Lucia, I like not that loud, boisterous man. Juba, to all the bravery of a hero,
Marcia. See, Lucia, see! here's blood! here's
blood and murder!
Ha! a Numidian! Heaven preserve the prince!
The face lies muffled up within the garment,
But, ah! death to my sight! a diadem,
And royal robes! O gods! 'tis he, 'tis he!
Sem-Juba lies dead before us!
Adds softest love and sweetness: he, I own, Might make indeed the proudest woman happy. Lucia. But should this father give you to pronius?
Marcia. I dare not think he will: but if he
should-
Why wilt thou add, to all the griefs I suffer,
Imaginary ills and fancied tortures?
I hear the sound of feet! They march this way,
Let us retire, and try if we can drown
Each softer thought in sense of present danger:
When love once pleads admission to our hearts,
In spite of all the virtues we can boast,
The woman that deliberates is lost.
[Exeunt. Enter SEMPRONIUS, dressed like JUBA, with Numidian Guards.
Sem. The deer is lodg'd, I've track'd her to
her covert.
Be sure you mind the word, and, when I give it,
Rush in at once, and seize upon your prey.
How will the young Numidian rave, to see
His mistress lost! If aught could glad my soul,
Beyond th' enjoyment of so bright a prize,
'Twould be to torture that young, gay barbarian.
-But hark! what noise! Death to my hopes!
'tis he,
'Tis Juba's self! there is but one way left-
He must be murder'd, and a passage cut
Through those his guards.
Enter JUBA, with Guards.
Juba. What do I see? Who's this that dares
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Juba. What can this mean? Sempronius! Sem. My sword shall answer thee. Have at thy heart.
Juba. Nay, then, beware thy own, proud, barbarous man.
[They fight; SEMPRONIUS falls. Sem. Curse on my stars! Am I then doom'd to fall
By a boy's hand disfigur'd in a vile Numidian dress, and for a worthless woman? Gods, I'm distracted! this my close of life! Oh, for a peal of thunder, that would make Earth, sea, and air, and heaven, and Cato tremble! [Dies.
Juba. With what a spring his furious soul broke loose.
And left the limbs still quivering on the ground!
Hence, let us carry off those slaves to Cato,
That we may there at length unravel all
This dark design, this mystery of fate.
Lucia. Now, Marcia, now call up to thy assistThy wonted strength and constancy of mind; Thou canst not put it to a greater trial.
Marcia. Lucía, look there, and wonder at my patience;
Have I not cause to rave, and beat my breast,
To rend my heart with grief, and run distracted↑
Lucia. What can I think, or say, to give thee
Marcia. Talk not of comfort; 'tis for lighter ills: Behold a sight that strikes all comfort dead. Enter JUBA unperceived.
I will indulge my sorrows, and give way
To all the pangs and fury of despair;
That man, that best of men, deserv'd it from me.
Juba. What do I hear? and was the false
Sempronius
That best of men? Oh, had I fallen like him,
And could have been thus mourn'd, I had been
happy.
[Aside.
Marcia. 'Tis not in fate to ease my tortur'd
Oh, he was all made up of love and charms!
Whatever maid could wish, or man admire
Delight of every eye; when he appear d,
A secret pleasure gladden'd all that saw him.
Oh, Juba, Juba!
Juba. What means that voice? Did she not
call on Juba ?
[Aside.
Marcia. He's dead, and never knew how much
Lucia, who knows but his poor, bleeding heart, Amidst its agonies, remember'd Marcia,
And the last words he utter'd call'd me cruel! Alas! he knew not, hapless youth he knew not, Marcia's whole soul was full of love and Juba !
Juba. Where am I? Do I live? or am indeed What Marcia thinks? All is Elysium round me! [Aside.
Marcia. Ye dear remains of the most lov'd of men,
Nor modesty nor virtue here forbid
A last embrace, while thus
Juba. See, Marcia, see,
[Throwing himself before her. The happy Juba lives! he lives to catch That dear embrace, and to return it, too, With mutual warmth and eagerness of love. 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. I could not bear
[Exit JUBA; his Guards taking those of To leave thee in the neighbourhood of death,
SEMPRONIUS as prisoners,
Enter LUCIA and MARCIA.
Lucia. Sure 'twas the clash of swords; my troubled heart
Is so cast down, and sunk amidst its sorrows,
It throbs with fear, and aches at every sound.
Oh, Marcia, should thy brothers, for my sake→→
I die away with horror at the thought!
