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 even below my own weak sex: Pity and love, by turns, oppress my heart.

Mar. Lucia, disburthen 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 tell thee,

They are Marcia's brothers, and the sons of Cato. Mar. They both behold thee with their sister's

Thou knowest it is a blind and foolish passion, Pleased and disgusted with it knows not whatMar. Oh, Lucia, I'm perplexed! Oh, tell me which

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

-Oh, Portius, thou hast stolen away my soul!
With what a graceful tenderness he loves!
And breathes the softest, the sincerest vows!
Complacency, and truth, and manly sweetness,
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?

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 distrest 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,
Nor shew which way it turns. So much he fears
The sad effects that it will have on Marcus.

Mar. He knows too well how easily he is

fired,

And would not plunge his brother in despair,
But waits for happier times, and kinder moments.
Luc. Alas! too late I find myself involved
In endless griefs, and labyrinths of woe,
Born to afflict my Marcia's family,
And sow dissention in the hearts of brothers.
Tormenting thought! It cuts into my soul.

Mar. Let us not, Lucia, aggravate our sor

rows,

But to the gods submit the event of things.
Our lives, discoloured with our present woes,
May still grow bright, and smile with happier
hours.

So the pure limpid stream, when foul with

stains

Of rushing torrents, and descending rains,
Works itself clear, and as it runs, refines,
Till, by degrees, the floating mirror shines,
Reflects each flower that on the border grows,
And a new heaven in its fair bosom shows.

[Exeunt.

and Senators.

Sem. ROME still survives in this assembled senate. Let us remember we are Cato's friends, And act like men who claim that glorious title. Luc. Cato will soon be here, and open to us The occasion of our meeting. Hark! he comes! [A sound of trumpets. May all the guardian gods of Rome direct him! Enter CATO.

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 de-

cree

What course to take. Our foe advances on us, And envies us even Lybia's sultry desarts.

fixed

To hold it out and fight it to the last?

Or are your hearts subdued at length, and 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 chuse, 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:

Rise, and revenge your slaughtered citizens,
Or share their fate! The corpse of half her se-

nate

Manure the fields of Thessaly, while we
Sit here deliberating in cold debates,
If we should sacrifice our lives to honour,
Or wear them out in servitude and chains.
Rouse up, for shame! our brothers of Pharsalia
Point at their wounds, and cry aloud-To battle!
Great Pompey's shade complains that we are
slow;

And Scipio's ghost walks unrevenged amongst us.
Cato. Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal
Transport thee thus beyond the bounds of rea-

son!

True fortitude is seen in great exploits,
That justice warrants, and that wisdom guides;
All else is towering frenzy and distraction.
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 glorious?
Lucius, we next would know what's your opinion?
Luc. My thoughts, I must confess, are turned

on peace.

Already have our quarrels filled the world
With widows, and with orphans: Scythia mourns
Our guilty wars, and earth's remotest regions
Lic half unpeopled by the feuds of Rome :
'Tis time to sheath the sword, and spare man-
kind,

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 despair)
Were to refuse the awards of Providence,
And not to rest in Heaven's determination.
Already have we shewn our love to Rome,
Now let us shew 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 them from our hands,

And bids us not delight in Roman blood
Unprofitably shed. What men could do,

Is done already: heaven and earth will witness,
If Rome must fall, that we are innocent.
Sem. This smooth discourse, and mild beha-
viour, 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 diffident;
Immoderate valour swells into a fault;
And fear, admitted into public councils,
Betrays like treason. Let us shun them both.
Fathers, I cannot see that our affairs
Are grown thus desperate: we have bulwarks
round us;

Within our walls are troops inured to toil
In Afric's heat, 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.

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,

For all his generous cares and proffered friendship?

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

To clear the guilty, and to varnish crimes, Myself will mount the rostrum in his favour, 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 is a friend to virtue.

