Representative English Dramas from Dryden to Sheridan

When not a breath of wind flies o'er its

surface.

Syph. Alas, my prince, I'd guide you to your safety.

Juba. I do believe thou wouldst: but tell

me how?

Syph. Fly from the fate that follows
Cæsar's foes.

Juba. My father scorned to do it.
Syph.
And therefore died.

The face of war, and make even horror smile! At sight of thee my heart shakes off its sorrows;

I feel a dawn of joy break in upon me,

Juba. Better to die ten thousand thou- And for a while forget the approach of sand deaths,

Than wound my honor.

Syph.
Rather say, your love.
Juba. Syphax, I've promised to preserve
my temper.

Why wilt thou urge me to confess a flame
I long have stifled, and would fain conceal?
Syph. Believe me, prince, 'tis hard to
conquer love,

But easy to divert and break its force:
Absence might cure it, or a second mistress
Light up another flame, and put out this.
The glowing dames of Zama's royal court

Have faces flushed with more exalted
charms,

The sun, that rolls his chariot o'er their
heads,
Works up
cheeks:
Were you with these, my prince, you'd soon
forget

more fire and color in their

The pale, unripened beauties of the north.
Juba. 'Tis not a set of features, or com-
plexion,

The tincture of a skin, that I admire.
Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover,
Fades in his eye, and palls upon the sense.
The virtuous Marcia towers above her sex:

True, she is fair, (oh, how divinely fair!),
But still the lovely maid improves her

charms

With inward greatness, unaffected wisdom,
And sanctity of manners. Cato's soul
Shines out in everything she acts or speaks,
While winning mildness and attractive
smiles

Dwell in her looks, and with becoming

grace

Soften the rigor of her father's virtues.

Syph. How does your tongue grow wanton in her praise!

But on my knees I beg you would consider

Cæsar.

Mar. I should be grieved, young prince, to think my presence

Unbent

your thoughts, and slackened 'em to arms,

foe

While, warm with slaughter, our victorious
Threatens aloud, and calls you to the field.
Juba. O Marcia, let me hope thy kind

I'll gaze forever on thy godlike father,
Transplanting, one by one, into my life,
His bright perfections, till I shine like
him.

Mar. My father never, at a time like this,

Would lay out his great soul in words, and
Such precious moments.

waste

Juba.

Thou virtuous maid; I'll hasten
Thy reproofs are just,
to my
And fire their languid souls with Cato's
troops,
virtue;

The war shall stand ranged in its just array,
If e'er I lead them to the field, when all
And dreadful pomp; then will I think on
thee!

O lovely maid, then will I think on thee!
And, in the shock of charging hosts, re-
member

Juba. Hah! Syphax, is't not she?-she What glorious deeds should grace the man

And drive him from you with so stern an air,

A prince that loves and dotes on you to death?

Mar. 'Tis therefore, Lucia, that I chide him from me.

His air, his voice, his looks, and honest soul Speak all so movingly in his behalf.

I dare not trust myself to hear him talk. Luc. Why will you fight against so sweet a passion,

And steel your heart to such a world of charms?

Mar. How, Lucia, wouldst thou have me sink away

In pleasing dreams, and lose myself in love,
When every moment Cato's life's at stake?
Cæsar comes armed with terror and revenge,
And aims his thunder at my father's head.
Should not the sad occasion swallow up
My other cares, and draw them all into it?
Luc. Why have not I this constancy of
mind,

Who have so many griefs to try its force?
Sure, nature formed me of her softest mould,
Enfeebled all my soul with tender passions,
And sunk me ev'n below my own weak

sex:

Pity and love, by turns, oppress my heart. Mar. Lucia, disburden all thy cares on

me,

And let me share thy most retired distress; Tell me who raises up this conflict in thee? Luc. I need not blush to name them, when I tell thee

Dwell ever on his tongue, and smooth his thoughts.

Marcus is over-warm, his fond complaints Have so much earnestness and passion in them,

I hear him with a secret kind of horror,
And tremble at his vehemence of temper.
Mar. Alas, poor youth! how canst thou
throw him from thee?

Lucia, thou know'st not half the love he bears thee;

Whene'er he speaks of thee, his heart's in flames.

He sends out all his soul in every word, And thinks, and talks, and looks like one transported.

Unhappy youth! how will thy coldness raise
Tempests and storms in his afflicted bosom!
I dread the consequence.
Luc.

You seem to plead

Against your brother Portius.
Mar.

Heaven forbid! Had Portius been the unsuccessful lover, The same compassion would have fallen on him.

Luc. Was ever virgin love distressed like mine!

