## PROLOGUE.

He bids your Breasts with Ancient Ardor rife,
And calls forth Roman Drops from British Eyes.
Virtue confes'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 aft, 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 paſt,
The Pomp was darken'd, and the Day o'ercaft,
The Triumph ceas'd—Tears guſſ'd from ev'ry Eye;
The World's great Victor paſt unheeded by;
Her Laſt good Man dejeſted Rome ador'd,
And honour'd Cæsar'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

## PROLOGUE.

Our Scene precariously ſubſifts 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' Infulting Tyrant prancing o'er the Field
Strow'd with Rome's Citizens, and drench'd in Slaughter,
His Horfe's Hoofs wet with Patrician Blood.

Oh Portius, is there not some chofen Curfe,
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 Luftre of our Father's Actions,
Through the dark Cloud of Ills that cover him,
Break out, and burn with more triumphant Brightneſs !

His Suff'rings fhine, 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
Against 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 Greatneſs,
And, cover'd with Numidian Guards, direſſs
A feeble Army, and an empty Senate,

Remnants of mighty Battels fought in vain.

By Heav'ns, ſuch Virtues, join'd with ſuch Suſeſs,
Diftraſt 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 fruitileſs Search;

Nor fees with how much Art the Windings run,
Nor where the regular Confuſion ends.

Marc.

3

CATO.

Marc. These are Suggesſions of a Mind at Eafe:
Oh Portius, didst thou tafe but half the Grieſs
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 Grieſs. Were but my Lucia kind! —

Por. Thou feeſt not that thy Brother is thy Rival :

But I muſt hide it, for I know thy Temper.

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 ruff on certain Death,
Then ſhalt thou fee that Marcus is not flow
To follow Glory, and conſeſs 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 Fierceneſs 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 ſtill the ſmother'd Fondneſs burns within him.
When moſt it ſwells 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

A

4

CATO.

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 Pur suits 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'ring's 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 doft treat me with Rebukes, inſtead Of kind condoling Cares and friendly Sorrow ?

*Por. O Marcus, did I know the Way to caſe 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 exprefs our Friendship, Each might receive a Slave into his Arms:

This

CATO.

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 Pharsalia) to confult 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 Caſar.*

Semp. Not all the Pomp and Majeſty of Rome Can raſe her Senate more than Cato's Preſence.

His Virtues render our Aſſembly awful, They ſtrike with ſomething like religious Fear, And make ev'n Caſar 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 Sifter 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 mightſt as well court the pale trembling Vespal, When she 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 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 Caufe, And try to rouse up all that's Roman in 'em.

*It is not in Mortals to command Successes,*

But we'll do more, Sempronius; we'll defer it.

[Exit.]

Sene-

6

C A T O.

Sempronius *folius*.

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. Cæsar'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 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 waste;
Ev'n whilst we speak, our Conqueror comes on,
And gathers Ground upon us ev'ry Moment.
Alas! thou know'st 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 sink before him;
Through Winds, and Waves, and Storms, he works his Way,

Impa-

7

C A T O.

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 loft,
He's loft, 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' Inſection 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 Hypocrifie's a ſtale Device,
A worn-out Trick: Would ſt 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 Hafez:
O think what anxious Moments pafs 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!
Deftruction hangs on ev'ry Word we speak,
On ev'ry Thought, 'till the concluding Stroke
Determines all, and clofes our Design.

Syphax solus.

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

[Exits.]

SCENE IV.

Juba, Syphax.

Jub. Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone.
I have obferved of late thy Looks are fall'n,
O'ercaft with gloomy Cares, and Difcontent,
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 Difcontent fits heavy at my Heart.
I have not yet so much the Roman in me.

Jub. Why do't thou caft out such ungen'rous Terms
Againft 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 Africa,
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 Infructesc
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 fhine, reform the Soul,
And break our fierce Barbarians into Men.

Syph. Patience kind Heav'ns!...Excuse an old Man's warmth.
What are thefe wondrous civilizing Arts,
This Roman Polifh, and this smooth Behaviour,
That render Man thus traetable 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 juft, and anxious for his Friends,
He's still severely bent againft himself;
Renouncing Sleep, and Rest, and Food, and Eafe,
He strives with Thirft and Hunger, Toil and Heat;
And when his Fortune fets before him all

C

The

10

C A T O.

The Pomps and Pleaures 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 toafted Virtues.

