SCENE 2] CATO. That best of men? Oh, had I fall'n like him, That still broke foremost through the crowd of patriots, And could have been thus mourn'd, I had [Aside. As with a hurricane of zeal transported, Marcia. Tis not in fate to ease my tortur'd And virtuous ev'n to madness been happy. breast. Cato. Trust me, Lucius, Oh, he was all made up of love and charms! Our civil discords have produc'd such crimes, Whatever maid could wish, or man admire: Such monstrous crimes, I am surpris'd at nothing. Delight of ev'ry eye; when he appear'd, -Oh, Lucius, I am sick of this bad world! A secret pleasure gladden'd all that saw him. The daylight and the sun grow painful to me. Oh, Juba, Juba! Juba. What means that voice? Did she not Enter PORTIUS. call on Juba? [Aside. But see where Portius comes: what means Marcia. He's dead, and never knew how much I lov'd him; this haste? I bring such news as will afflict my father. Lucia, who knows but his poor, bleeding heart, Marcia. Ye dear remains of the most lov'd of men, Nor modesty nor virtue here forbid watch; I saw, and call'd to stop him, but in vain: Thy brother Marcus acts a Roman's part. [Throwing himself before her. The happy Juba lives! he lives to catch Taat dear embrace, and to return it too With mutual warmth and eagerness of love.-Lucius, the torrent bears too hard upon me: Marcia. With pleasure and amaze I stand transported! If thou art Juba, who lies there? Juba. A wretch, Disguis'd like Juba on a curs'd design. To leave thee in the neighbourhood of death, But must not now go back; the love, that lay ment. Ob, prince! I blush to think what I have said, [Exeunt Marcia and Lucia. Juba. I am so blest, I fear 'tis all a dream, Fortune, thou now hast made amends for all past unkindness: I absolve my stars. What though Numidia add her conquer'd towns And provinces to swell the victor's triumph, Juba will never at his fate repine: Let Caesar have the world, if Marcia's mine. [Exit. Sase II.-Before the Palace. A March at a Distance. Enter CATO and LUCIUS. Sempronius, Justice gives way to force: the conquer'd world The world will still demand her Cato's presence, Cato. Would Lucius have me live to swell Of Caesar's slaves, or by a base submission Luc. The victor never will impose on Cato Cato. Curse on his virtues! they've undone Such popular humanity is treason- Cato. 'Tis just to give applause where 'tis deserv'd: Luc. I stand astonish'd! What, the bold Thy virtue, prince, has stood the test of fortune, Like purest gold, that, tortur'd in the furnace, Borne on the shields of his surviving soldiers, Long, at the head of his few faithful friends, Por. Nor did he fall, before Yonder he lies. I saw the hoary traitor -Portius, when I am dead, be sure you place His urn near mine. Por. Long may they keep asunder! See where the corpse of thy dead son approaches! Full in my sight, that I may view at leisure -How beautiful is death, when earn'd by virtue! I should have blush'd if Cato's house had stood more. Cato. Farewell, my friends! If there be any of you, Who dare not trust the victor's clemency, Know there are ships prepar'd, by my command, That shall convey you to the wish'd-for port. Is there aught else, my friends, I can do for you The conqueror draws near. Once more, farewell If e'er we meet hereafter, we shall meet Oh, liberty! oh, virtue! oh, my country! Juba. Behold that upright man! Rome fills Where Caesar never shall approach us more In happier climes, and on a safer shore, [Pointing to his dead Son With tears, that flow'd not o'er his own dear There the brave youth, with love of virtue fir'd [Aside. Who greatly in his country's cause expir'd, Cato. Whate'er the Roman virtue has subdu'd, Shall know he conquer'd. The firm patrio The sun's whole course, the day and year, are Caesar's: his eyes son. For him the self-devoted Decii died, to see Mankind enslav'd, and be asham'd of empire. there, Who made the welfare of mankind his care neral Procession. ACT V. SCENE I-4 Chamber. CATO solus, sitting in a thoughtful Posture in his Hand, Plato's Book on the Immo, tality of the Soul. A drawn Sword on And bar each avenue; thy gath'ring fleets the Table, by him. O'erspread the sea, and stop up ev'ry port; Cato. It must be so-Plato thou reason'st Cato shall open to himself a passage, And mock thy hopes. well- Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, The wide, the unbounded prospect lies be- But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it. virtue; And that which he delights in must be happy. But when, or where?