« EelmineJätka »
Alas, young Prince,
The product of all climes Rome has its Cæfars.
"Tis gen'rous thus to comfort the diftrefs'd.
'Tis just to give applaufe where 'tis deferv'd: Thy virtue, Prince, has ftood the teft of fortune, Like pureft gold, that, tortur'd in the furnace, Comes out more bright, and brings forth all its weight.
What shall I answer thee? ny ravish'd heart
PORTI U S.
Misfortune on misfortune! grief on grief! My brother Marcus
Hah! what has he done?
Has he forfook his poft ? has he given way?
Scarce had I left my father, but I met him Borne on the fhields of his furviving foldiers,
Breathlefs and pale, and cover'd o'er with wounds.
Nor did he fall before
His fword had pierc'd through the false heart of Syphax. Yonder he lies. I faw the hoary traitor
Grin in the pangs of death, and bite the ground.
Thanks to the gods! my boy has done his duty!
Long may they keep asunder!
O Cato, arm thy foul with all its patience;
See where the corps of thy dead fon approaches?
The citizens and fenators, alarm'd,
Have gather'd round it, and attend it weeping.
CATO meeting the Corps.
Welcome, my fon! here lay him down, my friends, Full in my fight, that I may view at leifure
The bloody corfe, and count thofe glorious wounds.
-Portius, behold thy brother, and remember Thy life is not thy own, when Rome demands it. JUBA.
Was ever man like this!
Why mourn you thus ? let not a private lofs
Behold that upright man: Rome fills his eyes
With tears, that flow'd not o'er his own dead fon. [Afide.
Whate'er the Roman virtue has fubdu❜d,
The fun's whole courfe, the day and year, are Cæfar's. For him the felf-devoted Decii dy'd,
The Fabii fell, and the great Scipio's conquer❜d:
While Cate lives, Cæfar will blush to fee
Cæfar afhamed! has not he feen Pharfalia?
Cato, 'tis time thou fave thyself and us.
Lofe not a thought on me. I'm out of danger.
But oh, my friends, your fafety fills my heart
Then ask it, I conjure you! let him know Whate'er was done against him, Cato did it. Add, if you please, that I requeft it of him,
The virtue of my friends may pafs unpunish'd.
If I forfake thee
While I live, may heaven abandon Juba!
Thy virtues, Prince, if I forefee aright,
Portius, draw near! My fon, thou oft haft feen
Wrestling with vice and faction: now thou feeft me
Let me advise thee to retreat betimes
To my paternal feat, the Sabine field,
Where the great Cenfor toil'd with his own hands,
'There live retired, pray for the peace of Rome,
I hope my father does not recommend A life to Portius, that he fcorns himself.