Love is not to be reason'd down, or lost
In high ambition, and a thirst of greatness;
'Tis second life, that grows into the soul,
Warms every vein, and beats in every pulse:
I feel it here: my resolution melts-

On this important hour.-I'll straight away,
To animate the soldier's drooping courage
With love of freedom, and contempt of life,
And try to rouse up all that's Roman in 'em.
'Tis not in mortals to command success;

Par. Behold young Juba, the Numidian Prince : But we'll do more, Sempronius, we'll deserve it. He loves our sister Marcia, greatly loves her;

But still the smother'd fondness burns within him:
The sense of honour and desire of fame
Drive the big passion back into his heart.-
What! shall an African, shall Juba's heir,
Reproach great Cato's son, and show the world
A virtue wanting in a Roman soul?

Mar. No more, no more! your words leave stings

behind 'em.

Whene'er did Juba, or did Porcius, show
A virtue that has cast me at a distance,
And thrown me out in the pursuits of honour?
Por. O, Marcus, did I know the way to ease
Thy troubled heart, and mitigate thy pains,
Believe me, I could freely die to do it.

Mar. Thou best of brothers, and thou best of
friends!

Pardon a weak distemper'd soul, that swells
With sudden gusts, and sinks as soon in calms,
The sport of passions.-But, Sempronius comes:
He must not find this softness hanging on me.
[Exit.-PORTIVS retires back.

I like not that cold youth. I must dissemble,
And speak a language foreign to my heart.-
Good morrow, Porcius! [PORCIUS comes forward.]
Let us once embrace,

Once more embrace, whilst yet we both are free:
To-morrow, should we thus express our friendship,
Each might receive a slave into his arms
This sun, perhaps, this morning's sun's the last
That e'er shall rise on Roman liberty

Por. My father has this morning call'd together
His little Roman senate-

The leavings of Pharsalia-to consult
If yet he can oppose the mighty torrent
That bears down Rome and all her gods before it-
Or must, at length, give up the world to Cæsar.

Sem. Not all the pomp and majesty of Rome
Can raise her senate more than Cato's presence;
His virtues render her assembly awful,
They strike with something like religious fear,
And make even Cæsar tremble at the head
Of armies flush'd with conquest. O, my Porcius,
Could I but call that wondrous man my father,
Would but thy sister Marcia be propitious
To thy friend's vows, I might be bless'd indeed.
Por. Alas! Sempronius, would'st thou talk of
love

To Marcia, whilst her father's life's in danger?
Thou might'st as well court the pale trembling
vestal,

When she beholds the holy flame expiring.

Sem. The more I see the wonders of thy race,
The more I'm charm'd. Thou must take heed, my
Porcius;

The world has all its eyes on Cato's son:
Thy father's merit sets thee up to view,
And shows thee in the fairest point of light,
To make ty virtues or thy faults conspicuous.
Por. Well dost thou seem to check my lingering
here

NO. 8.

[Exit.

Sem. Curse on the stripling! How he apes his
sire,

Ambitiously sententious!-But I wonder,
Old Syphax comes not. His Numidian genius
Is well dispos'd to mischief-

Cato has us'd me ill: he has refus'd
His daughter Marcia to my ardent vows:
Besides, his baffled arms and ruin'd cause
Are bars to my ambition. Cæsar's favour,
That showers down greatness on his friends, will
raise me

To Rome's first honours. If I give up Cato,
I claim in my reward his captive daughter.-
Syphax comes.

He's lost, Sempronius! all his thoughts are full
Of Cato's virtues!-But I'll try once more,
For every instant I expect him here,

If yet I can subdue those stubborn principles
Of faith, of honour, and 1 know not what,
That have corrupted his Numidian temper
And struck the infection into all bis soul.

Sem. Be sure to press upon him every motive:
Juba's surrender, since his father's death,
Would give up Africk into Cæsar's hands,
And make him lord of half the burning zone.
Syph. But is it true, Sempronius, that your

senate

Is call'd together? Gods! thou must be cautious:
Cato has piercing eyes, and will discern
Our frauds, unless they're cover'd thick with art.

Sem. Let me alone, good Syphax: I'll conceal
My thoughts in passion: 'tis the surest way :
I'll bellow out for Rome and for my country,
And mouth at Cæsar, till I shake the senate:
Your cold hypocrisy's a stale device,

A worn-out trick: would'st thou be thought in

earnest,

Clothe thy feign'd zeal in rage, in fire, in fury.
Syph. In troth, thou'rt able to instruct grey hairs,
And teach the wily African deceit.

