Disdains a life which he has power to offer. Dec. Rome and her senators submit to Cæsar; Her generals and her consuls are no more, For all his generous cares and proffered friendship? Cato. His cares for me are insolent and vain. Who checked his conquests, and denied his Presumptuous man! the gods take care of Cato: Cato. Nay, more; though Cato's voice was ne'er employed To clear the guilty, and to varnish crimes, Myself will mount the rostrum in his favour, And strive to gain his pardon from the people. Dec. A style like this becomes a conqueror. Cato. Decius, a style like this becomes a Roman. Dec. What is a Roman, that is Cæsar's foe? Cato. Greater than Cæsar: he is a friend to virtue. Dec. Consider, Cato, you are in Utica, And at the head of your own little senate; You don't now thunder in the capitol, With all the mouths of Rome to second you. Cato. Let him consider that, who drives us hither. 'Tis Cæsar's sword has made Rome's senate little, And thinned its ranks. Alas! thy dazzled eye Beholds this man in a false glaring light, Which conquest and success have thrown upon him; Did'st thou but view him right, thou'dst see him black With murder, treason, sacrilege, and crimes, Dec. Does Cato send this answer back to Would Cæsar shew the greatness of his soul, You are a man. You rush on your destruction. The tale of this unhappy embassy, [Exit Decius. Sem. Cato, we thank thee. The mighty genius of immortal Rome Speaks in thy voice; thy soul breathes liberty. Cæsar will shrink to hear the words thou utterest, And shudder in the midst of all his conquests. Luc. The senate owns its gratitude to Cato, Who with so great a soul consults its safety, And guards our lives while he neglects his own.. Sem. Sempronius gives no thanks on this ac Enter JUBA. Juba, the Roman senate has resolved, Juba. The resolution fits a Roman senate. But, Cato, lend me for a while thy patience, And condescend to hear a young man speak. My father, when, some days before his death, He ordered me to march for Utica, 6 (Alas! I thought not then his death so near!) Wept o'er me, pressed me in his aged arms, And, as his griefs gave way, My son,' said he, "Whatever fortune shall befal thy father, 'Be Cato's friend; he'll train thee up to great 'And virtuous deeds; do but observe him well, Thou'lt shun misfortunes, or thou'lt learn to bear them.'. Cato. Juba, thy father was a worthy prince, And merited, alas! a better fate; But Heaven thought otherwise. Juba. My father's fate, In spite of all the fortitude that shines Juba. My father drew respect from foreign The kings of Afric sought him for their friend; ness. Juba. I would not boast the greatness of my father, But point out new alliances to Cato. Cato. And canst thou think Cato will fly before the sword of Cæsar! From court to court, and wander up and down The whole success at which my heart aspires, Depends on Cato. Cato. What does Juba say? Thy words confound me. Juba. I would fain retract them, Give them me back again: they aimed at nothing. Cato. Tell me thy wish, young prince; make not my ear A stranger to thy thoughts. Juba. Oh! they are extravagant; Still let me hide them. Cato. What can Juba ask That Cato will refuse? Juba. I fear to name it. Marcia-inherits all her father's virtues. Cato. Adieu, young prince; I would not hear a word Should lessen thee in my esteem. Remember, Enter SYPHAX. [Exit. Syph. How is this, my prince! What, covered with confusion? You look as if you stern philosopher Juba. Syphax, I am undone! Juba. Cato thinks meanly of me. The weakness of my soul, my love for Marcia. Juba. 