Coarfe are his Meals, the Fortune of the Chafe,
Amidst 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 Pleaures 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 Ca o's Caufe,

He had not fail'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 doſt thou call my Sorrows up atreſh?

My Father's Name brings Tears into my Eyes.

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

Jub.

II

C A T O.

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 Lofe.

Syph. Ay, there's the Tie that binds you!
You long to call him Father. Marcia's Charms
Work in your Heart unfeen, and plead for Cato.
No wonder you are deaf to all I ſay.

Jub. Syphax, your Zeal becomes importunat[e],
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 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

CATO.

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

Syph. Rather fay your Love.

Fub. Syphax, I've promis'd to preferve my Temper.
Why wilt thou urge me to confef's a Flame,
I long have ftifled, and wou'd fain conceal?

Syph. Believe me, Prince, 'tis hard to conquer Love,
But eafe to divert and break its Force:
Abfence might cure it, or a ſecond Miftrefſs
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 Checks:
Were you with theſe, my Prince, you'd ſoon forget
The pale unripen'd Beauties of the North.

Fub. '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 fill 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 Praife!
But on my Knees I beg you wou'd confider—

Enter Marcia and Lucia.

Fub. Hah! Syphax, is't not ſhe!—She moves this Way :
And with her Lucia, Lucius' fair Daughter,
My Heart beats thick—I prithee Syphax leave me.

Syph.

CATO.

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.

Fub. 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.

Fub. 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.

Fub. 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.

Fub. 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 fhou'd grace the Man, who hopes
For Marcia's Love.

Luc. Marcia, you're too severe:

How could you chide the young good-natur'd 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 againft so sweet a Paffion,
And feel your Heart to such a World of Charms?

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

Luc. Why have not I this Conftancy of Mind,
Who have ſo 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 blufh to name them, when I tell thee
They're Marcia's Brothers, and the Sons of Cato.

Mar. 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 wifhes for ?

Mar. For neither—

And

15

C A T O.

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 Elſteem,
But in my Love— Why wilt thou make me name him?
Thou know'ſt it is a blind and foolish Paffion,
Pleas'd and difguſed 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 'twere Portius, cou'd you blame my Choice ?
O Portius, thou haſt ſtoł'n away my Soul!

With what a graceful Tenderneſs he loves!
And breath's the ſoftſteft, the ſincereſt 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 fends 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 afflicted 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 Paffion wou'd have fall'n on him.

Luc. Was ever Virgin Love diſtreſt like mine!
Portius himself oft falls in ſears 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

The

16

C A T O.

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 Defpair,
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 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 prefent 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,
Reflects each Flow'r that on the Border grows,
And a new Heav'n in its fair Bofom ſhows.

[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. Heark! 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.
*Cafar's* Approach has ſummon'd us together,
And *Rome* attends her Fate from our Refolves:
How ſhall we treat this bold aşpiring 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 *Cafar'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 Defarts.

Fathers, pronounce your Thoughts, are they ſtill ſixt
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.

Semp. 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 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 reft,
May reach his Heart, and free the World from Bondage.
Rife, Fathers, rife; 'tis Rome demands your 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.
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 flow,
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 Wieldom guide's,
All else is tow'ring Frenzy and DifſtraCTION.
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 Reaſon ſay,
We lavifht at our Deaths the Blood of Thoſands
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 remoteſt Regions
Lie half unpeopled by the Feuds of Rome:

Tis

CATO.

'Tis Time to ſheath the Sword, and ſpare Mankind.
It is not Cæsar, but the Gods, my Fathers,
The Gods declare againe us, and repell
Our vain Attempts. To urge the Foe to Battel,
(Prompted by blind Revenge, and wild Despair)
Were to reſufe 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 Commonwealth; when this End fail's,
Arms have no further Life: 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 Ralh nor Difſident:
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 desſrate. We have Bulwarks rounds us;
Within our Walls are Troops enur'd to Toil
In Africa's Heats, and feaſon'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 diſtruſt 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

19

80

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 Professors
Have loofed those Ties, and bound him fast to Cæsar.
His Message may determine our Resolves.

### Enter Decius.

Dec. Cæsar tends Health to Cato —

Cato. Could he send it

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

Dec. My Bufinefs 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 have 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'rals and her Confuls are no more,
Who check'd his Conquefts, and denied his Triumphs.
Why will not Cato be this Cæsar's Friend?