Sem. Once more, be sure to try thy skill on Jub.
Meanwhile I'll hasten to my Roman soldiers,
Inflame the mutiny, and, underhand,
Blow up their discontents, till they break out
Unlook'd for, and discharge themselves on Cato.
Remember, Syphax, we must work in haste;
O think, what anxious moments pass between
The birth of plots, and their last fatal periods;
It is a dreadful interval of time,
Fill'd up with horror all, and big with death;

2 G

Juba. Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone.
I have observ'd of late thy looks are fallen,
O'ercast with gloomy cares and discontent:
Then tell me, Syphax, I conjure thee tell me,
What are the thoughts that knit thy brow in frowns,
And turn thine eye thus coldly on thy prince?
Syph. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my thoughts,
Nor carry smiles and sunshine in my face,
When discontent sits heavy at my heart;
I have not yet so much the Roman in me.

Juba. Why dost thou cast out such ungenerous

terms

Against these wonderous sovereigns of the world?
Dost thou not see mankind fall down before 'em,
And own the force of their superior virtue?

Syph. Gods where's the worth that sets this
people up

Above your own Numidia's tawny sons?
Do they with tougher sinews bend the bow?
Or flies the javelin swifter to its mark,
Launch'd from the vigour of a Roman arm?
Who, like our active African, instructs
The fiery steed, and trains him to his hand?
Or guides in troops the embattled elephant,
Loaden with war? These, these are arts, my prince,
In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome."

Juba. These all are virtues of a meaner rank,
Perfections that are plac'd in bones and nerves:
A Roman soul is bent on higher views.
To make man mild, and sociable to man;
To cultivate the wild licentious savage
With wisdom, discipline, and liberal arts--
The embellishments of life; virtues like these
Make human nature shine, reform the soul,
And break our fierce barbarians into men.

Then rises fresh, pursues his wonted game,
And if, the following day, he chance to find
A new repast, or an untasted spring,
Blesses his stars, and thinks it luxury.

Juba. Thy prejudices, Syphax, won't discern
What virtues grow from ignorance and choice;
Nor how the hero differs from the brute.
But, grant that others could, with equal glory,
Look down on pleasures and the baits of sense,
Where shall we find the man that bears affliction,
Great and majestic in his griefs, like Cato?
How does he rise against a load of woes,
And thank the gods that throw the weight upon him!
Syph. "Tis pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of
soul;

I think the Romans call it Stoicism.
Had not your royal father thought so highly
Of Roman virtue, and of Cato's cause,
He had not fallen, by a slave's hand, inglorious;
Nor would his slaughter'd army now have lain
On Africk's sands, disfigur'd with their wounds,
To gorge the wolves and vultures of Numidia.
Juba. Why dost thou call my sorrows up afresh?
My father's name brings tears into my eyes.
Syph. Oh, that you'd profit by your father's ills!
Juba. What would'st thou have me do?
Syph. Abandon Cato.

Juba. Never:-I should be more than twice an
orphan

By such a loss.

Syph. Ay, there's the tie that binds you,
You long to call him father; Marcia's charms
Work in your heart unseen, and plead for Cato;
No wonder you are deaf to all I say.

Juba. No more;-your zeal becomes importunate.
I've hitherto permitted it to rave,

:

And talk at large but learn to keep it in,
Lest it should take more freedom than I'll give it.
Syph. Yet hear me, prince, tho' hard to conquer

love,

'Tis 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 flush'd with more exalted charms;

Syph. Patience, kind heavens-Excuse an old The sun, that rolls his chariot o'er their heads,

man's warmth;

What are these wonderous civilizing arts,
This Roman polish, and his smooth behaviour,
That render man thus tractable and tame ?
Are they not only to disguise our passions,
To set our looks at variance with our thoughts?
In short, to change us into other creatures
Than what our nature and the gods design'd us?
Juba. To strike thee dumb, turn up thy eyes to
Cato;

There may'st thou see to what a godlike height
The Roman virtues lift up mortal man:

enouncing sleep, and rest, and food, and ease,
le strives with thirst and hunger, toil and heat;
nd, when his fortune sets before him all
The pomps and pleasures that our soul can wish,
is rigid virtue will accept of none.
Syph. Believe me, prince, there's not an African
hat traverses our vast Numidian deserts
quest of prey, and lives upon his bow,

better practises these boasted virtues;
Coarse are his meals, the fortune of the chase;
Amidst the running stream he slakes his thirst,
Toils all the day, and, at the approach of night,
On the first friendly bank he throws him down,
Or rests his head upon a rock till morn;

Works up more fire and colour in their cheeks:
Were you with these, my prince, you'd soon forget
The pale, unripen'd beauties of the north.

Juba. "Tis not a set of features, nor complexion,
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-O 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 every thing she acts or speaks,
While winning mildness and attractive smiles
Dwell in her looks, and with becoming grace
Soften the rigour of her father's virtues.

