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Some hidden thunder in the stores of Heaven, Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man Who owes his greatness to his country's ruin? Por. Believe me, Marcus, 'tis an impious

greatness,

And mix'd with too much horror to be envied. How does the lustre of our father's actions, Through the dark cloud of ills that cover him, Break out, and burn with more triumphant brightness!

His suff'rings shine, and spread a glory round him:

Greatly unfortunate, he fights the cause
Of honor, virtue, liberty, and Rome.
His sword ne'er fell but on the guilty head;
Oppression, tyranny, and pow'r usurp'd,
Drew all the vengeance of his arm upon 'em.
Marc. Who knows not this? But what can
Cato do

Against a world, a base, degenerate world,
That courts the yoke, and bows the neck to Cæ-
sar?

Pent up in Utica, he vainly forms
A poor epitome of Roman greatness;
And, cover'd with Numidian guards, directs
A feeble army, and an empty senate,
Remnants of mighty battles fought in vain.
ByHeav'n, such virtues, join'd with such success,
Distract my very soul: our father's fortune
Would almost tempt us to renounce his precepts.
Por. Remember what our father oft has told

us.

The ways of Heaven are dark and intricate:
Puzzled in mazes and perplex'd with errors;
Our understanding traces them in vain,
Lost and bewilder'd in the fruitless search;
Nor sees with how much art the windings run,
Nor where the regular confusion ends. [ease;
Marc. These are suggestions of a mind at
O Portius, didst thou taste but half the griefs
That wring my soul, thou couldst not talk thus
coldly.

Passion unpitied, and successless love,
Plant daggers in my heart, and aggravate
My other griefs. Were but my Lucia kind-
Por. Thou see'st not that thy brother is thy
rival;
[Aside.

But I must hide it, for I know thy temper. Now Marcus, now thy virtue's on the proof: Put forth thy utmost strength, work ev'ry nerve, And call up all thy father in thy soul.

To quell the tyrant love, and guard thy heart On this weak side, where most our nature fails, Would be a conquest worthy Cato's son [take, Marc. Portius, the counsel which I cannot Instead of healing, but upbraids my weakness. Bid me for honor plunge into a war

Of thickest foes, and rush on certain death, Then shalt thou see that Marcus is not slow To follow glory, and confess his father. Love is not to be reason'd down, or lost In high ambition, or a thirst of greatness: Tis second life, it grows into the soul, Warms ev'ry vein, and beats in ev'ry pulse: I feel it here: my resolution melts.

[prince, Por. Behold young Juba, the Numidian With how much care he forms himself to glory.

And breaks the fierceness of his native temper,
To copy out our father's bright example.
He loves our sister Marcia, greatly loves her:
His eyes, his looks, his actions, all betray it:
Butstill thesmother'd fondnessburns within him:
When most it swells, and labors for a vent,
The sense of honor 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?

Marc. Portius, no more! your words leave stings behind 'em.

Whene'er did Juba, or did Portius show
A virtue that has cast me at a distance,
And thrown me out in the pursuits of honor?
Por. Marcus, I know thy gen'rous temper

well.

Fling but th' appearance of dishonor on it,
It straight takes fire, and mounts into a blaze.
Marc. A brother's suff'rings claim a brother's

pity.

[eyes Por. Heaven knows I pity thee. Behold my E'en whilst I speak-do they not swim in tears? Were but my heart as naked to thy view, Marcus would see it bleed in his behalf.

Marc. Why then dost treat me with rebukes, instead

Of kind condoling cares, and friendly sorrow? Por. O Marcus! did I know the way to ease Thy troubled heart, and mitigate thy pains, Marcus, believe me, I could die to do it.

Marc. 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. [Ex. Marc.

Enter Sempronius.

Sem. Conspiracies no sooner should be form'd Than executed. What means Portius here? I like not that cold youth. I must dissemble, And speak a language foreign to my heart.

[Aside. Good-morrow, Portius; let us once embrace, Once more embrace, while yet we both are free. To-morrow, should we thus express our friendEach might receive a slave into his arms. [ship, 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 togeTo this poor hall his little Roman senate, [ther 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 our assembly awful, They strike with something like religious fear, And make e'en Cæsar tremble at the head Ofarmies flush'd with conquest. O my Portius, Could I but call that wondrous nan my father, Would but thy sister Marcia be propitious To thy friend's vows, I might be blest indeed!