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

Dec.

## CATO.

21

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 fets 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 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
Bet set with Ills, and cover'd with Misfortunes;
But, by the Gods I wear, 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 Friendfhip?

Cato. His Cares for me are insolent and vain:
Prefumptuous 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 rufh on your Destruction.
But I have done. When I relate hereafter
The Tale of this unhappy Embaffie
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 utters
And ſhudder in the midſt 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

23

CATO.

By Heav'n 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 Divifions.

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 fay, it ought to be prolong'd.
Fathers, farewell — The young Numidian Prince
Comes forward, and expeſts 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 Cæsar.

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

My

24

CATO.

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 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 otherwife.

Juba. My Father's Fate,

In spight of all the Fortitude, that fhine'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' diftant 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 Caufe, and court

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

Did they know Cato, our remoteſt 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 canst thou think

Cato will fly before the Sword of Cæsar?

Reduced

25

CATO.

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 ſuch Virtue

Afflicted by the Weight of ſuch Misfortunes.

Cato. Thy Noblenefs of Soul obliges me.

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

What the World calls Misfortune and Afflietion.

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 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. Doff thy love Watchings, Aſbtinence, 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 Succeſs, 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 haft a Daughter.

Cato. Adieu, young Prince: I wou'd not hear a Word
Shou'd leffen thee in my Eſteem: 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 youn ſtern Philofopher
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 rife, before the Sun,
To beat the Thicket where the Tyger flept,
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 feen 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 ftoooping 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 loft 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 now, Dear Syphax?

Syph. Juba commands Numidia's hardy Troops,
Mounted on Steeds, unufed to the Reftraint
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
Rife up in Man! wou'dt thou ſeduce my Youth
To do an Aſt 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 Mifchiefs, while they hunt a Shadow.

Jub. Wou'dt thou degrade thy Prince into a Ruffian?
Syph. The boafed 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 raviff'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,

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, muft I tamely bear

This Arrogance unanfwer'd! Thou'rt a Traitor,
A falfe old Traitor.

Syph. I have gone too far.

Jub. Cato shall know the Bafeneſs of thy Soul.

Syph. I muſt appeaſe this Storm, or perifh in it.

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

Jub. Thofe Locks ſhall ne'er protea thy Inſolence.

Syph. Muſt one rafh Word, th' Inſibility 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!

Jub. Is it becauſe the Throſe of my Fore-fathers

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

Hangs doubtful yet, whoſe Head it ſhall encloſe,

Thou thus prefumeſt 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 Difpleaſure.

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

I do believe thee loyal to thy Prince.

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 haſtly.

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

Jub. Sure thou miſtakeſt; I did not call thee to.

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 diſtinguifhing 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 ravifht when you talk thus, tho' you chide me.

Alas, I've hitherto been uſed to think

A blind ofſicious 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 Lec'tures.

Jub.

30

C A T O.

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 bleft Occaſion 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 ſoon give, and ſoon 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 fooliſh 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 Deſigns are ripe,
We both muſt perſih in the common Wreck,
Loſt in a gen'ral undiſtinguifht 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

C A T O.

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 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 carreſ'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 Victor's Chariot.

Syphax, I now may hope thou haſt forſook
Thy Juba's Caufe, and wiſheſt Marcia mine.

Syph. May the be thine as faſt as thou wou'dth 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 Ultica,
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 Faitings, 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 Occaſion, favour thee.

I

32

C A T O.

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 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 helplefs Traveller, with wild Surprize,
Sees the dry Defart all around him rife,
And, smother'd in the dufty Whirlwind Dies.

[Exeunt.]

End of the Second Act.

ACT

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 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 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 theoft 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 fell
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, rife up at once,
And with Variety of Pain diftraet 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 Friendshifp 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'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 finking 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 thou'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! Obſerve her, *Portius!*
That Face, that Shape, thofe Eyes, that Heav'n of Beauty!
Obſerve her well, and blame me if thou can'ſt.

*Port.* She fees us, and advances—

*Marc.*

C A T O.

35

*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 ſickens, he deſpairs, he dies:
His Paffions 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 diſtrefs'd! my Heart bleeds for him;
Ev'n now, while thus I ſtand bleſt 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

CATO.