Dec. Consider, Cato, you are 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;

Did'st 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 them.
I know thou look'st on me, as on a wretch
Beset with ills, and covered with misfortunes;
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
Casar,

Cato. His cares for me are insolent and vain. Would Cæsar shew 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 himself. Dec. Your high unconquered heart makes you forget

You are a man. You rush on your destruction.
But I have done. When I relate hereafter

The tale of this unhappy embassy,
All Rome will be in tears.

[Exit Decius.

Sem. 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, And shudder in the midst of all his conquests.

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 ac

Enter JUBA.

Juba, the Roman senate has resolved,

Till time give better prospects, still to keep

These are not ills; else would they never fall
On Heaven's first favourites and the best of men.
The gods, in bounty, work up storms about us,
That give mankind occasion to exert

Cæsar.

Juba. The resolution fits a Roman senate. But, Cato, lend me for a while thy patience, 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 befal 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 them.'

Cato. Juba, thy father was a worthy prince, And merited, alas! a better fate; But Heaven thought otherwise.

Juba. My father's fate,

In spite of all the fortitude that shines
Before my face in Cato's great example,
Subdues my soul, and fills my eyes with tears.
Cato. It is an honest sorrow, and becomes
thee.

Juba. My father drew respect from foreign climes :

The kings of Afric sought him for their friend;
Kings far remote, that rule, as fame reports,
Behind the hidden sources of the Nile,
In distant worlds, on the other side the sun;
Oft have their black ambassadors appeared,
Loaden with gifts, and filled the courts of Zama.
Cato. I am no stranger to thy father's great-

ness.

Juba. I would not boast the greatness of my father,

But point out new alliances to Cato.
Had we not better leave this Utica,
To arm Numidia in our cause, and court
The assistance of my father's powerful friends?
Did they know Cato, our remotest kings
Would pour embattled multitudes about him;
Their swarthy hosts would darken all our plains,
Doubling the native horrors of the war,
And making death more grim.

Cato. And canst thou think

Cato will fly before the sword of Cæsar!
Reduced, like Hannibal, to seek relief

From court to court, and wander up and down
A vagabond in Afric?

tice

Virtues that shun the day, and lie concealed In the smooth seasons and the calms of life. Juba. I am charmed whene'er thou talkest ; pant for virtue;

And all my soul endeavours at perfection. Cato. Dost thou love watchings, abstinence, and toil,

Laborious virtues all? Learn them from Cato;
Success and fortune must thou learn from Cæsar.
Juba. "The best good fortune that can fall on
Juba,

The whole success at which my heart aspires,
Depends on Cato.

Cato. What does Juba say?

Thy words confound me.

Juba. I would fain retract them,

Give them me back again: they aimed at nothing.

Cato. Tell me thy wish, young prince; make

not my ear

A stranger to thy thoughts.

Juba. Oh! they are extravagant; Still let me hide them.

Cato. What can Juba ask That Cato will refuse?

Juba. I fear to name it.
Marcia-inherits all her father's virtues.
Cato. What wouldst thou say?
Juba. Cato, thou hast a daughter.
Cato. Adieu, young prince; I would not hear
a word

Should lessen thee in my esteem. Remember,
The hand of Fate is over us, and Heaven
Exacts severity from all our thoughts.
It is not now a time to talk of ought
But chains, or conquest; liberty, or death.—

Enter SYPHAX.

[Exit.

Syph. How is this, my prince! What, covered

with confusion?

You look as if yon stern philosopher
Had just now chid you.

Juba. Syphax, I am undone !
Syph. I know it well.

Juba. Cato thinks meanly of me.
Syph. And so will all mankind.
Juba. I have opened to him

The weakness of my soul, my love for Marcia."
Syph. Cato's a proper person to entrust
A love-tale with!

Juba. Oh, I could pierce my heart,

My foolish heart. Was ever wretch like Juba! Syph. Alas, my prince, how are you changed of late!