Portius himself oft falls in tears before

me,

As if he mourned his rival's ill success, Then bids me hide the motions of my heart,

They're Marcia's brothers, and the sons of Nor show which way it turns. So much he Cato.

fears

Mar. They both behold thee with their The sad effects that it would have on sister's eyes,

And often have revealed their passion to me. But tell me whose address thou favorest most;

Marcus.

Mar. He knows too well how easily he's fired,

ments.

And would not plunge his brother in despair, I long to know, and yet I dread to hear it. But waits for happier times, and kinder moLuc. Which is it Marcia wishes for? Mar. For neitherAnd yet for both;-the youths have equal share

In Marcia's wishes, and divide their sister: But tell me, which of them is Lucia's choice. Luc. Marcia, they both are high in my esteem,

But in my love-why wilt thou make me name him?

Luc. Alas! too late I find myself involved In endless griefs, and labyrinths of woe, Born to afflict my Marcia's family, And sow dissension in the hearts of brothers. Tormenting thought! it cuts into my soul. Mar. Let us not, Lucia, aggravate our sorrows,

But to the gods permit the event of things. Our lives, discolored with our present woes,

Thou know'st it is a blind and foolish pas- May still grow white, and smile with hapsion,

Pleased and disgusted with it knows not what

pier hours.

So the pure limpid stream, when foul with stains

Mar. O Lucia, I'm perplexed, oh tell me Of rushing torrents and descending rains, which

I must hereafter call my happy brother. Luc. Suppose 'twere Portius, could you blame my choice?

Works itself clear, and as it runs, refines; Till, by degrees, the floating mirror shines, Reflects each flower that on the border

grows,

O Portius, thou hast stolen away my soul! And a new heaven in its fair bosom shows. With wha graceful tenderness he loves!

[Exeunt.

True fortitude is seen in great exploits,
That justice warrants, and that wisdom
guides,

Cato. Fathers, we once again are met in All else is towering frenzy and distraction. council.

Cæsar's approach has summoned us together, And Rome attends her fate from our resolves:

How shall we treat this bold, aspiring man?
Success still follows him and backs his
crimes;

Pharsalia gave him Rome; Egypt has since
Received his yoke, and the whole Nile is
Cæsar's.

Why should I mention Juba's overthrow,
And Scipio's death? Numidia's burning

sands

Still smoke with blood. 'Tis time we should decree

Are not the lives of those who draw the
sword

In Rome's defence intrusted to our care?
Should we thus lead them to a field of
slaughter,

Might not the impartial world with reason

say

We lavished at our deaths the blood of
thousands,

To grace our fall, and make our ruin glo-
rious?

Lucius, we next would know what's your
opinion.

Luc. My thoughts, I must confess, are
turned on peace.

What course to take. Our foe advances on Already have our quarrels filled the world
us,
With widows and with orphans: Scythia

And envies us even Libya's sultry deserts.
Fathers, pronounce your thoughts, are they

still fixed

To hold it out, and fight it to the last?

mourns

Our guilty wars, and earth's remotest re-
gions

Lie half unpeopled by the feuds of Rome: Or are your hearts subdued at length, and 'Tis time to sheathe the sword, and spare wrought

By time and ill success to a submission?
Sempronius, speak.

Sem.
My voice is still for war.
Gods, can a Roman senate long debate
Which of the two to choose, slavery or
death!

No, let us rise at once, gird on our swords,
And, at the head of our remaining troops,
Attack the foe, break through the thick

array

Of his thronged legions, and charge home upon him.

Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest,

May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage.

Rise, fathers, rise! 'tis Rome demands your help;

mankind.

It is not Cæsar, but the gods, my fathers,
The gods declare against us, and repel
Our vain attempts. To urge the foe to
battle,

(Prompted by blind revenge and wild de-
spair)

Were to refuse the awards of Providence,
And not to rest in heaven's determination.
Already have we shown our love to Rome,
Now let us show submission to the gods.
We took up arms, not to revenge ourselves,
But free the commonwealth; when this end
fails,

Arms have no further use: our country's

cause,

That drew our swords, now wrests 'em
from our hands,

And bids us not delight in Roman blood,

Rise, and revenge her slaughtered citizens, Unprofitably shed; what men could do

Is done already: heaven and earth will wit- Cato's high worth, is anxious for your life. Cato. My lie is grafted on the fate of Rome:

ness,

If Rome must fall, that we are innocent.
Sem. This smooth discourse and mild be-
havior oft
Conceal a traitor-something whispers me
All is not right-Cato, beware of Lucius.
[Aside to CATO.
Cato. Let us appear nor rash nor diffi-
dent:

Immoderate valor swells into a fault,
And fear, admitted into public councils,
Betrays like treason. Let us shun 'em both.
Fathers, I cannot see that our affairs
Are grown thus desperate. We have bul-
warks round us;

Within our walls are troops inured to toil
In Afric's heats, and seasoned to the sun;
Numidia's spacious kingdom lies behind us,
Ready to rise at its young prince's call.
While there is hope, do not distrust the
gods;

But wait at least till Cæsar's near approach
Force us to yield. 'Twill never be too late
To sue for chains and own a conqueror.
Why should Rome fall a moment ere her
time?