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-truck!—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 afted my feveret 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 thofe Sounds,
Thofe 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 Difpleasure.
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 ſtunn'd Ears. What ſhall I ſay or do?
Quick, let us part! Perdition's in thy Prefence,
And Horror dwells about thee!—Hah, ſhe faints!
Wretch that I am! what has my Rathsnefs done!
*Lucia*, thou injur'd Innocence! thou beſt
And lovely'ft of thy Sex! awake, my *Lucia*,

Or

CATO.

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? Confider well
The Train of Iſs 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* trembleſ'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 Mift that hung about my Mind clear's up;
And now, athwart the Terrors that thy Vow
Has planted round thee, thou appear'd more fair,
More amiable, and rifeſt in thy Charms.
Lovely'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 (hoot thro' 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'ft thou fay? For-ever!

*Luc.* Have I not fworn? If, *Portius*, thy Succes

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 loofe.

*Luc.* If the firm *Portius* ſhake

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 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'ft thou ſay? Not part?

Haſt thou ſorg't 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 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'dt 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 Succes

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 caſt her from my Thoughts for ever!

*Port.* Away! you're too ſuſpicious in your Griefs;
*Lucia*, though fworn never to think of Love,
Compaffionate's your Pains, and pitie's you.

*Marc.* Compaffionate's my Pains, and pitie's me!
What is Compaffion when 'tis void of Love!

Fool that I was to chufe ſo cold a Friend

To urge my Caufe! Compaffionate'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,

Compaffion'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 exaſſ'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 Caufe to fall in Battel!

*Lucia*, thou haſt undone me! thy Difdain

Has broke my Heart: 'tis Death muſt 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 ſeem

One

40

C A T O.

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

1 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!

[Exit.]

[Aſide.]

Cato. Perfidious Men! and will you thus difhonour
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 ſuſped'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.

Conſuſion to the Villains! All is loft.

[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,
Is 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 unlock'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,
Seamy of Waters, when you ſcoop'd it dry,
And offer'd the full Helmet up to Cato,
Did not he daſh th' untafled 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 defcnd 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 juſt Vengeance guilty Mortals perſh,
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 yout renown'd Forefathers.
(So dearly bought, the Price of ſo much Blood)

O let it never perſh in your Hands!

But piouſly tranſmit it to your Children.

Do thou, great Liberty, infpire our Souls,
And make our Lives in thy Poffeſſion 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 would have thought you had been half in Earneſt.
Semp. Villain, ſtand off! bafe grov'ling worthleſs Wretches,

Semp. Villain, ſtand 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 fuch paltry Slaves prefume
To mix in Treason, if the Plot ſucceeds,

They're thrown neglect ed by: But if it fail's,
They're fure to die like Dogs, as you ſhall do.

Here, take thefe faſtious Monſters, dragg 'em forth
To fudden Death.

To fudden Death.

Enter

CATO.

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 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 clasp that haughty Maid,
And bend her stubborn Virtue to my Paffion:

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 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 that 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 struggling 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 smil'd, pleas'd with the beauteous Prize,
Nor envy'd Jove his Sun-shine and his Skies.

End of the Third Act.

ACT

C A T O.

45

ACT IV. SCENE I.

Lucia and Marcia.

Luc. NOW 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 Loofe to Sorrow :

Marcia cou'd anfwer 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 muft I beg thee not to name Sempronius?
Lucia, I like not that loud boif't'rous Man:

Juba to all the Brav'ry of a Heroe

Adds sofreft Love, and more than Female Sweetneſs;

Juba might make the proudeft 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 thou'd this Father give you to Sempronius?

Marc. I dare not think he will: but if he thou'd—
Why wilt thou add to all the Griefs I fuffer

Imaginary Ills, and fancy'd Tortures?

I

46 CATO.

I hear the Sound of Feet! they march this Way!
Let us retire, and try if we can drown
Each after Thought in Sense of prefent Danger.
When Love once plead's Admiffion to our Hearts
(In spight 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,
Rush 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 fo 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 felf! there is but one Way left—
He muſt be murder'd, and a Paſſage cut
Through thofe his Guards. — Hah, Daftards, do you tremble !
Or aſt 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

CATO.

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 loofe,
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 Myſtery of Fate.

[Exit Juba with Prisoners, &c.]

Enter Lucia and Marcia.

Luc. Sure 'twas the Clafh of Swords; my troubled Heart
Is fo 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 muſſed 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 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 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 liftning.

