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And all our frugal ancestors were bless’d
In humble virtues, and a rural life.
There live retir’d; 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.

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

Farewell, my friends ! if there be any of you
That dares not trust the victor's clemency,
Know there are thips prepard by my command,
(Their sails already opening to the winds)
That shall convey you to the wish'd-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 happlier climes and on a safer shore,
Where Cæfar never fall approach us more.
There the brave youth, with love of virtue fir'd,

[Pointing to the body of his dead for.. Who greatly in his country's cause expir'd, Shall know he conquer’d. The firm patriot-there (Who made the welfare of mankind his care) Though still, by faction, vice, and fortune, croft, Shall find the generous labour was not lost.




CATO solus, Sitting in a thoughtful posture : In bis band Plato's book

on the immortality of the foul. A drawun jword su

the table by him. Imut be for Plato, thou reason it well

Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desires. 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 untry'd being, Through what new scenes and changes must we pass ! The wide, th' unbounded prospect, lies before me ; But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it. Here will I hold. If there 's a power 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 Cæfar. I'm weary of conjectures—This must end them. [Laying his band upon bis sword.


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 informs me I mall never die.
The soul, secur'd in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars ihall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years;
But thou shalt Hourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,
The wrecks of matter, and the crash 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 foul may take her flight, Renew'd in all her ftrength, 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, te sleep or die.


But ha ! how's this, my fon? why this intrusion ? Were not my orders that I would be private ? Why am I disobey'd ?


Alas, my father! What means this sword ? this inftrument of death? Let me convey it hence !


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Rafi youth, forbear!

PORTIU S. Olet the prayers, th’ entreaties of your friends, Their tears, their common danger, wrest it from you..

С А то. . Wouldst thou betray me? would'it thou give me up! A llave, a captive, into Cæsar's hands ? Retire, and learn obedience to a father, Or know, young man !


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

с АТО. 'Tis well !- again I'm master of myself. Now, Cæsar, let thy troops beset our gates, And bar 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--


O Sir, forgive your son, Whose grief hangs heavy on him! O my

father How am I sure it is not the last time I e'er shall call you so! Be not displeas’d, o be not angry with me whilft I

And, in the anguish of my heart, beseech you
To quit the dreadful purpose of your soul.

Thou last been ever good and dutiful.

[Embracing bim


Weep not, my son. All will be well again.
The righteous gods, whom I have fought to please,
Will succour Cato, and preserve his children.

Your words give comfort to my drooping heart.

Portius, thou may'st rely upon my conduct.
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 embark’d;
And tell me if the winds and seas befriend them.
My soul is quite weigh'd down with care, and asks
The soft refreshment of a moment's fleep. [Exit.

My thoughts are more at ease, my heart revives.


O Marcia, O my fifter, still there 's hope !
Our father will not cast away a life
So needful to us all, and to his country.
He is retir'd to rest, and feems to cherish
Thoughts full of peace. He has dispatch'd me hence
With orders, that bespeak a mind compos’d,
And studious for the safety of his friends.
Marcia, take care that none disturb his slumbers. [Exit.

O ye immortal powers, that guard the just,
Watch round his couch, and foften his repose,
Banish his forrows, and becalm his soul
With easy dreams; remember all his virtues !
And thow mankind that goodness is your care.


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