[ i ]

Dramatis Personæ.

MEN.

CATO.

Lucius, a Senator.

Sempronius, a Senator.

Juba, Prince of Numidia.

Syphax, General of the Numidians.

Portius, 3/2 Sons of Cato.

Marcus, 3/2 Decius, *Ambassador from Cæsar*.

Mutineers, Guards, &c.

WOMEN.

Marcia, *Daughter to Cato*.

Lucia, *Daughter to Lucius*.

Mr. Booth.

Mr. Keen.

Mr. Mills.

Mr. Wilks.

Mr. Cibber.

Mr. Powel.

Mr. Rian.

Mr. Bowman.

Mrs. Oldfield.

Mrs. Porter.

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

CATO.

CATO.

ACT I. SCENE I.

Portius, Marcus.

Por. T
HE Dawn is over-cast, the Morning low's,
And heavily in Clouds brings on the Day,
The great, th' important Day, big with the Fate
Of Cato and of Rome.—Our Father's Death
Would fill up all the Guilt of Civil War,
And close the Scene of Blood. Already Cæsar
Has ravaged more than half the Globe, and fees
Mankind grown thin by his destructive Sword :
Should he go further, Numbers would be wanting
To form new Battels, and support his Crimes.
Ye Gods, what Havock does Ambition make
Among your Works!

Marc. Thy teddy Temper, Portius,
Can look on Guilt, Rebellion, Fraud, and Cæsar,
In the calm Lights of mild Philosophy;
I'm tortured, ev'n to Madnes's, when I think
On the proud Victor: ev'ry Time he's named
Pharsalia rifles to my View— I fee

B

Th' In-

2

CATO.

Th' Insulting 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, Mareus, 'tis an impious Greatneſs,
And mixt with too much Horrour to be envy'd:
How does the Luſtre of our Father's Actions,
Through the dark Cloud of Ills that cover him,
Break out, and burn with more triumphant Brightneſs!
His Suff'ring ſhine, 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 ſurp'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, directs
A feeble Army, and an empty Senate,
Remnants of mighty Battels fought in vain.
By Heav'ns, ſuch Virtues, join'd with ſuch Suſeefs,
Diftract 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 bewilderd in the fruitleſs Search;
Nor ſees with how much Art the Windings run,
Nor where the regular Confuſion ends.

Mare.

3

CATO.

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

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

[Aside]

Now, Marcus, now, thy Virtue's on the Proof:
Put forth thy utmoſt Strength, work ev'ry Nerve,
And call up all thy Father in thy Soul:
To quell the Tyrant Love, and guard thy Heart
On this weak Side, where moſt our Nature fails,
Would be a Conqueft worthy Cato's Son.

Marc. Portius, the Council which I cannot take,
Instead of healing, but upbraids my Weakneſs.
Bid me for Honour plunge into a War
Of thickeſt Foes, and ruſh on certain Death,
Then ſhalt thou ſee that Marcus is not flow
To follow Glory, and confes his Father.
Love is not to be reaſon'd down, or loft
In high Ambition, and a Thrift 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 Paſſion back into his Heart.
What! ſhall an African, ſhall Juba's Heir,
Reproarry great Cato's Son, and how the World

B 2

A

4

CATO.

A Virtue wanting in a Roman Soul?

Marc. *Portius, no more! your Words leave Strings behind.'*
When-e're did juha, or did *Portius*, show
A Virtue that has caft me at a Distance,
And thrown me out in the Pursuits of Honour?

Por. *Marcus, I know thy generous Temper well;*
Fling but the Appearance of Dishonour on it,
It strait takes Fire, and mounts into a Blaze.

Marc. A Brother's Suff'rings claim a Brother's Pity.

Por. Heav'n knows I pity thee: Behold my Eyes
Ev'n 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 eafe
Thy troubled Heart, and mitigate thy Pains,
Marcus, believe me, I could die to do it.

Marc. Thou beft of Brothers, and thou beft of Friends!
Pardon a weak distemper'd Soul, that swells
With sudden Gufts, and sinks as soon in Calms,
The Sport of Passions—But *Sempronius* comes:
He muft not find this Softneſs hanging on me.

[Exit.]

## SCENE II.

Sempronius *solus*.

Confpiracies no sooner ſhout'd be form'd
Than executed. What means *Portius* here?
I like not that cold Youth. I muſt difſemble,
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 ſhour'd we thus exprefs our Friendship,
Each might receive a Slave into his Arms:

This

5

CATO.

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

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

Semp. Not all the Pomp and Majesty of *Rome*
Can raſe her Senate more than *Cato's* Preſence.
His Virtues render our Affembly awful,
They ſtrike with ſomething like religious Fear,
And make ev'n *Caesar* tremble at the Head

Of Armies flush'd with Conqueſt: O my *Portius*,
Could I but call that wondrous Man my Father,
Wou'd but thy Sifter *Marcia* be propitious

To thy Friend's Vows: I might be bleſs'd indeed!

Por. Alas! *Sempronius*, wou'd I thou talk of Love
To *Marcia*, whilſt her Father's Life's in Danger?
Thou mightst as well court the pale trembling Vestal,
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 fets thee up to View,
And ſhows thee in the faireſt Point of Light,
To make thy Virtues or thy Faults confpicuous.

Por. Well doſt thou seem to check my Lingring here.
On this important Hour— I'll ſtraight 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.

'Tis not in Mortals to command Successes;
But we'll do more, *Sempronius*, we'll deferve it.

[Exit.]

Semp.

6

CATO.

Sempronius *folios*.

Curse on the Stripling! how he Ape's his fire?
Ambitiously sententious! — But I wonder

Old *Syphax* comes not; his *Numidian* Genius

Is well disposed to Mischief, were he prompt

And eager on it, but he must be spurr'd;

And ev'ry Moment quickned to the Courfe.

Cato has ufed me ill: He has refused

His Daughter *Marcia* to my ardent Vows.

Besides, his baffled Arms and ruined Caufe

Are Barrs to my Ambition: *Cæsar's* Favour,

That flow'r's 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 Maſter.

*Semp.* Believe me, *Syphax*, there's no Time to waiſte;
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 Courſe he rufiſes on

From War to War: In vain has Nature form'd

Mountains and Oceans to oppose his Paffage;

He bounds o'er all, victorious in his March,

The *Alpes* and *Pyreneans* fink before him;

Through Winds, and Waves, and Storms, he works his Way,
Impa-

CATO.

7

Impatient for the Battel: One Day more

Will set the Victor thundring at our Gates.

But tell me, haſt thou yet drawn o'er young *Juba*?

That ſtill wou'd recommend thee more to *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 expect him here)

If yet I can subdue thoſe fltubborn Principles

Of Faith, of Honour, and I know not what,

That have corrupted his *Numidian* Temper,

And ſtruck th' Infection into all his Soul.

*Semp.* Be ſure to preſs upon him ev'ry Motive.

*Juba's* Surrender, ſince his Father's Death,

Would give up *Africk* into *Cæsar's* Hands,

And make him Lord of Half the burning Zone.

*Syph.* — But is it true, Sempronius, that your Senate

Is call'd together? Gods! Thou muſt be cautious!

Cato has piercing Eyes, and will discern

Our Frauds, unless they're cover'd thick with Art.