I have known young Juba rise before the sun,

To beat the thicket where the tiger slept,
Or seek the lion in his dreadful haunts:
How did the colour mount into your cheeks,
When first you roused him to the chace! I have
seen you,

Even in the Lybian dog-days, hunt him down,
Then charge him close, provoke him to the rage
Of fangs and claws, and, stooping from your
horse,

Rivet the panting savage to the ground.

Juba. Prithee, no more.

Syph. How would the old king smile

To see you weigh the paws, when tipped with gold,

And throw the shaggy spoils about your shoulders!

Juba. Syphax, this old man's talk (though ho-
ney flowed

In every word) would now lose its sweetness.
Cato's displeased, and Marcia lost for ever.

Syph. Young prince, I yet could give you good
advice;

Marcia might still be yours.

Juba. What sayest thou, Syphax?

By Heavens, thou turnest me all into attention.
Syph. Marcia might still be yours.
Juba. As how, dear Syphax?

Syph. Juba commands Numidia's hardy troops,
Mounted on steeds unused to the restraint
Of curbs or bits, and fleeter than the winds.
Give but the word, we'll snatch this damsel up,
And bear her off.

Juba. Can such dishonest thoughts Rise up in man! Wouldst thou seduce my youth To do an act that would destroy mine honour? Syph. Gods, I could tear my hair to hear you

talk!

Honour's a fine imaginary notion,
That draws in raw and inexperienced men,
To real mischiefs, while they hunt a shadow.
Juba. Wouldst thou degrade thy prince into a
ruffian?

Syph. The boasted ancestors of those great men,
Whose virtues you admire, were all such ruffians.
This dread of nations, this almighty Rome,
That comprehends in her wide empire's bounds
All under Heaven, was founded on a rape;
Your Scipios, Cæsars, Pompeys, and your Catos
(The gods on earth), are all the spurious blood
Of violated maids, of ravished Sabines.

Juba. Syphax, I fear that hoary head of thine Abounds too much in our Numidian wiles.

Syph. Indeed, my prince, you want to know the world.

You have not read mankind; your youth admires
The throes and swellings of a Roman soul,
Cato's bold flights, the extravagance of virtue.
Juba. If knowledge of the world make men
perfidious,

May Juba ever live in ignorance!
Syph. Go, go; you are young.
Juba. Gods, must I tamely bear

This arrogance unanswered! Thou art a traitor, A false old traitor.

[Aside.

Syph. I have gone too far. Juba. Cato shall know the baseness of thy soul. Syph. I must appease this storm, or perish in it. [Aside.

Young prince, behold these locks, that are grown white

Beneath a helmet in your father's battles. Juba. Those locks shall ne'er protect thy insolence.

Syph. Must one rash word, the infirmity of age, Throw down the merit of my better years? This the reward of a whole life of service! Curse on the boy! how steadily he hears me!

[Aside

Juba. Is it because the throne of my forefathers

Still stands unfilled, and that Numidia's crown
Hangs doubtful yet whose head it shall inclose,
Thou thus presumest to treat thy prince withscorn?
Syph. Why will you rive my heart with such
expressions!

Does not old Syphax follow you to war?
What are his aims? Why does he load with darts
His trembling hand, and crush beneath a casque
His wrinkled brows? What is it he aspires to?
Is it not this? to shed the slow remains,
His last poor ebb of blood in your defence?
Juba. Syphax, no more! I would not hear you
talk.

Syph. Not hear me talk! what, when my faith

to Juba,

My royal master's son, is called in question?
My prince may strike me dead, and I'll be dumb;
But whilst I live I must not hold my tongue,
And languish out old age in his displeasure.

Juba. Thou knowest the way too well into my heart;

I do believe thee loyal to thy prince.

Syph. What greater instance can I give? I've offered

To do an action which my soul abhors,
And gain you whom you love, at any price.
Juba. Was this thy motive? I have been too

hasty.