No, let us draw her term of freedom out
In its full length, and spin it to the last,
So shall we gain still one day's liberty;
And let me perish, but in Cato's judgment,
A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty
Is worth a whole eternity in bondage.

Would he save Cato, bid him spare his country.

Tell your dictator this: and tell him, Cato 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, Who checked his conquests, and denied his triumphs.

Why will not Cato be this Cæsar's friend? Cato. Those very reasons thou hast urged forbid it.

Dec. Cato, I've orders to expostulate And reason with you, as from friend to friend:

Think on the storm that gathers o'er your head,

And threatens every hour to burst upon it; Still may you stand high in your country's honors,

Do but comply, and make your peace with
Cæsar.

Rome will rejoice, and cast its eyes on Cato,
As on the second of mankind.
Cato.

No more!

I must not think of life on such conditions. Dec. Cæsar is well acquainted with your virtues,

And therefore sets this value on your life: Let him but know the price of Cato's friendship,

And name your terms.

Cato. Bid him disband his legions; Restore the commonwealth to liberty, Submit his actions to the public censure, And stand the judgment of a Roman senate: Bid him do this, and Cato is his friend.

Dec. Cato, the world talks loudly of your wisdom

Cato. Nay more, though Cato's voice was ne'er employed

Myself will mount the rostrum in his favor,
To clear the guilty, and to varnish crimes,
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's a friend to virtue.

Dec. Consider, Cato, you're 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;

Didst thou but view him right, thou’dst see him black

With murder, treason, sacrilege, and crimes That strike my soul with horror but to name 'em.

I know thou look'st on me, as on a wretch
Beset with ills, and covered with misfor-
tunes;

But, by the gods I swear, millions of worlds
Should never buy me to be like that Cæsar.

Dec. Does Cato send this answer back to
Cæsar,

For all his generous cares, and proffered We ought to hold it out till terms arrive. friendship?

Cato. His cares for me are insolent and
vain:

Presumptuous man! the gods take care of
Cato.

Would Cæsar show the greatness of his soul,
Bid him employ his care for these my friends,
And make good use of his ill-gotten power,
By sheltering men much better than him-
self.

Sem. We ought to hold it out till death; but, Cato,

My private voice is drowned amid the senate's.

Cato. Then let us rise, my friends, and
strive to fill

This little interval, this pause of life,
(While yet our liberty and fates are doubt-
ful)

With resolution, friendship, Roman bravery,
Dec. Your high unconquered heart makes And all the virtues we can crowd into it;
you forget
That heaven may say, it ought to be pro-

You are a man. You rush on your destruc-
tion-

But I have done. When I relate hereafter
The tale of this unhappy embassy,
All Rome will be in tears.

Sem.

SCENE III

[Exit DECIUS.

SEMPRONIUS, LUCIUS, CATO, ETC.

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,

Fathers, farewell-The

longed.

prince

young

Numidian

Comes forward, and expects to know our counsels.

SCENE IV
CATO, JUBA.

Cato. Juba, the Roman Senate has re-
solved,

Till time give better prospects, still to keep
The sword unsheathed, and turn its edge on
Cæsar.

Juba. The resolution fits a Roman senate.

And shudder in the midst of all his con- But, Cato, lend me for a while thy patience, quests.

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

account.

Lucius seems fond of life; but what is life?
'Tis not to stalk about, and draw fresh air
From time to time, or gaze upon the sun;
'Tis to be free. When liberty is gone,

Life grows insipid, and has lost its relish.
Oh, could my dying hand but lodge a sword
In Cæsar's bosom, and revenge my country,
By heavens, I could enjoy the pangs of
death,

And smile in agony.

And condescend to hear a young man speak.
My father, when some days, before his
death

He ordered me to march for Utica,
(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 befall 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 'em."

Cato. Juba, thy father was a worthy prince,

And merited, alas! a better fate;

But heaven thought otherwise.

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