*Semp.* Let me alone, good *Syphax*, I'll conceal

My Thoughts in Paffion, (tis the ſureſt Way ;)

I'll bellow out for Rome and for my Country,

And mouth at *Cæsar* 'till I shake the Senate.

Your cold Hypocrifiſes 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 Hafe: —

O think what anxious Moments paſs between.

The

8

CATO.

The Birth of Plots, and their last fatal Periods.
Oh! 'tis a dreadful Interval of Time,
Fill'd up with Horror all, and big with Death!
Destruction hangs on ev'ry Word we speak,
On ev'ry Thought, till the concluding Stroke
Determines all, and cloves our Defig.

Syphax folus.

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 rushing on us—
But hold! young Juba sees me, and approaches.

## SCENE IV.

Juba, Syphax.

Jub. Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone.
I have observed of late thy Looks are fall'n,
O'ercaft with gloomy Cares, and Discontent;
Then tell me, Syphax, I conjure thee, tell me,
What are the Thoughts that knit thy Brow in Frowns,
And turn thine Eye thus coldly on thy Prince?

Syph. Tis not my Talent to conceal my Thoughts,
Nor carry Smiles and Sun-shine in my Face,
When Discontent fits heavy at my Heart.
I have not yet so much the Roman in me.

Jub. Why do't thou cast out such ungen'rous Terms
Against the Lords and Sov'reigns of the World?
Do't thou not see Mankind fall down before 'em,
And own the Force of their Superior Virtue?

Is there a Nation in the Wilds of Africa,
Amidst our barren Rocks and burning Sands,
That does not tremble at the Roman Name?

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

Do

9

CATO.

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 instruets
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 Wisdom, Discipline, and lib'ral Arts;
Th' Embellifhments of Life: Virtues like thefe,
Make Human Nature thine, 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 traftable and tame?
Are they not only to difguife our Pations,
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't thou see to what a Godlike Height
The Roman Virtues lift up mortal Man.
While good, and just, and anxious for his Friends,
He's still severely bent against himself;
Renouncing Sleep, and Rest, and Food, and Eafe,
He strives with Thirst and Hunger, Toil and Heat;
And when his Fortune fets before him all

C

The

10 CATO.

The Pomps and Pleafures that his Soul can with,
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 practises these boafted Virtues.
Coarſe are his Meals, the Fortune of the Chafe,
Amidſt the running Stream he flakes his Thirſt,
Toil's all the Day, and at th' approach of Night
On the firſt friendly Bank he throws him down,
Or reſts his Head upon a Rock till Morn:
Then rilſes freſh, purſues his wonted Game,
And if the following Day he chance to find
A new Repaſt, or an untaſted Spring,
Bleſſes his Stars, and thinks it Luxury.

Jub. Thy Prejudices, Syphax, won't discern
What Virtues grow from Ignorance and Choice,
Nor how the Hero differs from the Brute.
But grant that others cou'd with equal Glory
Look down on Pleaſures and the Baits of Senſe;
Where ſhall we find the Man that bears Affliction,
Great and Majetick in his Grieſs, like Cato?
Heav'ns, with what Strength, what Steadineſs of Mind,
He Triumphs in the midſt of all his Sufferings!
How does he rife againſt a Load of Wocs,
And thank the Gods that throw the weight upon him!
Syph. 'Tis Pride, rank Pride, and Haughtineſs of Soul:
I think the Romans call it Stoicifm.

Had not your Royal Father thought ſo highly
Of Roman Virtue, and of Cato's Caufe,
He had not fall'n by a Slave's Hand inglorious:
Nor would his ſlaughteŕd Army now have lain
On Africa's Sands, diſfigur'd with their Wounds,
To gorge the Wolves and Vultures of Numidia
Jub. Why doſt thou call my Sorrows up afreſh?
My Father's Name brings Tears into my Eyes.
Syph. Oh, that you'd profit by your Father's Ills!

Jub.

CATO.

II

Jub. What wou'dt thou have me do?

Syph. Abandon Cato.

Jub. Syphax, I ſhou'd be more than twice an Orphan
By ſuch a Loſs.

Syph. Ay, there's the Tie that binds you!
You long to call him Father. Marcia's Charms
Work in your Heart ungeen, and plead for Cato.
No wonder you are deaf to all I say.
Jub. Syphax, your Zeal becomes importunate;
I've hitherto permitted it to rave,
And talk at large; but learn to keep it in,
Leaſt it ſhould take more Freedom than I'll give it.

Syph. Sir, your great Father never uſed me thus.
Alas, he's Dead! But can you e'er forget
The tender Sorrows, and the Pangs of Nature,
The fond Embraces, and repeated Bleſſings,
Which you drew from him in your laſt Farewell?
Still muſt I cheriſh the dear ſad Remembrance,
At once to torture and to plearſe 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 to high he could not utter more.

Jub. Alas, thy Story melts away my Soul.
That beſt of Fathers! how ſhall I diſcharge
The Gratitude and Duty, which I owe him!
Syph. By laying up his Councils in your Heart.
Jub. His Councils bade me yield to thy Directions:
Then, Syphax, chide me in ſevereſt Terms,
Vent all thy Paffion, and I'll ſtand its thock,
Calm and unruffled as a Summer-Sea,
When not a Breath of Wind flie's o'er its Surface.

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

Jub. I do believe thou wou'dt, but tell me how?
Syph. Fly from the Fate that follows Cæsar's Foes.

Jub. My Father ſeem'd to do't.
Syph. And therefore dy'd.

C 2

Jub.

12 CATO.

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

Syph. Rather fay your Love.

Jub. 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 Damés of Læna's Royal Court
Have Faces fluſht with more exalted Charms.
The Sun, that rolls his Chariot o'er their Heads,
Works up more Fire and Colour in their Cheeks:
Were you with theſe, my Prince, you'd ſoon forget
The pale unripen'd Beauties of the North.

Jub. 'Tis not a Sett of Features, or Complexion,
The Tincture of a Skin, that I admire.

Beauty ſoon grows familiar to the Lover,
Fades in his Eye, and palls upon the Senſe.
The virtuous Marcia tow'rs above her Sex:
True, ſhe is fair, (Oh, how divinely fair!)
But ſtill the lovely Maid improves her Charms
With inward Greatneſs, unaſſected Wifdom,
And Sanctity of Manners. Cato's Soul
Shines out in every thing ſhe acts or ſpeaks,
While winning Mildneſs and attractive Smiles
Dwell in her Looks, and with becoming Grace
Soften the Rigour of her Father's Virtues.

Syph. How does your Tongue grow wanton in her Praise!
But on my Knees I beg you wou'd confider—

Enter Marcia and Lucia.

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

Syph.

13

CATO.

Syph. Ten thouſand Curſes faſten on 'en both!
Now will this Woman with a ſingle Glance
Undo, what I've been lab'ring all this while.

[Exit.]

Juba, Marcia, Lucia.

Jub. Hail charming Maid, how does thy Beauty ſmooth
The Face of War, and make ev'n Horror ſmile!
At Sight of thee my Heart ſhakes off its Sorrows;
I feel a Dawn of Joy break in upon me,
And for a while forget th' Approach of Cæsar.

Marc. I hou'd be griev'd, young Prince, to think my Prefence
Unbent your Thoughts, and ſlacken'd 'em to Arms,
While, warm with Slaughter, our victorious Foe,
Threatens aloud, and calls you to the Field.

