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Sweet are the slumbers of the virtuous man! O 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 stretch'd at ease, his fancy lost
In pleasing dreams; as I drew near his couch,
He smiled, and cry'd, Cæsar thou canst not hurt me.
MARCIA. His mind still labours with some dreadful
LUCIUS. Lucia, why all this grief, these floods of sorrow? Dry up thy tears, my child, we all are safe
While Cato lives-his presence will protect us.
JUBA. Lucius, the horsemen are return'd from viewing
On the high point of yon bright western tower,
Plays on their shining arms and burnish'd helmets,
LUCIUS. Marcia, 'tis time we should awake thy father.
Cæsar is still disposed to give us terms,
And waits at distance till he hears from Cato.
Portius, thy looks speak somewhat of importance.
PORTIUS. As I was hasting to the port, where now
From Pompey's son, who through the realms of Spain
Were Cato at their head, once more might Rome
But, hark! what means that groan! O give me way,
Mourns o'er his country.-Hah! a second groan
Heaven guard us all
Alas! 'tis not the voice
MARCIA. Of one who sleeps! 'tis agonizing pain, 'Tis death is in that sound
O Marcia, what we fear'd is come to pass!
Cato is fallen upon his sword
O sight of woe!
[The back scene opens, and discovers Cato.
MARCIA. O heaven assist me in this dreadful hour
To pay the last sad duties to my father.
JUBA. These are thy triumphs, thy exploits, O Cæsar!
[Cato brought forward in his chair.
Alas! poor man, he weeps!-Marcia, my daughter
O bend me forward!-Juba loves thee, Marcia.
A senator of Rome, while Rome survived,
I've been too hasty. O ye powers that search
The best may err, but you are good, and—oh!
LUCIUS. There fled the greatest soul that ever warm'd
A Roman breast. O Cato! O my friend!
a Alas! I fear I've been too hasty. This sentiment is not in character; but the amiable author, ever attentive to the interests of religion and virtue, chose, for the sake of these, to violate decorum.
But let us bear this awful corpse to Cæsar,
From hence, let fierce contending nations know
BY DR. GARTH.
SPOKEN BY MRS. PORTER.
WHAT odd fantastic things we women do!
To give you pain, themselves they punish most.
Too oft they're cancell'd, tho' in convents made.
How needless, if you knew us, were your fears!
Let love have eyes, and beauty will have ears.
Our hearts are form'd as you yourselves would chuse,
Too proud to ask, too humble to refuse :
Blame not our conduct, since we but pursue