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

Juba.

48

C A T O.

Juba. What do I hear? and was the false Sempronius
That beft 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 joylefs Defart,
Has nothing left to make poor Marcia happy.

Juba. I'm on the Rack! Was he fo 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 Pleafure gladned all that faw him;
But when he talk'd, the proudeft Roman blufh'd
To hear his Virtues, and old Age grew wife.

Juba. I fhall run Mad—

Marc. O Juba! Juba! Juba!

Juba. What means that Voice? did he 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
Amidft its Agonies, remember'd Marcia,
And the laft Words he utter'd call'd me Cruel!

Alas, he knew not, haplefs 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 Elisium round me!

Marc. Ye dear Remains of the moft lov'd of Men!

Nor Modefty nor Virtue here forbid

A laft 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 Pleafure and Amaze, I ſtand tranſported!

Sure

C A T O.

49

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

Jub. A Wretch,
Difuiged 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 confels this once,
Am wrap'd with Joy to fee my Marcia's Tears.

Marc. I've been ſurprized in an unguard'd 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 loft in Extaſe! 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 ſelt 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 faſd,
But Fate has wrefſted 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 Vicer'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 aftonish'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 Hafe?
Why are thy Looks thus changed?

Port. My Heart is griev'd.

I bring ſuch News as will afflіſt my Father.
Cato. Has Cæſar ſhed more Roman Blood?
Port. Not fo.

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 toſ'd his Arm aloſſ, and proudly told me,
He wou'd not ſtay and perſih like Sempronius.

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

Thy

[Exit Portius

Thy Brother Marcus act's a Roman's Part.

—Lucius, the Torrent bears too hard upon me:
Juitſce give his Way to Force: the 'conquer'd World
Is Cæsar's: Cato has no Buiſeſs 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 Vicer never will impoſe on Cato
Ungen'rous Terms. His Enemies confes
The Virtues of Humanity are Cæsar's.

Cato. Curſe on his Virtues! They've undone his Country.
Such Popular Humanity is Treſaon—
But fee young Juba! the good Youth appears
Full of the Guilt of his perſidious Subjects.

Luc. Alas, poor Prince! his Fate deferves 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,
Falſhood and Fraud ſhoot up in ev'ry Soil,
The ProDUct of all Climes—

Rome has its Cæsars.

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

Cato. 'Tis juſt to give Applaufe where 'tis deferv'd;
Thy Virtue, Prince, has ſtood 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 anfwer 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 Poſt? 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 furviving 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 Hoſt of Foes,
Till obſtinately Brave, and bent on Death,
Oppreft with Multitudes, he greatly fell.

Cato. I'm fatify'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, before thou place
His Urne near mine.

Port. Long may they keep aſfunder!

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

The

53

C A T O.

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 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!

Cato. Alas my Friends!
Why mourn you thus? Let not a private Lofs
Afflict your Hearts. 'Tis Rome requires our Tears.
The Miſtrefs 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.

[Aſide.]

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.

Cato. Whate'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 fought 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 Fore-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 ſeen 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

[Aſide.]

With

54

C A T O.

With anxious Thoughts: A thousand secret Terrors,
Rife in my Soul: How shall I fave my Friends!

'Tis now, O Cæsar, I begin to fear thee.
Luc. Cæsar has Mercy, if we ask it of him.

Cato. Then ask it, I conjure you! let him know
Whate'er was done againft him, Cato did it.
Add, if you pleafe, that I requeft it of him,
That I my self, with Tears, requeft it of him,
The Virtue of my Friends may pafs unpunifh'd.

Juba, my Heart is troubled for thy Sake.
Shou'd I advife thee to regain Numidia,

Or feek the Conqueror?—
Jub. If I forfake thee

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

Cato. Thy Virtues, Prince, if I forefee 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,

Wreftling with Vice and Faction: Now thou feeſt me
Spent, overpower'd, defpairing of Successes;

Let me advife 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 prepar'd by my Command,
(Their Sails already op'ning to the Winds)
That ſhall convey you to the wilſt-for Port.

15

55

C A T O.

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 fafer Shore,
Where Cæsar never shall approach us more.

There the brave Youth, with Love of Virtue fired,
Who greatly in his Country's Caufe 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, croft,
Shall find the gen'rous Labour was not loft.

[Pointing to the Body of his dead Son.