Jub. O Marcia, let me hope thy kind Concerns
And gentle Wifhes follow me to Battel!
The Thought will give new Vigour to my Arm,
Add Strength and Weight to my defending Sword,
And drive it in a Tempeſt on the Foe.

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

Jub. That Juba may deferve thy pious Cares,
I'll gaze for ever on thy Godlike Father,
Transplanting, one by one, into my Life
His bright Perfections, 'till I fhine like him.

Marc. My Father never at a Time like this
Wou'd lay out his great Soul in Words, and waſte
Such precious Moments.

Jub. Thy Reproofs are juſt,
Thou virtuous Maid; I'll haſten to my Troops,
And fire their languid Souls with Cato's Virtue;
If e'er I lead them to the Field, when all
The War ſhall ſtand ranged in its juſt Array,
And dreadful Pomp: Then will I think on thee!
O lovely Maid, Then will I think on Thee!

And

14

C A T O.

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

Luc. Marcia, you're too severe:

How cou'd you chide the young good-natured Prince,
And drive him from you with so stern an Air,

A Prince that loves and doats 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 truft my felf to hear him talk.

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

Mar. How, Lucia, wou'dt thou have me funk away
In pleasing Dreams, and love me felf in Love,
When ev'ry Moment Cato's Life's at Stake?

Cæsar comes arm'd with Terror and Revenge,
And aims his Thunder at my Father's Head:

Shou'd not the sad Occasion swallow up
My other Cares, and draw them all into it?

Luc. Why have not I this Constancy of Mind,
Who have fo many Griefs to try its Force?

Sure, Nature form'd me of her softest 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 Diftrefes;
Tell me who raifes up this Conflict in thee?

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

Mar. They both behold thee with their 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 wills for?

Mar. For neither—

[Excit.

And

C. A. T. O.

15

And yet for both—The Youths have equal Share
In Marcia's Wishes, and divide their Sifter:
But tell me which of them is Lucia's Choice?

Luc. Marcia, they both are high in my Esteem,
But in my Love—Why wilt thou make me name him?

Thou know'ft 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 toſt n'away my Soul!

With what a graceful Tenderneſs he loves!
And breath's the softest, the sincerest Vows!

Complacency, and Truth, and manly Sweetneſs

Dwell ever on his Tongue, and smooth his Thoughts.

Marcus is over-warm, his ſond Complaints
Have so much Earneſtneſs and Paffion in them,

I hear him with a ſecret kind of Dread,

And tremble at his Vehemence of Temper.

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

Lucia, thou know'ſt not half the Love he bears thee;
Whene'er he ſpeaks of thee, his Heart's in Flames,

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

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

Unhappy Youth! how will thy Coldneſs raife
Tempeſts and Storms in his afflicted Bofom!

I dread the Conſequence—

Luc. You ſeem to plead
Againſt your Brother Portius—

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

Luc. Was ever Virgin Love diſtreft like mine!
Portius himself ſoft falls in Tears before me,
As if he mourn'd his Rival's ill Succeſs,
Then bids me hide the Motions of my Heart,
Nor how which Way it turns. So much he fears

The

16

C A T O.

The fad Effects, that it would have on Marcus.

Mar. He knows too well how easily he's fired,
And wou'd not plunge his Brother in Defpair,
But waits for happier Times, and kinder Moments.

Luc. Alas, too late I find my self involved
In endles Griefs and Labyrinths of Woe,
Born to afflict my Marcia's Family,
And few Diffention in the Hearts of Brothers.

Tormenting Thought! it cuts into my Soul.

Mar. Let us not, Lucia, aggravate our Sorrows,
But to the Gods permit th'Event of Things.
Our Lives difcolour'd with our prefent Woes,
May ſtill grow bright, and ſmile with happier Hours.

So the pure limpid Stream, when foul with Stains
Of rufhing 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.
Caſar's Approach has ſummon'd us together,

And Rome attends her Fate from our Refolves:

How ſhall we treat this bold aspiring Man?

Succeſs ſtill follows him, and backs his Crimes :

Pharſalia gave him Rome; Egypt has ſince

Receiv'd his Yoke, and the whole Nile is Caſar'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 fixt

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

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

By Time and ill Succeſs to a Submiſſion?

Sempronius ſpeak.

D

Semp.

18

CATO.

Semp. My Voice is still for War.
Gods, can a Roman Senate long debate
Which of the Two to choose, Slav'ry or Death!
No, let us rise at once, gird on our Swords,
And, at the Head of our remaining Troops,
Attack the Foe, break through the thick Array
Of his throng'd Legions, and charge home upon him
Perhaps some Arm, more lucky than the rest,
May reach his Heart, and free the World from Bondage.
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.

Roufe 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 Reafon :
True Fortitude is seen in great Exploits
That Justice warrant's, and that Wifdom guide's,
All else is tow'ring Frenzy and Diftraction.
Are not the Lives of those, who draw the Sword
In Rome's Defence, entrusted to our Care ?
Should we thus lead them to a Field of Slaughter,
Might not th' impartial World with Reafon lay,
We laviſht at our Deaths the Blood of Thousands
To grace our Fall, and make our Ruin glorious ?
Lucius, we next would know what's your Opinion.

Luc. My Thoughts, I muſt confefs, are turn'd on Peace.
Already have our Quarrels fill'd the World.
With Widows and with Orphans: Scythia mourns
Our guilty Wars, and Earth's remoteſt Regions
Lie half unpeopled by the Feuds of Rome:

Tis

19

CATO.

'Tis Time to fheath the Sword, and ſpare Mankind.
It is not Cæsar, but the Gods, my Fathers,
The Gods declare against us, and repell:
Our vain Attempts. To urge the Foe to Battel,
(Prompted by blind Revenge, and wild Despair)
Were to refuse th'Awards of Providence,
And not to 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 Discourse 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 Rash nor Diftident:
Immod'rate Valour ſwell's into a Fault,

And Fear, admitted into publick Councils,

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

Fathers, I cannot ſee that our Affairs,

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

Within our Walls are Troops enur'd to Toil

In Africk's Heats, and ſeafon'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 difſturb the Gods; I am

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, ere her Time

No, let us draw her Term of Freedom out

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

D 2

So

20

CATO.

So shall we gain still one Day's Liberty;
And let me perish, but, in Cato's Judgment,
A Day, an Hour of virtuous Liberty,
Is worth a whole Eternity in Bondage.

Enter Marcus.

Marc. Fathers, this Moment as I watch'd the Gates,
Lodg'd on my Poft, a Herald is arrived
From Cæsar's Camp, and with him comes old Decius,
The Roman Knight; he carry's in his Looks
Impatience, and demands to speak with Cato.
Cato. By your Permission, Fathers, bid him enter.

Decius was once my Friend, but other Prospects
Have loofed those Ties, and bound him faft to Cæsar.
His Mefflage may determine our Refolves.

[Exit Marcus.

Enter Decius.

Dec. Cæsar sends Health to Cato.
Cato. Could he send it
To Cato's flaughter'd Friends, it would be welcome.
Are not your Orders to addreſs the Senate?
Dec. My Buſineſs is with Cato: Cæsar ſee's
The Streights to which you're driv'n; and as he knowes
Cato's high Worth, is anxious for his Life.
Cato. My Life is grafted on the Fate of Rome:
Would he ſave Cato? Bid him ſpare his Country.
Tell your Dictator this, and tell him Cato
Difdain's a Life, which he has Pow'r to offer.
Dec. Rome and Her Senators submit to Cæsar:
Her Gen'rals and her Conſuls are no more,
Who check'd his Conqueſts, and denied his Triumphs.
Why will not Cato be this Cæsar's Friend?
Cato. Thofe very Reaſons, that haſt tirged, forbid it.

