The British Drama: Tragedies. 2 v

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Enter LUCIA and MARCIA.

He must be murdered, and a passage cut Through those his guards-Ha! dastards, do you tremble;

Luc. Now tell me, Marcia, tell me from thy Or act like men, or by yon azure heaven

soul,

If thou believest 'tis possible for woman
To suffer greater ills than Lucia suffers?

Mar. Oh, Lucia, Lucia, might my big swoln

heart,

Vent all its griefs, and give a loose to sorrow, Marcia could answer thee in sighs, keep pace With all thy woes, and count out tear for tear. Luc. I know thou art doomed alike to be beloved

By Juba, and thy father's friend, Sempronius: But which of these has power to charm like Portius!

Mar. Still I must beg thee not to name Sempronius;

Lucia, I like not that loud boisterous man;
Juba, to all the bravery of a hero,

Adds softest love, and more than female sweet

ness;

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 knows too well

The inward glowings of a heart in love.

Mar. While Cato lives, his daughter has no right

To love or hate, but as his choice directs.

Luc. But should this father give you to Sempronius?

Mar. I dare not think he will: but if he shouldWhy wilt thou add, to all the griefs I suffer, Imaginary ills, and fancied tortures?

I hear the sound of feet! They march this way:
Let us retire, and try if we can drown
Each softer thought in sense of present danger :
When love once pleads admission to our hearts,
In spite of all the virtues we can boast,
The woman, that deliberates, is lost.

[Exeunt. Enter SEMPRONIUS, dressed like JUBA, with Numidian guards..

Sem. The deer is lodged, I've tracked her to
her covert.

Be sure you mind the word, and, when I give it,
Rush in at once, and seize upon your prey."
Let not her cries or tears have force to move you.

How will the young Numidian rave to see
His mistress lost! If ought could glad my soul,
Beyond the enjoyment of so bright a prize,
'Twould be to torture that young, gay barbarian.
—But hark! what noise! Death to my hopes!

'tis he,

'Tis Juba's self! there is but one way left

Presumptuous youth!

Juba. What can this mean? Sempronius! Sem. My sword shall answer thee. Have at thy heart!

Juba. Nay, then, beware thy own, proud, barbarous man.

[Sem. falls. His guards surrender. Sem. Curse on my stars! Am I then doomed to fall

By a boy's hand, disfigured in a vile
Numidian dress, and for a worthless woman?
Gods, I'm distracted! This my close of life!
Oh! for a peal of thunder, that would make
Earth, sea, and air, and heaven, and Cato, tremble!

[Dies.

Juba. With what a spring his furious soul broke loose, And left the limbs still quivering on the ground! Hence let us carry off those slaves to Cato, That we may there at length unravel all This dark design, this mystery of fate.

[Exit Juba, with prisoners, &c. Enter LUCIA and MARCIA. Luc. Sure 'twas the clash of swords: my troubled heart

Is so cast down, and sunk amidst its sorrows, It throbs with fear, and aches at every sound. Oh, Marcia, should thy brothers, for my sake! I die away with horror at the thought.

Mar. See, Lucia, see! here's blood! here's blood and murder!

Ha! a Numidian! Heaven preserve the prince!
The face lies muffled up within the garment,
But, ha! death to my sight! a diadem,
And royal robes! O gods! 'tis he, 'tis he!
Juba, the loveliest youth that ever warmed
A virgin's heart, Juba lies dead before us!

Luc. Now, Marcia, now call up to thy assist

Mar. Talk not of comfort! 'tis for lighter ills: Behold a sight that strikes all comfort dead!

Enter JUBA listening.

I will indulge my sorrows, and give way
To all the pangs and fury of despair;

That man, that best of men, deserved it from me.
Juba. What do I hear? And was the false
Sempronius

That best of men? Oh, had I fallen like him,
And could have been thus mourned, I had been
happy.

Luc. Here will I stand, companion in thy woes,
And help thee with my tears; when I behold
A loss like thine, I half forget my own.

Mur. 'Tis not in fate to ease my tortured breast;
This empty world, to me a joyless desert,
Has nothing left to make poor Marcia happy.
Juba. I'm on the rack! Was he so near her
heart?

Mar. Oh, he was all made up of love and

charms!

Whatever maid could wish, or man admire:
Delight of every eye; when he appeared,
A secret pleasure gladdened all that saw him;

I found thee weeping, and confess this once,
Am rapt with joy to see my Marcia's tears.

