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And yet for both the youths have equal share
But tell me which of them is Lucia's choice ?
Marcia, they both are high in my esteem,
Pleas'd and difgufted with it knows not what-
O Lucia, I'm perplex'd, O tell me which I must hereafter call my happy brother?
Suppofe 'twere Portius, cou'd you blame my choice? -O Portius, thou haft ftol'n away my foul! With what a graceful tenderness he loves!
And breathes the fofteft, the fincereft vows !' Complacency, and truth, and manly fweetnefs Dwell ever on his tongue, and smooth his thoughts. Marcus is overwarm, his fond complaints
Have fo much earnestness and paflion in them,
I hear him with a fecret kind of horror,
And tremble at his vehemence of temper.
Alas,poor youth! how can't thou throw him from thee? Lucia, thou know'ft not half the love he bears thee: Whene'er he speaks of thee, his heart's in flames,
He fends out all his foul in ev'ry word,
And thinks, and talks, and looks like one transported.
Unhappy youth! how will thy coldness raise
You feem to plead Against your brother Portius.
Had Portius been the unfuccessful lover,
The fame compaflion wou'd have fall'n on him.
Was ever virgin-love diftreft like mine! Portius himself oft falls in tears before me, As if he mourn'd his rival's ill fuccefs,
Then bids me hide the motions of my heart,
He knows too well how eafily he's fired, And wou'd not plunge his brother in despair,
But waits for happier times, and kinder moments,
Alas, too late I find myself involv'd In endless griefs and labyrinths of woe, Born to afflict my Marcia's family,
And fow diffention in the hearts of brothers,
Let us not,' Lucia, aggravate our forrows, But to the gods permit th' event of things. Our lives difcolour'd with our present woes,
May ftill grow bright, and smile with happier hours, So the pure limpid ftream, when foul with stains Of rushing torrents and defcending rains, Works itself clear, and as it runs, refines, "Till by degrees the floating mirrour shines, Reflects each flow'r that on the border grows,
And a new heav'n in its fair bofom fhews.
ACT II. SCENE L
OME ftill furvives in this affembled fenate!
Cato will foon be here, and open to us
Enter CAT O.
Fathers, we once again are met in council.
Still fmoke with blood.
'Tis time we should decree
Our foe advances on us,
What course to take.
Or are your hearts subdu'd at length, and wrought
My voice is still for war.
Gods, can a Roman fenate long debate
If we should facrifice our lives to honour,