Dec.

21

CATO.

Dec. Cato, I've Orders to expoftulate,
And reaſon with you as from Friend to Friend:
Think on the Storm that gather's o'er your Head,
And threaten's ev'ry Hour to burſt upon it;
Still may you stand high in your Country's Honours,
Do but comply, and make your Peace with Cæsar.
Rome will rejoice, and caſt its Eyes on Cato,
As on the Second of Mankind.

Cato. No more!

I muſt not think of Life on ſuch Conditions.

Dec. Cæsar is well acquainted with your Virtues,
And therefore 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 varnish Crimes,
My ſelf will mount the Roſtrum in his Favour,
And ſtrive to gain his Pardon from the People.

Dec. A Stile like this become's a Conqueror.

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

Dec. What is a Roman, that is Cæsar's Foe ?

Cato. Greater than Cæsar, he's a Friend to Virtue.

Dec. Confider, Cato, you're in Wiltica;
And at the Head of your own little Senate;
You don't now thunder in the Capitol,
With all the Mouths of Rome to fecond you.

Cato. Let him confider That who drives us hither:
Tis Cæsar's Sword has made Rome's Senate little,
And thinn'd its Ranks. Alas, thy dazzled Eye
Behold's this Man in a false glaring Light,
Which Conqueſt and Success have thrown upon him;

Didſt

22

CATO.

Didst thou but view him right, thou'dst see him black
With Murder, Treason, Sacrilege, and Crimes,

That strike my Soul with Horror but to name 'em.
I know thou look'st on me, as on a Wretch

Befat 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 Answer back to Cæsar,

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

Cato. His Cares for me are insolent and vain:

Prefumptious Man! The Gods take Care of Cato.

Wou'd Cæsar show the Greatneſs of his Soul,
Bid him employ his Care for theſe my Friends,
And make good Uſe of his ill-gotten Pow'r,
By ſheltring Men much better than himſelf.

Dec. Your high unconquer'd Heart make's you forget
That you're a Man. You ruffh on your D馀uction.

But I have done. When I relate hereafter

The Tale of this unhappy Embaſſe

All Rome will be in Tears.

[Exit Decius.

Semp. Cato, we thank thee.

The mighty Genius of Immortal Rome

Speak in thy Voice, thy Soul breath's Liberty :
Cæsar will shrink to hear the Woods thou utter'd
And ſhudder in the midſt of all his Conqueſts.

Luc. The Senate own's its Gratitude to Cato,
Who with ſo great a Soul conſult's its Safety,
And guard's our Lives, while he 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's I cou'd enjoy the Pangs of Death,
And Smile in Agony.

Luc. Others perhaps.

May ſerve their Country with as warm a Zeal,
Tho' tis not kindled into ſo much Rage.

Semp. This ſober Conduct is a mighty Vertue
In luke-warm Patriots.

Cato. Come! no more, Sempronius,

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

Let us not weaken ſtill the weaker Side,
By our Divisions.

Semp. Cato, my Reſentments

Are ſacrificed to Rome — I ſtand reproved.

Cato. Father's, 'tis Time you come to a Reſolve.

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 Reſolution, Friendship, Roman Brav'ry,

And all the Virtues we can crowd into it;

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

Fathers, farewell! — The young Numidian Prince

Comes forward, and expects to know our Councils.

[Ex. Senators.

Enter Juba.

Cato. Juba, the Roman Senate has reſolv'd;
Till Time give better Prospects, ſtill to keep
The Sword unſhealth'd, and turn its Edge on Cæsar.

Jub. The Reſolution fits a Roman Senate.

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

And conſeſcend to hear a young Man ſpeak.

My

24

C A T O.

My Father, when some Days before his Death
He order'd me to march for Utica
(Alas, I thought not then his Death so near !)
Wep't o'er me, prefs'd me in his aged Arms,
And as his Griefs gave Way, My Son, said he,
Whatever Fortune shall befall thy Father,
Be Cato's Friend; he'll train thee up to Great
And Virtuous Deeds: Do but observe him well,
Thou'lt Chun Misfortunes, or thou'lt learn to bear 'em.

Cato. Juba, Thy Father was a worthy Prince,
And merited, alas! a better Fate;
But Heav'n thought otherwife.

Juba. My Father's Fate,
In Spight of all the Fortitude, that Shine's
Before my Face, in Cato's great Example,
Subdue's my Soul, and fill's my Eyes with Tears.

Cato. It is an honest Sorrow, and becomes thee.
Juba. My Father drew Respect from foreign Climes;

The Kings of Africk fought him for their Friend,
Kings far remote, that rule, as Fame report's
Behind the hidden Sources of the Nile,
In diffant Worlds, on other Side the Sun:
Oft have their black Ambassadors appear'd,
Loaden with Gifts, and fill'd the Courts of Zama.

Cato. I am no Stranger to thy Father's Greatnefs.

Juba. I would not boast the Greatnefs of my Father,
But point out new Alliances to Cato.

Had we not better leave this Utica,
To arm Numidia in our Cause, and court
Th'Affiftance of my Father's pow'rful Friends?

Did they know Cato, our remoteft Kings
Wou'd pour embattled Multitudes about him;
Their Swarthy Hofts 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

C A T O.

Reduc'd, 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 wou'd, when I fee fuch Virtue
Afflicted by the Weight of fuch Misfortunes.
Cato. Thy Noblenefs of Soul obliges me.
But know, young Prince, that Value foar's above
What the World calls Misfortune and Affliction.
Thefe are not Ills, elfe wou'd they never fall
On Heav'ns first Fav'rites, and the beft of Men:
The Gods, in Bounty, work up Storms about us,
That give Mankind Occafion to exert
Their hidden Strength, and throw out into Practice
Virtues, which Chun the Day, and lie conceal'd
In the smooth Seaſons, and the Calms of Life.

Jub. I'm charm'd when e'er thou talk'st! I pant for Virtue!
And all my Soul endeavours at Perfection.

Cato. Doft thou love Watchings, Abſtinence, 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 retraſt 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 refuse!

Jub. I fear to name it.

E

Marcia

26

C A T O.

Marcia—inherits all her Father's Virtues.

Cato. What wou'dst thou say ?

Jub. Cato, thou haſt a Daughter.

Cato. Adieu, young Prince: I wou'd not hear a Word
Shou'd leſsen thee in my 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.

[Exit.]

Enter Syphax.

Syph. How's this, my Prince! What, cover'd with Confuſion?
You look as if you ſtern Philosopher

Had just now chid you.

Jub. Syphax, I'm undone!

Syph. I know it well.

Jub. Cato thinks meanly of me.

Syph. And so will all Mankind.

Jub. I've open'd to him

The Weakneſs of my Soul, my Love for Marcia.

Syph. Cato's a proper Person to entruſt

A Love-Tale with.

Jub. Oh, I could pierce my Heart,
My foolish Heart! Was ever Wretch like Juba ?

