"Returns again in such tumultuous tides, "It quite o'ercomes me." Lead to my apartment— [Exeunt Mar. and Luc. Jub. I am so blest, I fear 'tis all a dream. Let Cæsar have the world, if Marcia's mine. [Exit. A march at a distance. Enter CATO and LUCIUS. Luc. I stand astonish'd! What, the bold Sempronius, That still broke foremost through the crowd of pa triots, As with a hurricane of zeal transported, And virtuous even to madness Cato. Trust me, Lucius, Our civil discords have produc'd such crimes, Such monstrous crimes! I am surpris'd at nothing. Enter PORTIUS. But see where Portius comes: what means this haste? Why are thy looks thus chang'd? Por. My heart is griev'd, I bring such news as will affli& my father. The traitor Syphax, as within the square He exercis'd his troops, the signal given, To the south gate, where Marcus holds the watch; Cato. Perfidious man! But haste, my son, and see 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 Ungen'rous terms. His enemies confess The virtues of humanity are Cæsar's. Cato. Curse on his virtues! they've undone his country. Such popular humanity is treason But see young Juba; the good youth appears, Luc. Alas, poor prince! his fate deserves compassion. Enter JUBA. Jub. I blush, and am confounded to appear Before thy presence, 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! falsehood and fraud shoot up in ev'ry soil, The product of all climes-Rome has its Cæsars. Jub. 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. Enter PORTIUS. Por. Misfortune on misfortune! grief on grief] My brother Marcus Cato. Hah! what has he done? Has he forsook his post? Has he giv'n way? Did he look tamely on, and let 'em pass? Por. Scarce had I left my father, but I met him Borne on the shields of his surviving soldiers, Breathless and pale, and cover'd 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, Oppress'd with multitudes, he greatly fell. Cato. I'm satisfy'd. Por. Nor did he fall before His sword had pierc'd 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 patience; See where the corpse of thy dead son approaches! The citizens and senators, alarm'd, Have gather'd round it, and attend it weeping. CATO, meeting the corpse. Cato. Welcome, my son! Here lay him down, my friends, Full in my sight, that I may view at leisure I should have blush'd if Cato's house had stood -Portius, behold thy brother, and remember Cato. Alas, my friends, Why mourn you thus! let not a private loss [Aside. Cato. Whate'er the Roman virtue has subdu'd, The sun's whole course, the day and year are Cæsar's: For him the self-devoted Decii dy'd, The Fabii fell, and the great Scipios conquer'd; The Roman empire, fall'n! Oh, curst ambition! |