End of the Fourth Act.

A C T

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 reasont 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 Deftruction?
'Tis the Divinity that flir'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 muft 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 Cæsar.
I'm weary of Conjeſtures—This muſt end 'em.

[Laying his Hand on his Sword.

Thus

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 ſhalt flourifh 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 harraſ'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
Difturb 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. Rаш 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 it thou betray me? Wou'd it thou give me up
A Slave, a Captive, into Cæsar's Hands?
Retire, and learn Obedience to a Father,
Or know, young Man!—

I

Port.

Port. Look not thus sternly on me,
You know I'd rather die than diebey you.
Cato. 'Tis well! again I'm Master of my self.
Now, Cæsar, let thy Troops befit our Gates,
And barr each Avenue, thy gath'ring Fleets
O'er-spread the Sea, and flop up ev'ry 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 displeased,
O be not angry with me whilft I weep,
And, in the Anguish of my Heart, befeech you
To quit the dreadful Purpose of your Soul.

Cato. Thou haft been ever good and dutiful. [Embracing him.
Weep not, my Son. All will be well again.

The righteous Gods, whom I have fought to please,
Will succour Cato, and preferve his Children.

Port. Your Words give Comfort to my drooping Heart.

Cato. Portius, thou may'ft rely upon my Conduct.
Thy Father will not act what misbecome'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 befriend 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, ftill there's Hope!
Our Father will not caft away a Life
So needful to us all, and to his Country.
He is retired to Reft, and feems to cherifh
Thoughts full of Peace. He has difpatcht me hence

With

With Orders, that befpeak a Mind compoſed,
And fludious 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.

[Exit.]

Enter Lucia.

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

Marc. Lucia, fpeak low, he is retir'd to Reft.

Lucia, I feel a gently-dawning Hope
Rife in my Soul. We fhall 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 felt.

Marc. Though ſtern and awful to the Foes of Rome,
He is all Goodneſs, Lucia, always mild,
Compaflionate, 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 Confent alone can make us bleſs'd.
Marcia, we both are equally involv'd
In the fame intricate, perplex'd, Diftrefs.
The cruel Hand of Fate, that has deftroy'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 reft to Heav'n.

I 2

Enter

CATO.

CATO.

61

### Enter Lucius.

Luc. Sweet are the Slumbers of the virtuous Man!

O Marcia, I have seen thy Godlike Father:
Some Pow'r invifible support'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 ftreetch'd at Eafe, his Fancy loft
In pleafing Dreams; as I drew near his Couch,
He smiled, and cry'd, Cæsar thou can't 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 burnith'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,

Accufe the ling'ring Winds, a Sail arrived
From Pompey's Son, who through the Realms of Spain

Call's

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 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 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.

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

Jub. Theſe are thy Triumphs, thy Exploits, O Cæsar!
Luc. Now is Rome fall'n indeed!—

Cato. Here fet 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

62

C A T O.

—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,
Wou'd not have match'd his Daughter with a King,
But Cæsar's Arms have thrown down all Distinction;
Whoe'er is Brave and Virtuous, is a Roman—
—I'm fick to Death — O when shall I get loose
From this vain World, th' Abode of Guilt and Sorrow!—
—And yet mcthinks a Beam of Light breaks in
On my departing Soul. Alas, I fear
I've been too hafty. O ye Pow'rs. that search
The Heart of Man, and weigh his inmost Thoughts,
If I have done amifs, impute it not!—
The best may Erre, but you are Good, and—oh!
Luc. There fled the greatest Soul that ever warm'd
A Roman Breast. O Cato! O my Friend!
Thy Will shall be religiously obferv'd.
But let us bear this awful Corps to Cæsar,
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 Difcord 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 the Guilty World of Cato's Life.

[Exeunt Omnes.

End of the Fifth Act.

E P I.

EPILOGUE,
By Dr. GARTH.

Spoken by Mrs. Porter.

W
HAT odd fantaslick 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 Coft;
To give you Pain, themselves they punifsh most.
Vows of Virginity shou'd well be weigh'd;
Too oft they're cancell'd, tho' in Convents made.
Would you revenge such rafh Resolues— 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;
We ſighs with moſt Succes that fettles well,
The Wows 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 Lefſons we have learn'd from you:
Our Breasts no more the Fire of Beauty warms,
But wicked Wealth uſurps the Power of Charms;

What