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

But, on my knees, I beg you would consider-
Juba. Ha! is't not she?-It is :-she moves this

Enter MARCIA and LUCIA.

ACTING DRAMA.

Juba. Hail, charming maid! How does
beauty smooth

Had Porcius been the unsuccessful lover,

227

The same compassion would have fallen on him.
Luc. Porcius himself oft falls in tears before me,

thy As if he mourn'd his rival's ill success;

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,
And for a while forget the approach of Cæsar.
Mar. I should be griev'd, young prince, to think
my presence

Unbent your thoughts, and slacken'd them to arms,
While, warm with slaughter, our victorious foe
Threatens aloud, and calls you to the field.

Juba. O, Marcia, let me hope thy kind concerns
And gentle wishes follow me to battle:
The thought will give new vigour to my arm,
Add strength and weight to my descending sword
And drive it in a tempest on the foe.

Mar. My prayers and wishes always shall attend
The friends of Rome, the glorious cause of virtue,
And men approv'd of by the gods and Cato.

Juba. That Juba may deserve thy pious cares,
I'll gaze for ever 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 waste
Such precious moments.

Juba. Thy reproofs are just,
Thou virtuous maid I'll hasten to my troops,
And fire their languid souls with Cato's virtue.
If e'er I lead them to the field, when all
The war shall stand rang'd in its just array,
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, remember,
What glorious deeds should grace the man, who
hopes

For Marcia's love

[Exit.

Luc. Marcia, you're too severe :
How could you chide, and drive so sternly from you,
A prince that loves and dotes on you to death?
Mar. How, Lucia! would'st thou have me sink

away

In pleasing dreams, and lose myself in love,
When every moment Cato's life's at stake?

Luc. Why have not I this constancy of mind,
Who have so many griefs to try its force?
Pity and love, by turns, oppress my heart.

Mar. Lucia, disburthen all thy cares on me,
And let me share thy most retir'd distress:
Tell me, who raises up this conflict in thee?
Luc. I need not blush to name them, when I say,
They're Marcia's brothers, and the sons of Cato.
Mar. But tell me, whose address thou favour'st

most:

I long to know, and yet I dread to hear it.
Luc. Suppose 'twere Porcius-could you blame
my choice?

O, Porcius, thou hast stolen away my soul!
Marcius is furious, wild, in his complaints;
I fear him with a secret kind of dread,
And tremble at his vehemence of temper.

Then bids me hide the motions of my heart,
Nor shew which way it turns: so much he fears
The sad effects that it would have on Marcus.

Mar. Let us not, Lucia, aggravate our sorrows;
Our lives, discolour'd with our present woes,
But to the gods submit the event of things.
So the pure limpid stream, when foul with stains
May still grow bright, and smile with happier hours:
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.

ACT II.

[Exeunt.

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.
Luci. 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!
[Trumpets.

Enter CATO, PORCIUS, and MARCUS.
Fathers, we once again are met in council:
Cato. [Sits between PORCIUS and MARCUS.]
Cæsar's approach has summon'd 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
Receiv'd his yoke, and the whole Nile is Cæsar's.
Why should I mention Juba's overthrow,
And Scipio's death? Numidia's burning sands
What course to take. Our foe advances on us,
Still smoke with blood.-'Tis time, we should decree
Fathers, pronounce your thoughts:-are they still
And envies us even Libya's sultry deserts.

fix'd

Or are your hearts subdu'd at length, and wrought
To hold it out, and fight it to the last?
By time and ill success to a submission?
Sempronius, speak.

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

Mar. Alas, poor youth!-And canst thou throw No; let us rise at once, gird on our swords,

him from thee?

How will thy coldness raise

Tempests and storms in his afflicted bosom!

I dread the consequence.

Lase. You seem to plead

Against your brother Porcius
Mar. Lucia, no:

Rise, and revenge her slaughter'd citizens;
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 unreveng'd amonst us.

[Sits.

Cato. Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal.
Transport thee thus beyond the bounds of reason.
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 too justly say,
We lavish'd at our death the blood of thousands,
To grace our fall, and make our ruin glorious?
Lucius, we next would know what's your opinion.
Luci. [Rises.] My thoughts, I must confess, are
turn'd on peace.

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.

Cato. Let us appear nor rash, nor diffident:
Immoderate valour swells into a fault;
And fear, admitted into public counsels,
Betrays like treason: let us shun them both.
Fathers, I cannot see that our affairs

Are grown thus desperate: we have bulwarks

us;

[Sits.

The straits to which you're driven; and as he knows
Cato's high worth is anxious for your life.

Cato. My life is grafted on the fate of Rome.
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.