But flew, in all the haste of love, to find thee;
I found thee weeping, and confess this once
Am rapt with joy, to see my Marcia's tears.
Marcia. I've been surpris'd in an unguarded
hour,
But must not now go back; the love, that lay
Half-smother'd in my breast, has broke through all
Its weak restraints, and burns in its full lustre
I cannot, if I would, conceal it from thee.
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Oh, prince! I blush to think what I have said,
But fate has wrested the confession from me;
Go on, and prosper in the paths of honour.
Thy virtue will excuse my passion for thee,
And make the gods propitious to our love.
[Exeunt MARCIA and LUCIA.
Juba. I am so bless'd, I fear 'tis all a dream.
Fortune, thou now hast made amends for all
Thy 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 Cæsar have the world, if Marcia's mine.
[Exit. SCENE II-Before the Palace.-A March at a distance.
Enter CATO and Lucius.
Luc. I stand astonish'd! What, the bold Sempronius, [triots, That still broke foremost through the crowd of paAs with a hurricane of zeal transported, And virtuous e'en to madness
Cato. Trust me, Lucius,
Our civil discords have produc'd such crimes,
Such monstrous crimes, I am surpris'd at nothing.
-Oh, Lucius, I am sick of this bad world!
The daylight and the sun grow painful to me.
Luc. Alas, poor prince! his fate deserves compassion.
Juba. I blush, and am confounded to appear
Before thy presence, Cato.
Cato. What's thy crime?
Juba. I'm a Numidian.
Cato. And a brave one too.
man soul.
Thou hast a Ro-
[men?
Juba. Hast thou not heard of my false country-
Cato. Alas, young prince!
Falsehood and fraud shoot up in every soil,
The product of all climes-Rome has its Cæsars.
Juba. 'Tis generous thus to comfort the dis-
tress'd.
Cato. 'Tis just to give applause where 'tis de
Thy virtue, prince, has stood the test of fortune,
Like purest gold, that, tortur'd in the furnace,
Comes out more bright, and brings forth all its
weight.
My brother Marcus
Por. Misfortune on misfortune! grief on grief!
Cato. Ha! what has he done?
Has he forsook his post? Has he given way?
Did he look tamely on, and let them pass?
Borne on the shields of his surviving soldiers,
Por. Scarce had I left my father, but I met him
Breathless and pale, and cover'd o'er with wounds.
Long, at the head of his few faithful friends,
He stood the shock of a whole host of foes,
But see where Portius comes: what means this Till, obstinately brave, and bent on death,
Why are thy looks thus chang'd?
Por. My heart is griev'd:
I bring such news as will afflict my father.
Cato. Has Cæsar shed more Roman blood?
Por. Not so.
The traitor Syphax, as within the square
He exercis'd his troops, the signal given,
Flew off at once with his Numidian horse
To the south gate, where Marcus holds the watch;
I saw, and call'd to stop him, but in vain;
He toss'd his arm aloft, and proudly told me,
He would not stay and perish like Sempronius.
Cato. Perfidious man! But haste, my son,
and see
Thy brother Marcus acts a Roman's part.
[Exit PORTIUS.
-Lucius, the torrent bears too hard upon me:
Justice gives way to force: the conquer'd world
Is Cæsar's! Cato has no business in it.
Luc. While pride, oppression, and injustice
reign,
The world will still demand her Cato's presence,
In pity to mankind submit to Cæsar,
And reconcile thy mighty soul to life.
Oppress'd with multitudes, he greatly fell.
Cato. I'm satisfied.
Por. Nor did he fall, before
His sword had pierc'd through the false heart of
Youder he lies, I saw the hoary traitor
Grin in the pangs of death, and bite the ground.
Cato. Thanks to the gods, my boy has done
Portius, when I'm dead, be sure you place His urn near mine.
Por. Long may they keep asunder!
Luc. Oh, Cato, arm thy soul with all its patience!
See where the corpse of thy dead son approaches!
The citizens and senators, alarm'd,
Have gather'd round it, and attend it, weeping.
Dead march. CATO meets the corpse. Lucius,
Senators, Guards, &c. attending.
Cato. Welcome, my son! Here lay him down,
Full in my sight, that I may view at leisure
The bloody corse, and count those glorious wounds.
-How beautiful is death, when earn'd by virtue!