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 have known young Juba rise before the sun, To beat the thicket where the tiger slept, seen you, Even in the Lybian dog-days, hunt him down, Rivet the panting savage to the ground. Syph. How would the old king smile To see you weigh the paws, when tipped with gold, And throw the shaggy spoils about your shoulders! Juba. Syphax, this old man's talk (though ho- In every word) would now lose its sweetness. Marcia might still be yours. Juba. What sayest thou, Syphax? By Heavens, thou turnest me ail into attention. Syph. Juba commands Numidia's hardy troops, Juba. Can such dishonest thoughts Rise up in man! Wouldst thou seduce my youth To do an act that would destroy mine honour? Syph. Gods, I could tear my hair to hear you talk! Honour's a fine imaginary notion, That draws in raw and inexperienced men, Syph. The boasted ancestors of those great men, Juba. Syphax, I fear that hoary head of thine Abounds too much in our Numidian wiles. Syph. Indeed, my prince, you want to know the world. You have not read mankind; your youth admires May Juba ever live in ignorance! This arrogance unanswered! Thou art a traitor, A false old traitor. [Aside. Syph. I have gone too far. Juba. Cato shall know the baseness of thy soul. Syph. I must appease this storm, or perish in it. [Aside. Young prince, behold these locks, that are grown white Beneath a helmet in your father's battles. Juba. Those locks shall ne'er protect thy insolence. Syph. Must one rash word, the infirmity of age, Throw down the merit of my better years? This the reward of a whole life of service! Curse on the boy! how steadily he hears me! [Aside. Juba. Is it because the throne of my forefathers Still stands unfilled, and that Numidia's crown Does not old Syphax follow you to war? Syph. Not hear me talk! what, when my faith My royal master's son, is called in question? Juba. Thou knowest the way too well into my heart; I do believe thee loyal to thy prince. Syph. What greater instance can I give? I've offered To do an action which my soul abhors, hasty. That aids and strengthens virtue where it meets | Should they submit ere our designs are ripe, her, And imitates her actions where she is not: It ought not to be sported with. Spyh. By Heavens, We both must perish in the common wreck, Lost in the general undistinguished ruin. Syph. But how stands Cato? Sem. Thou hast seen mount Atlas: I am ravished when you talk thus, though you Whilst storms and tempests thunder on its brows, chide me! Alas! I have hitherto been used to think Numidia's grown a scorn among the nations, To hear you talk-but 'tis with tears of joy. Juba. Syphax, thy hand; we'll mutually forget The warmth of youth, and frowardness of age; Thy prince esteems thy worth, and loves thy per And oceans break their billows at its feet, Syph. Yes-but it is to Cato. I have tried the force of every reason on him, He'll make a pretty figure in a triumph, Sem. Syphax, I love that woman; though I Within the square, to exercise their arms, I laugh to see how your unshaken Cato [Exeunt. SCENE I. Enter MARCUS and PORTIUS. ACT III. Marc. THANKS to my stars I have not ranged The wilds of life, ere I could find a friend; Confederacies in vice, or leagues of pleasure; And such a friendship ends not but with life. Marc. Portius, thou know'st my soul in all its weakness; Then, prithee, spare me on its tender side. Por. When love's well-timed, 'tis not a fault to The strong, the brave, the virtuous, and the wise, Sink in the soft captivity together. I would not urge thee to dismiss thy passion, The impatient throbs and longings of a soul, Por. What can thy Portius do to give thee Marc. Portius, thou oft enjoy'st the fair-one's Our friendship's at an end; if I conceal it, Amid the cool of yon high marble arch, That face, that shape, those eyes, that heaven of beauty! Observe her, well, and blame me if thou canst. And leave you for a while. Remember, Portius, Enter LUCIA, [Exit. Luc. Did I not see your brother Marcus here? Why did he fly the place, and shun my presence? Por. Oh, Lucia, language is too faint to shew His rage of love; it preys upon his life; He pines, he sickens, he despairs, he dies: His passions, and his virtues lie confused, And mixt together in so wild a tumult, That the whole man is quite disfigured in him. Heavens, would one think 'twere possible for love To make such ravage in a noble soul! Oh, Lucia, I'm distressed; my heart bleeds for him : Even now, while thus I stand blest in thy presence, A secret damp of grief comes o'er my thoughts, And I'm unhappy, though 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 bliss, would raise to such a height Thy brother's grief, as might perhaps destroy him. Por. Alas, poor youth! What dost thou think, my Lucia? His generous, open, undesigning heart |