Por. Alas, Sempronius! wouldst thou talk

of love

To Marcia, whilst her father's life's in danger? Thou mightst 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 Portius;

The world has all its eyes on Cato's son ;
Thy father's merits set thee up to view,
And show thee in the fairest point of light,
To make thy virtues or thy faults conspicuous.
Por. Well dost thou seem to check my ling-
'ring here

On this important hour-I'll straight away;
And while the fathers of the senate meet
In close debate, to weigh the events of war,
I'll animate the soldiers' drooping courage
With love of freedom, and contempt of life;
I'll thunder in their ears their country's cause,
And try to rouse up all that's Roman in 'em.
'Tis not in mortals to command success,
But we'll do more, Sempronius, we'll deserve it.
[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 disposed to mischief, were he prompt
And eager on it; but he must be spurr'd,
And ev'ry moment quicken'd to the course.
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 favor,
That show'rs down greatness on his friends, will

raise me

*

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Sy. Alas, he's lost!

He's lost, Sempronius! all his thoughts are full
Of Cato's virtues.-But I'll try once more
(For ev'ry instant I expect him here)
If yet I can subdue those stubborn principles.
Of faith and bonor, and I know not what,
That have corrupted his Numidian temper,
And struck the infection into all his soul.

Sem. Be sure to press upon him ev'ry motive
Juba's surrender, since his father's death,
Would give up Afric into Cæsar's hands,
And make him lord of half the burning zone.
Sy. But is it true, Sempronius, that your se-

nate

Iscall'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: wouldst thou be thought in earnest,

Clothe thy feign'd zeal in rage, in fire, and fury! Sy. In troth, thou'rt able to instruct gray heirs,

And teach the wily African deceit.

Sem. Once more be sure to try thy skill on

Juba:

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 : O, 'tis a dreadful interval of time,

Fill'd up with horror all, and big with death! Destruction hangs on ev'ry word we speak, On ev'ry thought; till the concluding stroke Determines all, and closes our design.

[Exit.

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Amidst our barren rocks, and burning sands,
That does not tremble at the Roman name?
Sy. Gods! where's the worth that sets these
people up

Above her own Numidia's tawny sons?
Do they with tougher sinews bend the bow?
Or flies the jav'lin swifter to its mark,
Launch'd from the vigor of a Roman arm?
Who like our active African instructs

The fiery steed, and trains him to his hand?
Or guides in troops th' embattl'd elephant,
Laden with war? These, these are arts, my
prince,

In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome.
Juh. These are all virtues of a meaner rank,
Perfections that are plac'd in bones and nerves.
A Roman soul is bent on higher views:
To civilize the rude unpolish'd world,
And lay it under the restraint of laws;
To make man mild, and sociable to man;
To cultivate the wild licentious savage,
With wisdom, discipline, and lib'ral arts,
Th' embellishments of life: virtues like these
Make human nature shine, reform the soul,
And break our fierce barbarians into men.
Sy. Patience, kind Heavens! excuse an old
man's warmth.

What are these wondrous civilizing arts,
This Roman polish, and this 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,
To check the starts and sallies of the soul,
And break off all its commerce with the tongue :
In short, to change us into other creatures
Than what our nature and the gods design'd us?
Jub. To strike thee dumb-turn up thy eyes
to Cato;

There mayst thou see to what a godlike height
The Roman virtues lift up mortal man.
While good and just, and anxious for his friends,
He's still severely bent against himself;
Renouncing sleep, and rest, and food, and ease,
He strives with thirst and hunger, toil and
heat;

And when his fortune sets before him all
The pomps and pleasures that his soul can wish,
His rigid virtue will accept of none.

Sy. Believe me, prince, there's not an Afri

can

That traverses our vast Numidian deserts
In quest of prey, and lives upon his bow,
But 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;
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.

Jub. 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? Heavens with what strength, what steadiness of mind,

He triumphs in the midst of all his suff'rings! How does he rise against a load of woes, And thank the gods that throw the weight upon him! [soul;

Sy. 'Tis pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of 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 fall'n by a slave's hand inglorious; Nor would his slaughter'd army now have lain On Afric's sands, disfigur'd with their wounds, To gorge the wolves and vultures of Numidia. Jub. Why dost thou call my sorrows up a fresh? My father's name brings tears into my eyes. Sy. O that you'd profit by your father's ills! Jub. What wouldst thou have me do? Sy. Abandon Cato.

Jub. Syphax, I should be more than twice an orphan

By such a loss.

Sy. 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.

Jub. Syphax, 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.

Sy. Sir, your great father never us'd me thus. Alas, he's dead! but can you e'er forget The tender sorrows, and the pangs of nature, The fond embraces, and repeated blessings, Which you drew from him in your last farewell? Still inust I cherish the dear sad remembrance, At once to torture and to please my soul. The good old king at parting wrung my hand (His eyes brimful of tears); then sighing, cried,

Pr'ythee be careful of my son !-His grief Swell'd up so high, he could not utter more.

Jub. Alas, thy story melts away my soul! That best of fathers! how shall I discharge The gratitude and duty which I owe him?