Mar. I've been surprised in an unguarded hour,
But must not now go back; the love, that lay
Half smothered in my breast, has broke through
all

Its weak restraints, and burns in its full lustre.
I cannot, If I would, conceal it from thee.
Juba. I'm lost in ecstacy! and dost thou love,
Thou charming maid?-

Mar. And dost thou live to ask it?
Juba. This, this is life indeed! life worth pre-
serving,

Such life as Juba never felt 'till now!

Mar. Believe me, prince, before I thought
thee dead,

I did not know myself how much I loved thee.
Juba. Oh, fortunate mistake!

Mar. O happy Marcia!

Juba. My joy, my best beloved, my only wish! How shall I speak the transport of my soul ! Mar. Lucia, thy arm. Oh, let me rest upon

it!

The vital blood, that had forsook my heart,
Returns again in such tumultuous tides,

But when he talked, the proudest Roman blush-It quite o'ercomes me. Lead to my apartment

To hear his virtues, and old age grew worse.
Juba. I shall run mad-

Mar. Oh, Juba! Juba! Juba!

Juba. What means that voice? Did she not call on Juba?

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

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

Lucia, who knows but his poor bleeding heart,
Amidst its agonies, remembered Marcia,
And the last words he uttered, called 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 Elysium round me !
Mar. Ye dear remains of the most loved of
men,

Nor modesty nor virtue here forbid
A last embrace, while thus

Juba. See, Marcia, see,

Oh, prince! I blush to think what I have said,
But fate has wrested the confession from me;
Go on, and prosper in the paths of honour.
Thy virtue will excuse my passion for thee,
And make the gods propitious to our love.

[Exeunt Mar. and Luc.

Juba. I am so blest, I fear 'tis all a dream.
Fortune, thou now hast made amends for all
Thy past unkindness: I absolve my stars.
What though Numidia add her conquered towns
And provinces to swell the victor's triumph,
Juba will never at his fate repine:
Let Cæsar have the world, if Marcia's mine

[Erti.

A march at a distance.-Enter CATO and
LUCIUS.

Luc. I stand astonished! What, the bold
Sempronius,

That still broke foremost through the crowd of
patriots,

As with a hurricane of zeal transported,

[Throwing himself before her. And virtuous even to madness

The happy Juba lives! He lives to catch
That dear embrace, and to return it too
With mutual warmth and eagerness of love.
Mar. With pleasure and amaze I stand tran-
sported!

Sure 'tis a dream! dead and alive at once!
If thou art Juba, who lies there?

Juba. A wretch,

Disguised like Juba on a cursed design.
The tale is long, nor have I heard it out:
Thy father knows it all. I could not bear
To leave thee in the neighbourhood of death,
But flew, in all the haste of love, to find thee;

Cato. Trust me, Lucius,

Our civil discords have produced such crimes,
Such monstrous crimes! I am surprised at no-

thing.

Oh, Lucius, I am sick of this bad world! The day-light and the sun grow painful to me.

Enter PORTIUS.

But see where Portius comes: what means this haste?

Why are thy looks thus changed?

Por. My heart is grieved,

I bring such news as will affect my father.

Cato. Has Cæsar shed more Roman blood?
Por. Not so.

The traitor Syphax, as within the square
He exercised his troops, the signal given,
Flew off at once, with his Numidian horse,
To the south gate, where Marcus holds the
watch;

I saw, and called to stop him, but in vain :
He tossed his arm aloft, and proudly told me,
He would not stay and perish like Sempronius.
Cato. Perfidious man! But haste, my son, and

see

Thy brother Marcus acts a Roman's part.

[Exit Por. -Lucius, the torrent bears too hard upon me : Justice gives way to force: the conquered world Is Caesar's! Cato has no business in it.

Luc. While pride, oppression, and injustice reign,

The world will still demand her Cato's presence.
In pity to mankind submit to Cæsar,
And reconcile thy mighty soul to life!

Cato. Would Lucius have me live to swell the

number

Of Cæsar's slaves, or, by a base submission, Give up the cause of Rome, and own a tyrant?

Luc. The victor never will impose on Cato Ungenerous terms. His enemies confess

The virtues of humanity are Cæsar's.

Enter PORTIUS.

Por. Misfortune on misfortune! grief on grief! My brother Marcus

Cato. Ha! what has he done?
Has he forsook his post? Has he given way?
Did he look tamely on, and let them pass?