Who would not be that youth? What pity is it
Cato. Would Lucius have me live to swell the That we can die but once to serve our country!-
Of Cæsar's slaves, or by a base submission
Give up the name of Rome, and own a tyrant?
Luc. The victor never will impose on Cato
Ungenerous terms. His enemies confess
The virtues of humanity are Cæsar's.
Cato. Curse on his virtues! they've undone his
country.
Such popular humanity is treason
But see young Juba; the good youth appears,
Full of the guilt of his perfidious subjects!
Why sits this sadness on your brows, my friends?
I should have blush'd if Cato's house had stood
Secure, and flourish'd in a civil war.
Portius, behold thy brother, and remember
Thy life is not thy own, when Rome demands it.
When Rome demands-But Rome is now no
Cato. Whate'er the Roman virtue has subdu'd, | The sun's whole course, the day and year, are Cæsar's:
For him the self-devoted Decii died,
CATO, solús, sitting in a thoughtful posture; ir
The Fabii fell, and the great Scipio's conquer'3: his hand, Plato's Book on the Immortality of
Even Pompey fought for Cæsar. Oh, my friends! the Soul; a drawn Sword on the table, by him,
How is the toil of fate, the work of ages,
The Roman empire, fallen! Oh, curs'd ambition! Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
Cato. It must be so-Plato, thou reason'st well--
Fallen into Cesar's hands! Our great forefathers This longing after immortality?
Had left him nought to conquer but his country. Or whence this secret dread, this inward horror,
Juba. While Cato lives, Cæsar will blush to see Of falling into nought! Why shrinks the soul
Mankind enslav'd, and be asham'd of empire.
Cato. Cæsar ashain'd! Has he not seen Phar-Tis the divinity that stirs within us;
Back on herself, and startles at destruction?
Luc. 'Tis time thou save thyself and us.
"Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man.
Cato. Lose not a thought on me; l'in out of Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought!
danger:
Heaven will not leave me in the victor's hand.
Cæsar shall never say, he conquer'd Cato,
But oh, my friends! your safety fills my heart
With anxious thoughts; a thousand secret terrors
Rise in my soul. How shall I save my friends?
"Tis now, O Cæsar, I begin to fear thee!
Luc. Cæsar has mercy, if we ask it of him.
Cato. Then ask it, I conjure you! let him
Whate'er was done against him, Cato did it.
Add, if you please, that I request it of him-
That I myself, with tears, request it of him-
The virtue of my friends may pass unpunish'd.
Juba, my heart is troubled for thy sake.
Should I advise thee to regain Numidia,
Or seek the conqueror ?-
Whilst I have life, may Heaven abandon Juba!
Cato. Thy virtues, prince, if I foresee aright,
Will one day make thee great; at Rome, hereafter,
"Twill be no crime to have been Cato's friend.
Portius, draw near-my son, thou oft has seen
Thy sire engag'd in a corrupted state,
Wrestling with vice and faction: now thou seest me
Spent, overpower'd, despairing of success;
Let me advise thee to retreat betimes
To thy paternal state, the Sabine field;
Where the great Censor toil'd with his own hands,
And all our frugal ancestors were bless'd
In humble virtues, and a rural life;
There live retir'd, pray for the peace of Rome;
Content thyself to be obscurely good.
When vice prevails, and impious men bear sway,
The post of honour is a private station.
Por. I hope my father does not recommend
A life to Portius, that he scorns himself.
Cato. Farewell, my friends! If there be any of
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
In happier climes, and on a safer shore,
Where Cæsar never shall approach us more.
[Pointing to his dead son.
There the brave youth, with love of virtue fir'd,
Who greatly in his country's cause expir'd,
Shall know he conquer'd. The firm patriot
there,
Who made the welfare of mankind his care,
Though still by faction, vice, and fortune cross'd,
Shall find the generous labour was not lost.
[Dead march; exeunt in funeral procession.
Through what variety of untried being, [pass?
Through what new scenes and changes, must we
The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me:
Here will I hold. If there's a power above us
But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it.
(And that there is, all Nature cries aloud
Through all her works,) he must delight in virtue;
But when, or where ?This world was made for
And that which he delights in must be happy,
Cæsar.
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I'm weary of conjectures;-this must end them.
[Laying his hand on his sword.
Thus am I doubly arm'd: my death and life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This in a moment brings me to an end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secur'd in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,
The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.
This lethargy that creeps through all my senses?
What means this heaviness that hangs upon me?