-this world was made for Caesar: Por. [Kneeling] Oh, sir! forgive your son, Whose grief hangs heavy on him. Oh, my father! How am I sure it is not the last time Will succour Cato, and preserve his children. Cato. Portius, thou may'st rely upon my Thy father will not act what misbecomes him. and asks The soft refreshment of a moment's sleep. Por. My thoughts are more at ease, my heart revives [Exit Cato. Enter MARCIA. Oh, Marcia! Oh, my sister, still there's hope I'm weary of conjectures-this must end them. But, ha! who's this? my son! Why this in- Were not my orders that I would be private? Por. Alas, my father! bers. [Exit. Marcia. Oh, ye immortal powers, that guard Watch round his couch and soften his repose, Enter LUCIA. Lucia. Where is your father, Marcia, where is Cato? Marcia. Lucia, speak low, he is retir'd to rest. What means this sword, this instrument of Lucia, I feel a gentle dawning hope death? Let me convey it hence. Cato. Rash youth, forbear! Por. Oh, let the pray'rs, th' entreaties of your friends, Their tears, their common danger, wrest it Cato. Wouldst thou betray me? Wouldst Rise in my soul-We shall be happy still. Marcia. Though stern and awful to the foes He is all goodness, Lucia, always mild; Par. Look not thus sternly on me; from viewing Obsequious to his order, bear him hither!Mar. Oh, heav'n! assist me in this dreadful hour, pay the last sad duties to my father! CATO brought on in a Chair. Luc. Now is Rome fall'n indeed! The number, strength, and posture of our foes, helmets, Caesar is still dispos'd to give us terms, Enter PORTIUS. Portius, thy looks speak somewhat of impor tance. What tidings dost thou bring? Methinks I see Por. As I was hasting to the port, where now Make Portius happy in thy daughter Lucia. Oh, bend me forward!-Juba loves thee, Marcia. But Caesar's arms have thrown down all dis tinction I'm sick to death-Oh, when shall I get loose And yet, methinks, a beam of light breaks in search Calls out for vengeance on his father's death, The heart of man, and weigh his inmost And rouses the whole nation up to arms. thoughts, Were Cato at their head, once more might If I have done amiss, impute it not- Rome Assert her rights, and claim her liberty. And let me fly into my father's presence! And, in the wild disorder of his soul, Heav'n guard us all! Mar. Alas, 'tis not the voice Of one who sleeps; 'tis agonizing pain'Tis death is in that sound Re-enter PORTIUS. Por. Oh, sight of woe! Oh!- A Roman breast:-Oh, Cato! oh, my friend! From hence, let fierce contending nations What dire effects from civil discord flow: CONGREVE. WILLIAM CONGREVE, descended from the Congreves in Staffordshire, who trace their ancestry as far back as before the conquest, first saw the light at Bardsa, near Leeds, Yorkshire, 1672. He was educated first at Kilkenny; and afterwards went to the university in Dublin, under the direction of Dr. Ashe. His father, who was only a younger brother, and provided for in the army by a commission on the Irish establishment, had been compelled to undertako a journey thither in consequence of his command, being desirous his study should be directed to profit as well as improvement, sent him over to England, and placed him at the age of 16 as student in the Temple. Here he lived fer several years, but with very little attention to statutes or reports. His disposition to become an author appeared very early; Johnson says, "Among all the efforts of early genius, which literary history records, I doubt whether any ese can be produced that more surpasses the common limits of nature than the plays of Congreve." His first dramatic labour was The Old Batchelor, acted in 1693. This piece introduced him to Lord Halifax, the Maecenas of the age, who, desirous of raising so promising a genius above the necessity of too hasty productions, made him one of the commissioners for licencing hackney-coaches. He soon after bestowed upon him a place in the Pipe-office, with one in the Customs of 600 pounds a year. 1694 Congreve produced The Double Dealer. The next year, when Betterton opened the new Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn Fields, he gave him his comedy of Love for Love. The Biographia Dramatica says, "This met with so much success, that they immediately offered the author a share in the profits of the house, on condition of his furnishing them with one play yearly. This offer he accepted: but whether through indolence or that correctness which he looked on as necessary to his works, his Mourning Bride did not come out till 1697, nor his Way of the World till two years after that." He had been involved in a long contest with Jeremy Collier, a furisas and implacable non-juror, who published A Short View of the Immorality and Profaneness of the English Stuge, in which he had very severely attacked some of Congreve's pieces: this, added to the ill success his Way of the World, though an exceeding good comedy, met with, completed his disgust; and