Por. Scarce had I left my father, but I met
him

Borne on the shields of his surviving soldiers,
Breathless and pale, and covered o'er with wounds.
Long, at the head of his few faithful friends,
He stood the shock of a whole host of foes;
Till, obstinately brave, and bent on death,
Oppressed with multitudes, he greatly fell.
Cato. I am satisfied.

Por. Nor did he fall before

His sword had pierced through the false heart of
Syphax.

Yonder he lies. I saw the hoary traitor
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, be sure you place
His urn near mine.

Por. Long may they keep asunder!

Luc. Oh, Cato, arm thy soul with all its pa

tience;

See where the corpse of thy dead son approaches!
The citizens and senators, alarmed,

Cato. Curse on his virtues! they have undone Have gathered round it, and attend it weeping.

his country.

Such popular humanity is treason

But see young Juba; the good youth appears, Full of the guilt of his perfidious subjects!

Luc. Alas, poor prince! his fate deserves compassion.

Enter JUBA.

Juba. I blush, and am confounded to appear Before thy presence, Cato.

Cato. What's thy crime?
Juba. I am a Numidian.

Cato. And a brave one too. Thou hast a Roman soul.

Juba. Hast thou not heard of my false countrymen ?

Cato. Alas, young prince! falsehood and fraud shoot up in every soil,

The product of all climes-Rome has its Cæsars. Juba. 'Tis generous thus to comfort the distressed.

Cato. 'Tis just to give applause where 'tis deserved;

Thy virtue, prince, has stood the test of fortune, Like purest gold, that, tortured in the furnace, Comes out more bright, and brings forth all its weight.

Juba. What shall I answer thee? My ravished heart

O'erflows with sacred joy: I would rather gain Thy praise, O Cato! than Numidia's empire.

Cato. Whate'er the Roman virtue has subdued,

The sun's whole course, the day and year are
Cæsar's:

For him the self-devoted Decii died,
The Fabii fell, and the great Scipios conquered;
Even Pompey fought for Cæsar. Oh, my friends,
How is the toil of fate, the work of ages,
The Roman empire, fallen! Oh, cursed ambi-
tion!

Fallen into Cæsar's hand: Our great forefathers
Had left him nought to conquer but his country.
Juba. While Cato lives, Cæsar will blush to see
Mankind enslaved, and be ashamed of empire.
Cato. Cæsar ashamed! has he not seen Phar-
salia!

Luc. Cato, 'tis time thou save thyself and us. Cato. Lose not a thought on me; I am out of danger;

Heaven will not leave me in the victor's hand.
Cæsar shall never say he conquered Cato.
But, oh, my friends! your safety fills my heart
With anxious thoughts; a thousand secret ter-

rors

Rise in my soul. How shall I save 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. And, if you please, that I request it of him, That I myself, with tears, request it of him, The virtue of my friends may pass unpunished. Juba, my heart is troubled for thy sake. Should I advise thee to regain Numidia, Or seek the conqueror?

Juba. If I forsake thee

Whilst I have life, may Heaven abandon Juba! Cato. Thy virtues, prince, if I foresee aright, Will one day make thee great; at Rome hereafter,

[Twill be no crime to have been Cato's friend.
Portius, draw near: my son, thou oft hast seen
Thy sire engaged in a corrupted state,
Wrestling with vice and faction: now thou see'st

Spent, overpowered, despairing of success;
Let me advise thee to retreat betimes
To thy paternal seat, the Sabine field,
Where the great Censor toiled with his own
hands,

And all our frugal ancestors were blessed
In humble virtues, and a rural life;
There live retired, pray for the peace of Rome;
Content thyself to be obscurely good.
When vice prevails, and impious men bear sway,
The post of honour is a private station.

Por. I hope my father does not recommend A life to Portius, that he scorns himself?

Cato. Farewell, my friends! If there be any of you,

Who dare not trust the victor's clemency, Know there are ships prepared by my command (Their sails already opening to the winds), That shall convey you to the wished-for port. Is there aught else, my friends, I can do for you?

The conqueror draws near. Once more farewell!

If e'er we meet hereafter, we shall meet
In happier climes, and on a safer shore,
Where Cæsar never shall approach us more.

[Pointing to his dead son. There, the brave youth, with love of virtue fired, Who greatly in his country's cause expired, Shall know he conquered. The firm patriot there,

Who made the welfare of mankind his care, Though still by faction, vice, and fortune crost, Shall find the generous labour was not lost.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.

ACT V.