Syph. Alas, my Prince how are you changed of late!
I've known young Juba 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 seen you
Ev'n in the Lybian Dog days hunt him down,

Then charge him cloſe, provoke him to the Rage
Of Fangs and Claws, and ftooing from your Horſe
River the panting Savage to the Ground.

Jub. Prithee, no more!

Syph. How wou'd the old King ſmile

To

C A T O.

27

To fee you weigh the Paws, when tipp'd with Gold,
And throw the ſhaggy Spoils about your Shoulders!

Syph. Syphax, this old Man's Talk (tho' Honey flow'd
In ev'ry Word) wou'd now Iſe all its Sweetneſs.

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

Syph. Young Prince, I yet could give you good Advice.

Marcia might ſtill be yours.

Jub. What fay'ſt thou, Syphax?

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

Syph. Marcia might ſtill be yours.

Jub. As how, Dear Syphax?

Syph. Juba commands Numidia's hardy Troops,
Mounted on Steeds, 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 Act that wou'd deſtroy my Honour?

Syph. Gods, I could tear my Beard to hear you talk!
Honour's a fine imaginary Notion,

That draws in raw and unexperienced Men
To real Mifchieſe, while they hunt a Shadow.

Jub. Wou'dt thou degrade thy Prince into a Ruffian?
Syph. The boafed Anceſtors of theſe great Men,
Whoſe Virtues you admire, were all ſuch Ruffians.

This Dread of Nations, this Almighty Rome,
That comprehends in her wide Empire's Bounds
All under Heav'n, was founded on a Rape.
Your ſcipios', Cæsar's, Pompey's, and your Cato's,
(Theſe Gods on Earth) are all the ſpurious Brood
Of violated Maids, of ravifh'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 unanswer'd! Thou'rt a Traitor,
A falfe old Traitor.

Syph. I have gone too far.

Jub. Cato shall know the Bafeens of thy Soul.

[Afide.]

Syph. I muft appeafe this Storm, or perifh in it.

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

[Afide.]

Jub. Thofe Locks shall ne'er proteafe thy Infolence.

Syph. Muft one rafh Word, th' Infirmity of Age,
Throw down the Merit of my better Years?

This the Reward of a whole Life of Service!

Curfe on the Boy! How fteadily he hears me!

Jub. Is it becaufe the Throre 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?

[Afide.]

Syph. Why will you rive my Heart with fuch 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 Difpleafure.

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 Traytor.

Jub. Sure thou miftakeſt; I did not call thee ſo.

Syph. You did indeed, my Prince, you call'd me Traytor:
Nay, further, threaten'd you'd complain to Cato.
Of what, my Prince, wou'd you complain to Cato?

That Syphax loves you, and wou'd facrifice

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 ſhe is not:
It ought not to be ſported with.

Syph. By Heav'ns

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

Alas, I've hitherto been uſed to think

A blind officious Zeal to ſerve my King

The ruling Principle, that ought to burn

And quench all others in a Subjeſt's Heart.

Happy the People who preſerve their Honour

By the fame Duties that oblige their Prince!

Jub. Syphax, thou now begin'ſt to ſpeak thy ſelf.
Numidia's grown a Scorn among the Nations
For Breach of publick Vows. Our Punick Faith
Is infamous, and branded to a Proverb.

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

Our Country's Crimes, and clear her Reputation.

Syph. Believe me, Prince, you make old Syphax weep
To hear you talk—but 'tis with Tears of Joy.

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

Numidia will be bleſt by Cato's Lectures.

Jub.

30 C A T O.

Jub. Syphax, thy Hand! we'll mutually forget
The Warmth of Youth, and Frowardnefs 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 Occafion that may fet me right
In Cato's Thoughts. I'd rather have that Man
Approve my Deeds, than Worlds for my Admirers.

[Exit.]

Syphax ſolus.

Young Men ſoon give, and ſoon forget Affronts;
Old Age is flow in both—A ſalſe old Traytor!

Thofe Words, rafh 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 præſtis'd with him,
And found a Means to let the Viftor know
That Syphax and Sempronius are his Friends.

But let me now examine in my Turn:

Is Juba fixt?

Syph. Yes, but it is to Cato.
I've try'd the Force of ev'ry Reaſon on him,
Sooth'd and carrefs'd, been angry, ſooth'd again,
Lay'd Safety, Life, and Int'reſt in his Sight,
But all are vain, he ſcorns them all for Cato.

Syph. Come, 'tis no Matter, we ſhall do without him.
He'll make a pretty Figure in a Triumph,
And ſerve to trip before the Viftor's Chariot.

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

Syph. May ſhe be thine as faſt as thou wou'dt have her !

Semp. Syphax, I love that Woman ; tho' I curſe
Her and my ſelf, yet ſpight of me, I love her.

Syph. Make Cato ſure, and give up Utica,
Cæsar will ne'er ſe refuse thee ſuch a Trifle.

But are thy Troops prepared for a Revolt?

Do's the Sedition catch from Man to Man,
Ar'd run among their Ranks?

Semp. All, all is ready.

The factious Leaders are our Friends, that ſpread
Murmurs and Difcontents among the Soldiers.

They count their toilſome Marches, long Fatigues,
Unuſual Faſtings, and will bear no more

This Medly of Philofophy and War.

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

Syph. Mean while I'll draw up my Numidian Troops
Within the Square, to exercife their Arms,
And, as I fee Occafion, favour thee.

I

32

C A T O.

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

[Exeunt.]

End of the Second Act.

A C T

C A T O.

33

ACT III. SCENE I.

Marcus and Portius.

Marc. T Hanks to my Stars, I have not ranged about
The Wilds of Life, 'ere I cou'd find a Friend;
Nature firft pointed out my Portius to me,
And early taught me, by her secret Force,
To love thy Person, 'ere I knew thy Merit;
Till, what was Inflinct, grew up into Friendship.

Port. Marcus, the Friendhips of the World are oft
Confed'racies in Vice, or Leagues of Pleasure;
Ours has fevereft Virtue for its Bafis,
And fuch a Friendship ends not but with Life.

Marc. Portius, thou know'ft my Soul in all its Weakneſs;
Then prithee ſpare me on its tender Side,
Indulge me but in Love, my other Paffions
Shall rife and fall by Virtue's niceſt Rules.

Port. When Love's well timed, 'tis not a Fault to love.
The Strong, the Brave, the Virtuous, and the Wife,
Sink in the soft Captivity together.
I wou'd not urge thee to diſmifs thy Paffion,
(I know 'twere vain) but to ſuppreſs its Force,
Till better Times may make it look more graceful.

Marc. Alas! thou talk'st like one who never felt
Th' impatient Throbbes 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 Cauſe, and plead it to her
With all the Strength and Heats of Eloquence
Fraternal Love and Friendſhip 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 ſee'ft me ſuffer.

*Port.* *Marcus,* I beg thee give me not an Office
That ſuits with me ſo ill. Thou know'ſt my Temper.

*Marc.* Wilt thou behold me ſinking in my Woes?
And wilt thou not reach out a friendly Arm,
To 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 fay 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 affiſt thy Brother.

*Port.* What ſhou'd I do! If I diſcloſe my Paffion
Our Friendſhip's at an end: If I conceal it,
The World will call me falſe to a Friend and Brother. [Aſide.

