve 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 misbecom'e's him.
But go, my Son, and fee if aught be wanting
Among thy Father's Friends; fee them embarqu'd;
And tell me if the Winds and Seas beſtriend them.

My Soul is quite weigh'd down with Care, and asks
The soft Refreshment of a Moment's Sleep.

Port. My Thoughts are more at Eafe, my Heart revives.

Enter Marcia.

O Marcia, O my Sifter, 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

YALE

CATO.

59

With Orders, that befpeak a Mind compoſed,
And ſtudious for the Safety of his Friends.
Marcia, take care that none diſturb his Slumbers.

Marc. O ye immortal Powers, that guard the Juſt,
Watch round his Couch, and soften his Repoſe,
Banifh his Sorrows, and becalm his Soul
With eafe Dreams; remember all his Virtues!
And how Mankind that Goodneſs is your Care,

Enter Lucia.

Luc. Where is your Father, Marcia, where is Cato?

Marc. Lucia, ſpeak low, he is retir'd to Reſt.
Lucia, I feel a gently-dawning Hope
Rife 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 humane Frailty,
Or pardon Weakneſs, that he never ſelt.

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
Eafe, and good, and bounteous to my Wifhes.

Luc. 'Tis his Conſent alone can make us bleſs'd.
Marcia, we both are equally involv'd
In the fame intricate, perplex'd, Difſrels.
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 fet my Soul at large, and now I ſtand

Loofe of my Vow. But who knows Cato's Thoughts?
Who know's how yet he may diſpofe of Portius,
Or how he has determin'd of thy ſelf?

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

I 2

Enter

60

C. A. T. O.

Enter Lucius.

Luc: Sweet are the Slumbers of the virtuous Man!
O Marcia, I have seen thy Godlike Father:
Some Pow'r invifible fupport's his Soul,
And bear's it up in all its wonted Greatnefs.
A kind refreshing Sleep is fall'n upon him:
I faw him ftretch'd at Eafe, his Fancy loft
In pleafing Dreams; as I drew near his Couch,
He Smiled, and cry'd, Cæsar thou can'ft 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 Prefence will proteſt us.

Enter Juba.

Juba. Lucius, the Horfemen 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 fetting Sun
Plays on their ſhining Arms and burniſh'd Helmets,
And covers all the Field with Gleams of Fire.
Luc. Marcia, 'tis time we ſhou'd awake thy Father.
Cæsar is ſtill diſpoſed to give us Terms,
And waits at Diftance 'till he hears from Cato.

Enter Portius.

Portius, thy Looks ſpeak ſomewhat of Importance.
What Tidings doſt thou bring? Methinks I fee
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

61

C. A. T. O.

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
Affert her Rights, and claim her Liberty.
But heark! What means that Groan! O give me way,
And let me fly into my Father's Prefence.
Luc. Cato, amidſt his Slumbers, thinks on Rome,
And in the wild Diforder of his Soul
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 pafs!
Cato is fall'n upon his Sword—
Luc. O Portius,
Hide all the Horrors of thy mournful Tales.
And let us gueſs the reſt.
Port. I've rais'd him up,
And placed him in his Chair, where pale, and faint,
He gafp's for Breath, and, as his Life flows from him,
Demand's to fee his Friends. His weeping Servants,
Obſequious to his Orders, bear him hither.

[The Back Scene opens, and discovers Cato.

Marc. O Heav'n affift me in this dreadful Hour
To pay the laſt ſad Duties to my Father.

Jub. Theſe are thy Triumphs, thy Exploits, O Cæsar!

Luc. Now is Rome fall'n indeed!—

[Cato brought forward in his Chair.

Cato. Here fet me down—
Portius come near me—are my Friends embark'd?
Can any thing be thought of for their Service?
Whilft I yet live, let me not live in vain.

—o