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.
Ir must be so-Plato, thou reasonest 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 herself, and startles at destruction?
'Tis the divinity that stirs within us;
'Tis Heaven itself, that points out an hereafter,
And intimates eternity to man.
Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought!
Through what variety of untried being,
Through what new scenes and changes must we
pass?

The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me;
But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it.
Here will I hold. If there's a Power above,
(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 them.
[Laying his hand on his sword.
Thus I am doubly armed: my death and life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This in a moment brings me to an end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secured in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years,

But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,
The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.
What means this heaviness that hangs upon me?
This lethargy that creeps through all my senses?
Nature oppressed, and harrassed out with care,
Sinks down to rest. This once I'll favour her,
That my awakened soul may take her flight,
Renewed in all her strength, and fresh with life,
An offering fit for Heaven. Let guilt or fear
Disturb man's rest; Cato knows neither of them;
Indifferent in his choice to sleep or die.

Enter PORTIUS.

But, ha! who's this? my son! Why this intrusion? Were not my orders that I would be private? Why am I disobeyed?

Por. Alas, my father!

Oh, Marcia! Oh, my sister, still there is hope!
Our father will not cast away a life,
So needful to us all and to his country.
He is retired to rest, and seems to cherish
Thoughts full of peace. He has dispatched me
hence,

With orders that bespeak a mind composed,
And studious for the safety of his friends.
Marcia, take care that none disturb his slum-
bers.
[Erit.

Mar. Oh, ye immortal powers! that guard the
just,

Watch round his couch, and soften his repose;
Banish his sorrows, and becalm his soul

What means this sword, this instrument of death? With easy dreams; remember all his virtues, Let me convey it hence.

Cato. Rash youth, forbear!

Por. Oh, let the prayers, the intreaties of your friends,

Their tears, their common danger, wrest it from you!

Cato. Wouldst thou betray me? Wouldst thou give me up

A slave, a captive into Cæsar's hands?
Retire, and learn obedience to a father,
Or know, young man!-

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

Cato. 'Tis well! again I'm master of myself.
Now, Cæsar, let thy troops beset our gates,
And bar each avenue; thy gathering fleets
O'erspread the sea, and stop up every port;
Cato shall open to himself a passage,
And mock thy hopes-

Por. Oh, sir! forgive your son, Whose grief hangs heavy on him. Oh, my fa

ther!

How am I sure it is not the last time
I e'er shall call you so! Be not displeased,
Oh, be not angry with me whilst I weep,
And, in the anguish of my heart, beseech you
To quit the dreadful purpose of your soul!

Cato. Thou hast been ever good and dutiful. [Embracing him. Weep not, my son, all will be well again; The righteous gods, whom I have sought to please, Will succour Cato, and preserve his children. Por. Your words give comfort to my drooping heart.

Cato. Portius, thou may'st rely upon my con-
duct:

Thy father will not act what misbecomes him.
But go, my son, and see if aught be wanting
Among thy father's friends; see them embarked, |
And tell me if the winds and seas befriend them.
My soul is quite weighed down with care, and

asks

The soft refreshment of a moment's sleep.

And shew mankind that goodness is your care

Enter LUCIA.

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

Mar. Lucia, speak low, he is retired to rest. Lucia, I feel a gentle dawning hope Rise in my soul. We shall be happy still.

Luc. Alas! I tremble when I think on Cato! In every view, in every thought, I tremble! Cato is stern and awful as a god; He knows not how to wink at human frailty, Or pardon weakness that he never felt.

Mar. Though stern and awful to the foes of
Rome,

He is all goodness, Lucia, always mild,
Compassionate and gentle to his friends.
Filled with domestic tenderness, the best,
The kindest father I have ever found him,
Easy and good, and bounteous to my wishes.

Luc. 'Tis his consent alone can make us blessed:
Marcia, we both are equally involved
In the same intricate, perplexed distress.
The cruel hand of fate, that has destroyed
Thy brother Marcus, whom we both lament-
Mar. And ever shall lament; unhappy youth!
Luc. Has set my soul at large, and now I

stand

Loose of my vow. But who knows Cato's thoughts?

Who knows how yet he may dispose of Portius, Or how he has determined of thyself?

Mar. Let him but live, commit the rest to Heaven.

Enter LUCIUS.

Lucius. Sweet are the slumbers of the virtuous man!

Oh, Marcia, I have seen thy godlike father!
Some power invisible supports his soul,
And bears it up in all its wonted greatness.
A kind refreshing sleep is fallen upon him:
I saw him stretched at case, his fancy lost

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