Dee. Rome and her senators submit to Cæsar:
Her generals and her consuls are no more,
Who check'd his conquests, and denied his triumphs.
Why will not Cato be this Cæsar's friend?

Cato. Those very reasons thou hast urg'd, forbid it.
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-
Coto. Nay, more-though Cato's voice was ne'er
employ'd

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'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:
round 'Tis Caesar's sword has made Rome's senate little,
And thinn'd 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 cover'd with misfortunes;
But, by the gods I swear, millions of worlds
Should never buy me to be like that Cæsar

Within our walls are troops inur'd to toil
In Africk's heats, and season'd 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 vield. "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,

Enter JUNIUS.

Jun. Fathers, even now, a herald is arriv'd
From Cæsar's camp; and with him comes old Decius,
The Roman knight: he carries in his looks
Impatience, and demands to speak with Cato.
Cato. By your permission, father.-Bid him enter
]Exit JUNIUS.
Decius was once my friend: but other prospects
Have loos'd those ties, and bound him fast to Cæsar.
His message may determine our resolves.

Enter DECIUS, JUNIUS, and TITUS.

Dec. Cæsar sends health to Cato-
Cato. C ld he send it

To Cato's slaughter'd friends, it woull be welcome.
Are not your orders to address the senate?

Dec. My business is with Cato. Cæsar sees

Dec. Does Cato send this answer back to Cæsar,
For all his generous cares, and proffer'd 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,
Bv sheltering men much better than himself.
Dec. Your high unconquer'd heart makes you for-
get
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 with JUNIUS, and TITUS.
Sem. [Rises.] Cato, we thank thee:
Cæsar will shrink to hear the words thou utter'st,
And shudder in the midst of all his conquests.
[Sits

Luci. [Rises.] The senate owns its gratitude to
Cato;

All here are friends to Rome, and to each other:
Let us not weaken still the weaker side
By our divisions.

Sem. Cato, my resentments

Are sacrific'd to Rome. I stand reprov'd.

Cato. Fathers, 'tis time you come to a resolve.
Luci. Cato, we all go in to your opinion:
Cæsar's behaviour has convinc'd the senate
We ought to hold it out, till terms arrive.

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

But,

Had we not better leave this Utica,
To arm Numidia in our cause, and court
The assistance of my father's numerous friends?
Did they know Cato, our remotest kings
Would pour embattled multitudes about him;
Their swathy hosts would darken all our plains,
Doubling the native horror of the war,

And making death more grim.

Cato. And canst thou think,

Cato will fly before the sword of Cæsar,
Reduc'd, like Hannibal, to seek relief

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

Juba. Cato, perhaps,

I'm too officious; but my forward cares
Would fain preserve a life of so much value.
My heart is wounded, when I see such virtue
Afflicted by the weight of such misfortunes.

Cato. Thy nobleness of soul obliges me.
But know, young prince, that valour soars above
What the world calls misfortune and affliction.
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

My private voice is drown'd amid the senate's.
Cato. Then let us rise, my friends, and strive to fill Virtues, which lie conceal'd

Their hidden strength, and throw out into practice

This little interval, this pause of life,
While yet our liberty and fates are doubtful,
With resolution, friendship, Roman bravery,
And all the virtues we can crowd into it;
That heaven may say, it ought to be prolong'd.
Fathers, farewell.-The young Numidian prince
Comes forward, and expects to know our counsels.
[Exeunt PORCIUS, MARCUS, LUCIUS, SEMPRO-
NIUS, and the other Senators.

Enter JUBA.

Cato. Juba, the Roman senate has resolv'd,
Till time give better prospects, still to keep
The sword unsheath'd, and turn its edge on 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 order'd me to march for Utica;-
Alas, I thought not then his death so near!
Wept o'er me, press'd me in his aged arms,
And, as his griefs gave way, My son, he said,
How fortune may dispose of me,

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. Thy sire, good Juba, was a worthy prince,
And merited, alas! a better fate:-

But heaven thought otherwise.

Juba. His cruel 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 His virtues drew respect from foreign climes:
The kings of Africk sought him for their friend,
Kings far remote, that rule, as fame reports,
Behind the hidden sources of the Nile;
Oft have their black ambassadors appear'd,
Loaden with gifts, and fill'd the courts of Zama.

Cato. I am no stranger to thy father's greatness.
Juba. I do not mean to boast his power and great-

ness,

But point out new alliances to Cato.

In the smooth seasons and the calms of life.
Juba. I'm charm'd whene'er thou talk'st: I 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?

Tell me thy wishes, prince.

Juba. O, they're extravagant!

Still let me hide them.

Cato. Speak: what can'st thou ask

That Cato will refuse?

Juba. I fear to name it:

Marcia-inherits all her father's virtues.

Cato. Adieu, young prince, I would not hear a

word