*Marc.* But fee where *Lucia*, at her wonted Hour,
Amid the cool of yon high Marble Arch,

Enjoys the Noon-day Breeze! Obſerve her, *Portius*!
That Face, that Shape, that ſtoſe 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 fickens, he defpairs, 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 poffible for Love
To make ſuch Ravage in a noble Soul!

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

Ev'n now, while thus I ſtand bled 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 follicit for him.

Then do not ſtrike him dead with a Denial,
But hold him up in Life, and cheer his Soul

With the faint glimm'ring of a doubtful Hope:
Perhaps, when we have pafs'd theſe gloomy Hours,

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

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

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

F 2

To

36

C A T O.

To Heav’n, and all the Pow’rs that judge Mankind,
Never to mix my plighted Hands with thine,
While fuch a Cloud of Mifchiefs hang’s about us.
But to forget our Loves, and drive thee out
From all my Thoughts, as far—-as I am able.

Port. What haft thou faid! I’m thunder-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 juſt blaſted by a Stroak from Heav’n,
Who pant’s for Breath, and stiffen’s, yet alive,
In dreadful Looks: A Monument of Wrath!

Luc. At length I’ve acted my feverſt 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 Displeaſure.
The Gods forbid us to indulge our Loves,
But oh! I cannot bear thy Hate and live !

Port. Talk not of Love, thou never knew’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 Rauhneſs done!
Lucia, thou injur’d Innocence! thou beſt
And lovely’ft of thy Sex! awake, my Lucia,

Or

C A T O.

37

Or Portius rufhe’s on his Sword to join thee.
—Her Imprecations reach not to the Tomb,
They fhut 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.
Deftruction 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 Iſls our Love wou’d draw behind it.
Think, Portius, think, thou ſee’ſt 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’accurfed Caufe,
That robb’s him of his Son! poor Marcia tremble’s,
Then teares her Hair, and frantick in her Griefs
Call’s out on Lucia! What cou’d Lucia anſwer?
Or how ſtand up in ſuch a Scene of Sorrow!

Port. To my Confuſion, and Eternal Grief,
I muſt approve the Sentence that deſtroys me.
The Miſt that hung about my Mind clear’s up;
And now, athwart the Terrors that thy Vow
Has planted round thee, thou appear’ſt more fair,
More amiable, and 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 ſhoot 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 ſhalt I repeat the Word, For-ever!

*Port.* Thus o'er the dying Lamp th' unſteady Flame
Hang's quiv'ring on a Point, leaps 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 Jooſe.

*Luc.* If the firm *Portius* ſhake

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

*Port.* 'Tis true; unruffled and ſerene I've met
The common Accidents of Life, but here
Such an unlook'd for Storm of Ills fall's on me,
It beats down all my Strength. I cannot bear it.
We muſt not part.

*Luc.* What do'ſt thou fay? Not part?
Haſt thou forgot the Vow that I have made?
Are there not Heav'ns and Gods and Thunder o'er us!
—But fee thy Brother *Marcus* bend's this way!

I fick'en 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 flands She? Am I doom'd
To Life or Death?

*Port.* What wou'dſt thou have me fay?

*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.

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

That I could caſt her from my Thoughts for ever!

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

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

Fool that I was to chufe ſo cold a Friend
To urge my Caufe! Compafſionate'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,
Compafſion'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 exaſp'rated in Ills falls oſt
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 ſeconſd, 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.

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

CATO.

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

1 Lead. We are all safe, 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.

[Exit.]

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 send a brave Defiance!

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

Cato. Perfidious Men! and will you thus difhonour
Your paft Exploits, and fully all your Wars?

Do you confefs 'twas not a Zeal for Rome,
Nor Love of Liberty, nor Thirft of Honour,
Drew you thus far, but hopes to fhare the Spoil
Of conquer'd Towns, and plunder'd Provinces?
Fired with fuch Motives you do well to join
With Cato's Foes, and follow Cæsar's Banners.
Why did I ſcape the invenom'd Aſpic's Rage,
And all the fiery Monſters of the Defart,
To fee this Day? Why cou'd not Cato fall
Without your Guilt? Behold ungrateful Men,
Behold my Boſom naked to your Swords,
And let the Man that's injured ſtrike the Blow.
Which of you all ſuſpect's that he is wrong'd,
Or think's he ſuffer's greater ills than Cato ?
Am I diſtinguifh'd from you but by Toils,
Superior Toils, and heavier Weight of Carcs!
Painful Pre-eminence!

Semp. By Heav'ns they droop!
Confuion to the Villains! All is loſt.

[Aſide.]

Cato.

CATO.

41

Cato. Have you forgotten Lybia's burning Waſt,
Its barren Rocks, parch'd Earth, and Hills of Sand,
Its tainted Air, and all its Broads of Poifon?

Who was the firſt to explore th' untrodden Path,
When Life was hazarded in ev'ry Step?

Or, fainting in the long laborious March,
When on the Banks of an 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,
Scanty of Waters, when you ſcoop'd it dry,

And offer'd the full Helmet up to Cato,
Did not he daſh th' untasſed 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, see th' unhappy Men! they weep!
Fear, and Remorſe, and Sorrow for their Crime,
Appear in ev'ry Look, and plead for Mercy.

Cato. Learn to be honeſt Men, give up your Leaders,
And Pardon ſhall defcend 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'd ſt thou clear Rebellion!
Lucius, (good Man) pitie's the poor Offenders
That wou'd imbrue their Hands in Catv'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 your renown'd Forefathers.
(S) clearly bought, the Price of ſo much Blood)

O let it never perſh in your Hands!

But pioſually transmit it to your Children.

Do thou, great Liberty, infuſe 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 wou'd have thought you had been half in Earnest.

Semp. Villain, ſtand off! bafe grov'ling worthleſs Wretches,
Mongrils in Faſtion, poor faint-hearted Traitors!

2 Lead. Nay, now you carry it too far, Sempronius:
Throw off the Mask, there are none here but Friends.
Semp. Know, Villains, when ſuch paltry Slaves prefume
To mix in Treafon, if the Plot ſucceeds,

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

Here, take theſe faſtious Monſters, dragg 'em forth
To ſudden Death.

Enter

CATO.

Enter Guards.

1 Lead. Nay, ſince it comes to this—

Semp. Difpatch '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 ſcaw the Defart:

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 Paffage.

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

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

And hurry her away by manly Force?

Semp. But how to gain Admiſſion for Accesſs

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

Syph. Thou ſhal't 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,

43

G 2

When

44

C A T O.

When I behold her ftruggling in my Arms,
With glowing Beauty, and disorder'd Charms,
While Fear and Anger, with alternate Grace,
Pant in her Breast, and vary in her Face!
So *Pluto*, feiz'd of *Proserpine*, convey'd
To Hell's tremendous Gloom th' affrighted Maid,
There grimly fmil'd, pleas'd with the beauteous Prize,
Nor envy'd *Jove* his Sun-fhine and his Skies.

*End of the Third Act.*

ACT

C A T O.

45

## ACT IV. SCENE I.

Lucia and Marcia.

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

*Marc.* O *Lucia*, *Lucia*, might my big ſwoln Heart
Vent all its Griefs, and give a Looſe to Sorrow :
*Marcia* cou'd anſwer thee in Sighs, keep Pace.
With all thy Woes, and count out Tear for Tear.

*Luc.* I know thou'rt doom'd alike, to be belov'd
By *Juba*, and thy Father's Friend *Sempronius*;
But which of theſe has Pow'r to charm like *Portius*!