Nature, oppress'd and harrass'd out with care,
Sinks down to rest. This once I'll favour her,
Renew'd in all her strength, and fresh with life,
That my awaken'd soul may take her flight,
An offering fit for Heaven. Let guilt or fear
Disturb man's rest, Cato knows neither of them,
Indifferent in his choice, to sleep or die.
Enter PORTIUS.
But, ha! who's this? my son! Why this in-
trusion?
Were not my orders that I would be private ?
Why am I disobey'd?
What means this sword, this instrument of death?
Let me convey it hence.
Cato. Rash youth, forbear.
Por. Oh, let the prayers, th' entreaties of your friends,
[you. Their tears, their common danger, wrest it from Cato. Wouldst thou betray me? Wouldst thou
A slave, a captive, into Cæsar's hands?
Retire and learn obedience to a father,
Or know, young man-
Por. Look not thus sternly on me;
You know, I'd rather die than disobey you.
Cato. 'Tis well! again I'm master of myself.
Now, Cæsar, let thy troops beset our gates,
And bar each avenue; thy gathering fleets
O'erspread the sea, and stop up every port;
Cato shall open to himself a passage, And mock thy hopes.
Por. [Kneeling] Oh, Sir, forgive your son, Whose grief hangs heavy on lum. Oh, my father! How am I sure it is not the last time
I e'er shall call you so? Be not displeas'd,
Oh, be not angry with me whilst I weep,
And, in the anguish of my heart, beseech you
To quit the dreadful purpose of your soul!
Cato. Thou hast been ever good and dutiful.
[Embracing him.
Weep not, my son, all will be well again;
The righteous gods, whom I have sought to please,
Will succour Cato, and preserve his children.
Por. Your words give comfort to my drooping
heart.
[duct:
Cato. Portius, thou may'st rely upon my con-
Thy father will not act what misbecomes him.
But go, my son, and see if aught be wanting
Among thy father's friends; see them embark'd,
And tell me if the winds and seas befriend them.
My soul is quite weigh'd down with care, and asks
The soft refreshment of a moment's sleep.
Por. My thoughts are more at ease, my heart
revives-
[Exit CATO.
Oh, Marcia! Oh, my sister! still there's hope
Our father will not cast away a life
So needful to us all, and to his country.
He is retir'd to rest, and seems to cherish [hence
Thoughts full of peace.-He has despatch'd me
With orders that bespeak a mind compos'd,
And studious for the safety of his friends.
Marcia, take care that none disturb his slumbers.
[Exit.
Marcia. Oh, ye immortal powers, that guard
the just,
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Watch round his couch, and soften his repose,
Banish his sorrows, and becalm his soul
With easy dreams; remember all his virtues,
And show mankind that goodness is your care!
Enter LUCIA.
Lucia. Where is your father, Marcia, where is
Cato?
Marcia. Lucia, speak low, he is retired to rest.
Lucia, I feel a gentle dawning hope
Rise in my soul-we shall be happy still.
Lucia. Alas, I tremble when I think on Cato!
In every view, in every thought, I tremble!
Cato is stern and awful as a god;
He knows not how to wink at human frailty,
Or pardon weakness, that he never felt.
Marcia. Though stern and awful to the foes
He is all goodness, Lucia, always mild;
Compassionate and gentle to his friends;
Fill'd with domestic tenderness, the best,
The kindest father; I have ever found him
Easy and good, and bounteous to my wishes.
Lucia. "Tis his consent alone can make us
bless'd.
But who knows Cato's thoughts?
Who knows how yet he may dispose of Portius,
Or how he has determined of thyself? [Heaven.
Marcia. Let him but live, commit the rest to
Enter LUCIUS.
Inc. Sweet are the slumbers of the virtuous man!
Oh, Marcia, I have seen thy godlike father;
Some power invisible supports his soul,
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Juba. Lucius, the horsemen are return'd from viewing
The number, strength, and posture of our foes,
Who now encamp within a short hour's march;
On the high point of yon bright western tower
We ken them from afar; the setting sun
Plays on their shining arms and burnish'd helmets,
And covers all the field with gleams of fire.
Luc. Marcia, 'tis time we should awake thy father.
Cæsar is still dispos'd to give us terms,
And waits at distance till he hears from Cato.
Enter PORTIUS.
Portius, thy looks speak somewhat of importance.
What tidings dost thou bring? Methinks I see
Unusual gladness sparkle in thy eyes.