he made a resolution of never more writing for the stage, Johnson says, "At last comedy grew more modest, and Collier lived to see the reward of his labour in the reformation of the theatre." In 1714, Congreve was appointed Commissioner of Wine Licences, and 17. Dec. same year was nominated Secretary of Jamaica, making altogether a yearly income of 1200 pounds. Johnson says, "His honours were yet far greater than his profits. Every writer mentioned him with respect; and, among other testimonies to his merit, Steele made bim the patron of his Miscellany, and Pope inscribed to him his Translation of the Iliad. But he treated the Muse wah ingratitude; for, having long conversed familiarly with the great, he wished to be considered rather as a man of fashion than of wit; and, when he received a visit from Voltaire, disgusted him by the despicable foppery of desiring to be considered not as an author but a gentleman; to which the Frenchman replied, If he had been only a gentleman, be should not have come to visit him.'" He died at his house in Surrey Street, in the Strand, January 29, Or limits will not allow us to give Johnson's account of this author; but every one agrees in considering him surprisingly eminent in his Theatrical pieces; at the same time, when he quitted this tract, he evidently failed; and, although his Miscellaneous Poems will ever maintain a respectable place in British literature, his crown was too cisely wreathed for these to add one leaf to his poetical fame. THE MOURNING BRIDE, ACTED at Lincoln's-Inn Fields. 1697. This is the only Tragedy our author ever wrote, and it met with more success than any of his other pieces. Although Dr. Johnson accuses it of bombast and want of real nature; notwithstanding Dibdin says, that it is overcharged with imagery, as his comedies are with point, and if we try to conceive it, it is with an aching imagination, that may raise astonishment, but must destroy pleasure; it is to be considered that," the poet's eye in a fine phrenzy rolling," in embodying "airy nothing," raises his mind so high above the things of this world in his look "from earth to heaven," that his conceptions appear too hold for a cool, criticis ing gene. It is certain, that the language of passion, in real life, is boisterous and elevated; and, in persons of a certain cast, may go a step farther than what in cooler moments would appear simple nature; and Dr. Johnson's criticism is evidently unprepared, for he says himself, he had not read Congreve's plays for many years. Could the great crilic have been raised by the same feelings that actuated Congreve in composing his tragedy, it is very sure, be would not have pronounced so severe a sentence. We have not the smallest pretension to call in question the opinions of to great a man as Johnson on this play; knowing his attention was entirely directed to chasten the taste of the ages bat we do think (if we can judge by our own feelings), that he must have feit a secret delight himself in reading this piece; and hope we do not overstep the bounds of modesty in declaring the story to be extremely pleasing, affecting, and well told; the language, although extremely elevated, may be allowed to be this side of bombast, expressing the ideas perhaps in an impassioned manner; but we believe not beyond the limits of poetical nature; and will content sursuives with sometimes being astonished for pleasure. Dr. Johnson declares, that, "If he were to select from the wide mass of English poetry the most poetical paragraph, he knows not what he could prefer to an exclamation in this tragedy ("No, all is hush'd, and still as death-'tis dreadful!" to: "Thy voice-my own allrights me with is echoes Johnson continues, "He who reads these lines enjoys for a moment the powers of a poet; he feel. what he remembers to have felt before; but he feels it with great increase of sensibility; he recognises a familiar image, but meets it again amplified and expanded, embellished with beauty, and enlarged with majesty". ACT I DRAMATIS PERSONAE. HELI. ALMERIA. SCENE-Granada. SCENE L-A Room of State. ZARA. LEONORA. Attendants, Guards, etc. Than trees or flint? O, force of constant woe! Tis not in harmony to calm my griefs. The Curtain rising slowly to soft Music, Anselmo sleeps, and is at peace; last night discovers ALMERIA in Mourning, LEONO-The silent tomb receiv'd the good old king; RA waiting. ALMERIA rises and comes He and his sorrows now are safely lodg'd forward. Within its cold, but hospitable bosom. Alm. Music has charms to sooth a savage Why am not I at peace? breast, To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak. Leon. Dear madam, cease, Or moderate your grief; there is no cause-- And misery eternal will succeed. |