*Marc.* Still muſt I beg thee not to name *Sempronius*?
*Lucia*, I like not that loud boif't'rous Man:
*Juba* to all the Brav'ry of a Heroe

Adds ſofteſt Love, and more than Female Sweetneſſs;
*Juba* might make the proudeſt of our Sex,
Any of Woman-kind, but *Marcia*, happy.

*Luc.* And why not *Marcia*? Come, you ſtrive in vain
To hide your Thoughts from one, who know's too well
The inward Glowings of a Heart in Love.

*Marc.* While *Cato* live's, his Daughter has no Right
To love or hate, but as his Choice directs.

*Luc.* But ſhou'd this Father give you to *Sempronius*?

*Marc.* I dare not think he will: but if he ſhou'd—
Why wilt thou add to all the Griefs I ſuffer
Imaginary ills, and fancy'd Tortures?

I

46

C A T O.

I hear the Sound of Feet ! they march this Way !
Let us retire, and try if we can drown
Each softer 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 Priz,
'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 muft be murder'd, and a Paffage, cut

Through thofe his Guards. — Hah, Daftards, do you tremble !
Or act like Men, or by yon azure Heav'n—

Enter Juba.

Jub. What do I fee ? Who's this that dares ufurp
The Guards and Habits of Numidia's Prince?

Semp. One that was born tofcourge 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. Curfe 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 Diftraſted! This my Cloſe of Life !

O

C A T O.

47

O for a Peal of Thunder that wou'd make

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

[Dies.

Juba. With what a Spring his furious Soul broke 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 amidft its Sorrows,

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

O Marcia, fhou'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 prefere the Prince:

The Face lie's muffled up within the Garment.

But hah ! Death to my Sight ! a Diadem,

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

Juba, the loveliest Youth that ever warm'd

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

Luc. Now Marcia, now call up to thy Affiftance

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 caufe to rave, and beat my Breast,

To rend my Heart with Grief, and run diftraſted!

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 lifting.

I will indulge my Sorrows, and give way

To all the Pangs and Fury of Defpair,

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

Juba.

48

CATO.

Juba. What do I hear? and was the false Sempronius
That beſt of Men? O had I fall'n like him,
And cou'd have thus been mourn'd, I had been happy!

Luc. Here will I ſtand, Companion in thy Woes,
And help thee with my Tears; when I behold
A Lofs like thine, I half forget my own.

Marc. 'Tis not in Fate to eafe my tortured Breast.
This empty World, to me a joyleſs Deſart,
Has nothing left to make poor Marcia happy.

Juba. I'm on the Rack! Was he ſo near her Heart?
Marc. Oh he was all made up of Love and Charms,

Whatever Maid cou'd wifh, or Man admire:
Delight of ev'ry Eye! When he appear'd,
A ſecret Pleafure gladned all that ſaw him;

But when he talk'd, the proudeſt Roman bluſh'd
To hear his Virtues, and old Age grew wife.

Juba, I ſhall run Mad—

Marc. O Juba! Juba! Juba!

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

Marc. Why do I think on what he was! he's dead!
He's dead, and never knew how much I lov'd him.

Lucia, who know's but his poor bleeding Heart
Amidſt its Agonies, remember'd Marcia,

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

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

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

Juba. Where am I! do I live! or am indeed

What Marcia thinks! all is Elisium round me!

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

Nor Modeſty nor Virtue here forbid

A laſt Embrace, while thus—

Juba. See, Marcia, fee,

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

That dear Embrace, and to return it too

With mutual Warmth and Eagerneſs of Love.

Marc. With Pleafure and Amaze, I ſtand tranſported!

Sure

CATO.

49

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

Jub. A Wretch,

Difguifed 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 hafte of Love, to find thee.

I found thee weeping, and confefſs this once,

Am wrap'd with Joy to ſee 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 Luftre,
I cannot, if I wou'd, conceal it from thee.

Jub. I'm loſt in Extaſſe! and doſt thou love,
Thou charming Maid?

Marc. And doſt thou live to ask it?

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

Such Life as Juba never felt till now!

Marc. Believe me, Prince, before I thought thee dead,
I did not know my ſelf how much I lov'd thee.

Jub. O fortunate Miftake!

Marc. O happy Marcia!

Jub. My Joy! my beſt Beloved! my only Wifh!

How ſhall I ſpeak the Tranſport of my Soul!

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

The Vital Blood, that had forſook my Hearts,

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 wrefted the Conſeſſion from me;

Go on, and proper in the Paths of Honour,

Thy Virtue will excufe my Paffion for thee,

And make the Gods propitious to our Love.

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

Fortune, thou now haſt made amends for all

H

Thy

50

C A T O.

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

A March at a Distance.

Enter Cato and Lucius.

Luc. I ſtand aftonifh't! What, the bold Sempronius!
That ſtill broke foremost through the Croud of Patriots,
As with a Hurricane of Zeal tranſported,
And virtuous ev'n to Madneſs—

Cato. Truſt me, Lucius,
Our civil 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 Hafte?
Why are thy Looks thus changed?

Port. My Heart is griev'd.

I bring ſuch News as will afflict my Father.
Cato. Has Cæſar ſhed more Roman Blood?

Port. Not 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 toſs'd his Arm aloft, and proudly told me,
He wou'd not ſtay and perſih like Sempronius.

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

Thy

C A T O.

5I

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

Juſtice give's Way to Force: the conquer'd World
Is Cæſar's: Cato has no Buſineſs in it.

Luc. While Pride, Oppreſſion, and Injuſtice reign,
The World will ſtill demand her Cato's Preſence.
In Pity to Mankind, ſubmit to Cæſar,
And reconcile thy Mighty Soul to Life.

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

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

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

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

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

Enter Juba.

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

Cato. What's thy Crime?

Jub. I'm a Numidian.

Cato. And a brave one too,
Thou haſt a Roman Soul.

Jub. Haſt thou not heard
Of my falſe Countrymen?

Cato. Alas, young Prince,
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 Applaſe 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 answer thee? my ravish'd Heart
O'erflows with secret Joy: I'd rather gain
Thy Praise, O Cato, than Numidia's Empire.

Euter Portius haſtily.

Port. Misfortune on Misfortune! Grief on Grief!
My Brother Marcus—

Cato. Hah! what has he done ?
Has he forfook his Poft ? has he giv'n way ?
Did he look tamely on, and let'em pafs ?
Port. Scarce had I left my Father, but I met him
Born on the Shields of his surviving Soldiers,
Breathlefs and pale, and cover'd o'er with Wounds.
Long, at the Head of his few faithful Friends,
He ftood the Shock of a whole Hoft of Foes,
Till obſtinately Brave, and bent on Death,
Oppreft with Multitudes, he greatly fell.

Cato. I'm satisfy'd.

Port. Nor did he fall before
His Sword had pier'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 afunder !
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 fit's this Sadneſs on your Brows, my Friends ?
I ſhou'd have bluſh'd if Cato's Houſe had ſtood
Secure, and flouriſh'd in a Civil War.

—Portius, behold thy Brother, and remember
Thy Life is not thy own, when Rome demands it.

Juba. Was ever Man like this!

Cato. Alas my Friends!

[Aſide.]

