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And all our frugal ancestors were bless’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.
END OF THE FOURTH ACT.
ACT V. SCENE I.
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,
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 !
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
Weep not, my son. All will be well again.
O Marcia, O my fifter, still there 's hope !