Por. As I was hasting to the port, where now My father's friends, impatient for a passage, Accuse the lingering wind, a sail arriv'd From Pompey's son, who, through the realms of Spain,
Calls out for vengeance on his father's death,
And rouses the whole nation up to arms.
Were Cato at their head, once more might Rome
Assert her rights, and claim her liberty.
[A groan is heard.
But, hark! what means that groan ?—Oh, give
me way,
And let me fly into my father's presence! [Exit.
Luc. Cato, amidst his slumbers, thinks on Rome,
And, in the wild disorder of his soul,
Mourns o'er his country.-Ha! a second groan-
Heaven guard us all!
Marcia. 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 wo!
Oh, Marcia, what we fear'd is come to pass! Cato has fallen upon his sword
Hide all the horrors of thy mournful tale,
And let us guess the rest.
Por. I've raised him up,
And plac'd him in his chair; where, pale and faint, He gasps for breath, and, as his life flows from him, [ing, Demands to see his friends. His servants, weepObsequious to his order, bear him hither!Marcia. Oh, Heaven! assist me in this dreadful hour,
To pay the last sad duties to my father!
CATO brought on in a chair.
Juba. These are thy triumphs, thy exploits, O
Cæsar!
Luc. Now is Rome fall'n indeed!
Cato. Here set me down
Portius, come near me.-Are my friends embark'd? Can any thing be thought of for their service?
Ladies are often cruel to their cost:
Whilst I yet live, let me not live in vain-
Oh, Lucius, art thou here ?-Thou art too good-To give you pain, themselves they punish most.
Let this our friendship live between our children- Vows of virginity should well be weigh'd;
Make Portius happy in thy daughter Lucia.
Marcia, my daughter-
Too oft they're cancell'd, though in convents
Oh, bend me forward!-Juba loves thee, Marcia.
A senator of Rome, while Rome surviv'd,
Would not have match'd his daughter with a
king-
But Cæsar's arms have thrown down all distinc
[tion-
I'm sick to death-Oh, when shall I get loose
From this vain world, th' abode of guilt and sorrow!
And yet, methinks, a beam of light breaks in
On my departing soul. Alas, I fear
I've been too hasty!--Oh, ye powers, that search
The heart of man, and weigh his inmost thoughts,
If I have done amiss, impute it not-
The best may err, but you are good, and-Oh!
Luc. There fled the greatest soul that ever
[Dies.
warm'd
A Roman breast.-Oh, Cato! oh, my friend!
Thy will shall be religiously observ'd.
But let us bear this awful corpse to Cæsar,
And lay it in his sight, that it
may stand
A fence betwixt us and the victor's wrath:
Cato, though dead, shall still protect his friends.
From hence, let fierce contending nations know,
What dire effects from civil discord flow:
"Tis this that shakes our country with alarms,
And gives up Rome a prey to Roman arms;
Produces fraud, and cruelty, and strife,
And robs the guilty world of Cato's life. [Exeunt.
WRITTEN BY DR. GARTH.
WHAT odd fantastic things we women do! Who would not listen when young lovers woo? But die a maid, yet have the choice of two!
Would you revenge such rash resolves-you
Be spiteful-and believe the thing we say,
How needless, if you knew us, were your fears!
We hate you when you're easily said nay.
Our hearts are form'd as you yourselves would
Let love have eyes, and beauty will have ears.
choose,
We give to merit, and to wealth we sell:
Too proud to ask, too humble to refuse :
He sighs with most success that settles well.
'Tis best repenting in a coach and six.
The woes of wedlock with the joys we mix:
Those lively lessons we have learn'd from you.
Blame not our conduct, since we but pursue
Your breasts no more the fire of beauty warms,
But wicked wealth usurps the power of charms.
What pains to get the gaudy things you hate,
To swell in show, and be a wretch in state.
At plays you ogle, at the ring you bow;
E'en churches are no sanctuaries now:
Oh, may once more the happy age appear,
There, golden idols all your vows receive,
She is no goddess that has nought to give.
When words were artless, and the thoughts sin-
Love then shall only mourn when truth com-
When gold and grandeur were unenvied things,
And courts less coveted than groves and springs
plains,
And constancy feel transport in its chains:
Sighs with success their own soft anguish tell,
And eyes shall utter what the lips conceal:
Virtue again to its bright station climb,
And beauty fear no enemy but time;
The fair shall listen to desert alone,
And every Lucia find a Cato's son.
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