Why mourn you thus ? Let not a private Loſs
Afflict your Hearts. 'Tis Rome requires our Tears.
The Miftrefs of the World, the Seat of Empire,
The Nurſe of Heroes, the Delight of Gods,
That humbled the proud Tyrants of the Earth,
And fet the Nations free, Rome is no more.
O Liberty! O Virtue! O my Country!

Juba. Behold that upright Man! Rome fill his Eyes
With Tears, that flow'd not o'er his own dead Son.

[Aſide.]

Cato. What e'er the Roman Virtue has ſubdu'd,
The Sun's whole Courſe, the Day and Year, are Cæsar's.
For him the ſelf-devored Decii dy'd,
The Fabii ſell, and the great Scipio's conquer'd:
Ev'n Pompey ſought for Cæsar. Oh my Friends!
How is the Foil of Fate, the Work of Ages,
The Roman Empire fall'n! O curſt Ambition!
Fall'n into Cæsar's Hands! 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 affhamed of Empire.

Cato. Cæsar affhamed! Has not he ſeen Pharsalia !

Luc. Cato, 'tis Time thou fave thy ſelf and us.

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

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

But oh! my Friends, your Safety fill my Heart

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 against him, Cato did it.
Add, if you please, that I request it of him,
That I my self, with Tears, request it of him,
The Virtue of my Friends may palf unpunish'd.

Juba, my Heart is troubled for thy Sake.
Shou'd I advise thee to regain Numidia,
Or seek the Conqueror? —

Jub. If I forfake thee

Whilft I have Life, may Heav'n abandon Juba!
Cato. Thy Virtues, Prince, if I foresee aright,
Will one Day make thee Great; at Rome, hereafter,
'Twill be no Crime to have been Cato's Friend.
Portius, draw near! My Son, thou oft haft feen
Thy Sire engaged in a corrupted State,
Wrestling with Vice and Faction: Now thou fee'ft me
Spent, overpow'r'd, defpairing of Succefs;
Let me advise thee to retreat betimes
To thy Paternal Seat, the Sabine Field,
Where the great Cenfor toil'd with his own Hands,
And all our frugal Ancestors were blefs'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 Poft of Honour is a private Station.

Port. I hope, my Father does not recommend
A Life to Portius, that he scorns himfelf.

Cato. Farewel, my Friends! if there be any of you
That dares not truft the Victor's Clemency,
Know there are Ships prepared by my Command,
(Their Sails already op'ning to the Winds)
That shall convey you to the wisht-for Port.

Is

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

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

[Laying his Hand on his Sword.

Thus

C A T O.

57

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

What means this Heavineſs that hangs upon me?
This Lethargy that creeps through all my Senſes?
Nature oppreſs'd, and harraſs'd out with Care,
Sinks down to Reſt. This once I'll favour her.
That my awaken'd Soul may take her Flight,
Renew'd in all her Strength, and fresh with Life,
An Off'ring fit for Heav'n. Let Guilt or Fear
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.* Rash Youth, forbear!
*Port.* O let the Pray'rs, th' Entreaties of your Friends,
Their Tears, their common Danger wreat 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.*

85

CATO.

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

Cato. 'Tis well! again I'm Master of my self.
Now, Cæsar, let thy Troops befeet our Gates,
And barr each Avenue, thy gathering Fleets
O'er-spread the Sea, and stop up every Port,
Cato shall open to himself a Passage,
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 fear 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 mayst 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 embarqued;
And tell me if the Winds and Seas befriend them.

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

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

Enter Marcia.

O Marcia, O my Sifter, still 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 dispatcht me hence

With

CATO.

59

With Orders, that befpeak a Mind compofed,
And studious for the Safety of his Friends.

Marcia, take care that none difturb his Slumbers.

Marc. O ye immortal Powers, that guard the Juft,
Watch round his Couch, and soften his Repofe,
Banish his Sorrows, and becalm his Soul

With eafe Dreams; remember all his Virtues!

And how Mankind that Goodnefs 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 shall be happy ſtill.

Luc. Alas, I tremble when I think on Cato,
In every View, in every Thought I tremble!

Cato is ſtern, and awful as a God,

He knows not how to wink at humane Frailty,
Or pardon Weakneſs, that he never felt.

Marc. Though ſtern and awful to the Foes of Rome,
He is all Goodneſs, Lucia, always mild,
Compassionate, and gentle to his Friends.

Fill'd with Domeſtick Tenderneſs, the beſt,

The kindſt Father! I have ever found him

Eafe, and good, and bounteous to my Wifhes.

Luc. 'Tis his Conſent alone can make us bleſs'd.
Marcia, we both are equally involv'd

In the fame intricate, perplex'd, Diftrefs.

The cruel Hand of Fate, that has deſtroy'd

Thy Brother Marcus, whom we both lament—

Marc. And ever ſhall lament, unhappy Youth!

Luc. Has fet my Soul at large, and now I stand
Loofe of my Vow. But who knows Cato's Thoughts?

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

Or how he has determin'd of thy ſelf?

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

12

Enter

60

CATO.

Enter Lucius.

Luc: Sweet are the Slumbers of the virtuous Man!
O Marcia, I have seen thy Godlike Father:
Some Pow'r invisible support's his Soul,
And bear's it up in all its wonted Greatnefs.
A kind refreshing Sleep is fall'n upon him:
I saw him stretch'd at Eafe, his Fancy loft
In pleasing 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, thefe Floods of Sorrow?
Dry up thy Tears, my Child, we all are fafe
While Cato lives— His Prefence will protect us.

Enter Juba.

Juba. Lucius, the Horfemen are return'd from viewing
The Number, Strength, and Pofture of our Foes,
Who now encamp within a fhort Hour's March.
On the high Point of yon bright Western Tower
We kenn them from afar, the fetting Sun
Plays on their fhining Arms and burnith'd Helmets,
And covers all the Field with Gleams of Fire.

Luc. Marcia, 'tis time we fhou'd awake thy Father.
Cæsar is ſtill difpoſed to give us Terms,
And waits at Diftance 'till he hears from Cato.

Enter Portius.

Portius, thy Looks ſpeak fomewhat of Importance.
What Tidings deſt thou bring? Methinks I fee
Unoufual 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

CATO.

61

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 Disorder of his Soul
Mourn's o'er his Country; Hah! a ſecond Groan! —
Heav'n guard us all—

Marc. Alas, 'tis not the Voice
Of one who ſleep's! 'tis agonizing Pain,
'Tis Death is in that Sound—

Re-enter Portius.

Port. O Sight of Woe!
O Marcia, what we fear'd is come to pafs!

Cato is fall'n upon his Sword—

Luc. O Portius,

Hide all the Horrors of thy mournful 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.

[The Back Scene opens, and discovers Cato.

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 brought forward in his Chair.

Cato. Here fet me down—

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

Can any thing be thought of for their Service?

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! — Jubea 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 sick to Death — O when shall I get looke

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

— And yet methinks a Beam of Light breaks in
On my departing Soul. Alas, I fear

I've been too 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!

[Dies.

Luc. There fled the greatest Soul that ever warm'd

A Roman Breast. O Cato! O my Friend!

Thy Will shall be religiously observ'd.

But let us bear this awful Corps to 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 Discord flow.

Tis this that shakes our Country with Alarms,

And gives up Rome a Prey to Roman Arms,

Produces Fraud, and Cruelty, and Strife,

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

[Exeunt Omnes.]

End of the Fifth Act.

E P I.