Sy. By laying up his counsels in your heart.Jul. His counsels bade me yield to thy di

rections:

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Sy. Believe me, prince, tho' hard to conquer love,

"Tis easier 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 Aush'd with more exalted charms : The sun, that rolls his chariot o'er their heads, Works up more fire and color in their cheeks: Were you with these, my prince, you'd soon forget

The pale, unripen'd beauties of the North.

Jub. 'Tis not a set of features or 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 rigor of her father's virtue.

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

But on my knees I beg you would considerJub. Hah! Syphax, is 't not she?-She moves

this way:

And with her Lucia, Lucius's fair daughter My heart beats thick-I pr'ythee, Syphax,

leave me.

Sy. Ten thousand curses fasten on 'em both! Now will this woman, with a single glance, Undo what I've been lab'ring all this while. [Exit Syphax.

Enter Marcia and Lucia.

Jub. Hail, charming maid! how does thy beauty smooth

The face of war, and make even horror smile! At sight of thee my heart shakes off its sorrows; 1 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 [arms, Unbent your thoughts, and slacken'd 'em to While, warm with slaughter, our victorious foe Threatens aloud, and calls you to the field.

Jub. O Marcia, let me hope thy kind concern And gentle wishes follow me to battle! The thought will give new vigor 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 [virtue, The friends of Rome, the glorious cause of The men approv'd of by the gods and Cato.

Jub. 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 Is ine like him.

Mar. My father never at a time like this Would lay out his great soul in words, and waste Such precious moments.

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sink away

In pleasing dreams, and lose myself in love,
When ev'ry moment Cato's life's at stake!
Cæsar comes arm'd 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 form'd 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 retir'd distress. Tell me who raises up this conflict in thee.

Luc. I need not blush to name them, when I tell thee

They're Marcia's brothers, and the sons of Cato.

Mar. They both behold thee with their sister's eyes,

And often have reveal'd their passion to me.
But tell me whose address thou favor'st most:
I long to know, and yet I dread to hear it.

Luc. Which is it Marcia wishes for?
Mar. For neither,

And 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?

Thou know'st it is a blind and foolish passion,
Pleas'd and disgusted with it knows not what.
Mar. O Lucia, I'm perplex'd; O tell me which
I must hereafter call my happy brother?
Luc. Suppose 't were Portius, could you
blame my choice?

O Portius! thou hast stol'n 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?

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 ev'ry word,

And thinks, and talks, and looks like one trans-
ported.

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 fall'n on him.
Luc. Was ever virgin love distrest like mine!
Portius himself oft falls in tears before me,
As if he mourn'd his rival's ill success;
Then bids me hide the motions of my heart,
Nor show 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's fir'd,
And would not plunge his brother in despair,
But waits for happier times and kinder mo-

ments.

Luc. Alas! too late I find myself involv'd
In endless griefs and labyrinths of woe;
Born to affict 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 sor-

rows,

But to the gods submit the event of things.
Our lives discolor'd 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 flow'r that on the border grows;
And a new heaven in its fair bosom flows.

ACT II.

[Exeunt.

Enter Cato.

Cato. Fathers, we once again are met in
council;

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
Still smoke with blood. "Tis time we should
decree

What course to take. Our foe advances on us,
And envies us even Libya's sultry deserts.
Fathers, pronounce your thoughts: are they
still fix'd

To hold it out, and fight it to the last?
Or are your hearts subdu'd at length,andwrought
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-slav'ry 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 throng'd legions, and charge home upon
him.

Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest,
May reach his heart, and free the world from
bondage.
[help;

Rise, fathers, rise! 'tis Rome demands your
Rise, and revenge her slaughter'd citizens,
Orshare their fate! The corps of half her senate
Manure the fields of Thessaly; while we
Sit here delib'rating in cold debates,
If we should sacrifice our lives to honor,
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 unreveng'd amongst

us.

Cato. Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal Transport thee thus beyond the bounds of reaTrue fortitude is seen in great exploits [son: That justice warrants, and that wisdom guides; All else is tow'ring phrensy 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 th' impartial world with reason say, Welavish'd at our deaths the blood of thousands, To grace our fall, and make our ruin glorious? SCENE, the Senate. Lucius, Sempronius, and Lucius we next would know what's your opi[on peace. Luc. My thoughts, I must confess, are turn'd Already have our quarrels fill'd the world Withwidowsandwith orphans: Scythia mourns Our guilty wars, and earth's remotest regions Lie half unpeopled by the feuds of Rome: 'Tis time to sheathe the sword and spare manIt is not Cæsar, but the gods, my fathers, [kind. The gods declare against us, and repel Our vain attempts. To urge the foe to battle

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
Th' occasion of our meeting. Hark, he comes!
[A sound of trumpets.
May all the guardian gods of Rome direct him!

nion.

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