Cato. Enter Marcus. Fathers, this moment as I watch'd the gates, Lodg'd on my post, a herald is arriv'd From Cæfar's camp, and with him comes old Decius, The Roman knight; he carries in his looks By your permission, fathers, bid him enter. Cæfar is well acquainted with your virtues, Cato. Nay more, though Cato's voice was ne'er em- To clear the guilty, and to varnish crimes, Decius. A style like this becomes a conqueror. Cato. Decius, a ftyle like this becomes a Roman. What is a Roman, that is Cæfar's foe? Confider, Cato, you're in Utica ; Let him confider that who drives us hither: black With murder, treafon, facrilege, and crimes, Decius. Does Cato fend this answer back to Cæfar, His cares for me are infolent and vain : Your high unconquer'd heart makes you forget Sempronius. Cato, we thank thee. The mighty genius of immortal Rome [Exit. Speaks in thy voice, thy foul breathes liberty: Lucius. The fenate owns its gratitude to Cato, Bid him disband his legions, And guards our lives while he neglects his own. Restore the commonwealth to liberty, Decius. Cato, the world talks loudly of your wildɔm Sempronius. We ought to hold it cut till death; but, Cato, My private voice is drown'd amid the fenate's. Cato. Then let us rife, my friends, and strive to fill This little interval, this paufe of life, (While yet our liberty and fates are doubtful) With refolution, friendship, Roman bravery, And all the virtues we can crowd into it ; That heaven may fay, it ought to be prolong'd. Fathers, farewell-The young Numidian prince Comes forward, and expects to know our councils. Enter Juba. Cato. Ex. Sen. Juba, the Roman fenate has refolv'd, Till time give better profpects, ftill to keep The sword unfheath'd, and turn its edge on Cæfar. Juba. The refolution fits a Roman senate. My father, when fome days before his death Cato. Juba, thy father was a worthy prince, And merited, alas' a better fate; But heaven thought otherwife. Juba. The words confound me. Adieu, young prince I would not hear a word Should leffen 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 aught Can such dishoneft thoughts Rife up in man! would'st thou feduce my youth But chains, or conqueft; liberty, or death. [Exit. To do an act that would deftroy my honour? Alas! my prince, how are you chang'd of late! I've known young Juba rife before the fun, To beat the thicket where the tiger flept, Or feek the lion in his dreadful haunts: How did the colour mount into your checks, [you When first you rous'd him to the chace! I've feen Ev'n in the Libyan dog-days hunt him down, Then charge him close, provoke him to the rage Of fangs and claws, and ftooping from your horfe Rivet the panting favage to the ground. Syphax. VOL. VII. 4. Sypbax. I must appeafe this ftorm, or perish in it. [Afide. Young prince, behold these locks, that are grown white Beneath a helmet in your father's battles. Juba. Must one raf word, th' infirmity of age, Is it because the throne of my forefathers Still ftands unfill'd, and that Numidia's crown Hangs doubtful yet, whofe head it fall enclose, Thou thus prefum'it to treat thy prince with fcorn? Syphax. Why will you rive my heart with fuch expreffions? Does not old Syphax follow you to war? What are his arms? why does he load with darts His trembling hand, and crufh beneath a cafque His wrinkled brows? what is it he afpires to? Is it not this? to fhed the flow remains, His laft poor ebb of blood, in your defence? Juba. Syphax, no more! I would not would not hear you talk. Syphax. Not hear me talk! what, when my faith to Juba, My royal mafter's fon, is call'd in question? My prince may ftrike me dead, and I'll be dumb But, whilft I live, I must not hold my tongue, And languish out old age in his displeasure. Juba. Thou know'ft the way too well into my heart; I'do believe thee loyal to thy prince. : Sypbax.. What greater instance can I give? I've offer'd To do an action which my foul abhors, And gain you whom you love at any price. You did indeed, my prince: you call'd me traitor: Nay, further, threaten'd you'd complain to Cato. Of what, my prince, would you complain to Cato? That Syphax loves you, and would facrifice His life, may more, his honour, in your service? Juba: Syphax, I know thou lov'ft me, but indeed Thy zeal for Juba carried thee too far. Honour's a facred tie, the law of kings, The noble mind's diftinguishing perfection, [her, That aids and ftrengthens virtue, where it nfects And imitates her actions, where she is not: It ought not to be fported with. Sypbax. [me. I'm ravish'd when you talk thus, though you chide Alas, I've hitherto been us'd to think A blind officious zeal to ferve my king The ruling principle, that ought to burn Syphax, thou now beginn'ft to speak thyself, Believe me, prince, you make old Syphax weep To hear you talk-but 'tis with tears of joy. If e'er your father's crown adorn your brows, Numidia will be bleft by Cato's lectures. • Juba. Syphax, thy hand we'll mutually forget The warmth of youth, and frowardness of age: Thy prince eftcems thy worth, and loves thy perfon. If e'er the fceptre comes into my hand, Syphax shall stand the fecond in my kingdom. Syphax. Why will you overwhelm my age with kindness? My joy grows burthenfome, I fha'n't fupport it. Juba. Syphax, farewell. I'll hence, and try to find Some bleft occafion that may fet me right In Cato's thoughts. I'd rather have that man Approve my deeds, than worlds for my admirers. [Exit. Sypbax. Enter Sempronius. Sypbax. All hail, Sempronius! Well, Cato's fenate is refolv'd to wait Syphax, we both were on the verge of fate : But how ftands Cato? - Sempronius. Thou haft feen Mount Atlas: While ftorms and tempefts thunder on its brows, And oceans break their billows at its feet, It ftands unmov'd, and glories in its height. Such is that haughty man; his towering foul, 'Midft all the fhocks and injuries of fortune,' Rifes fuperior, and looks down on Cæfar. Syphax. But what's this meffenger? 1 1 Sypbax. Mean-while I'll draw up my Numidian troops I laugh to think how your unfhaken Cato ACT III. SCENE I Marcus and Portins. Marcus. THANKS to my ftars, I have not rang'd about The wilds of life, ere I could find a friend; Nature first pointed out my Portius to me, And early taught me, by her fecret force, To love thy perfon, ere I knew thy merit; Portius. Marcus, the friendftips of the world are oft Confederacies in vice, or leagues of pleafure; Ours has fevereft virtue for its basis, And fuch a friendship ends not but with life. Marcus. Portius, thou know'ft my foul in all its weakness; Then pr'ythee fpare me on its tender fide, Indulge me but in love, my other paffions Shall rife and fall by virtue's nicest rules. Portius. When love's well-tim'd, 'tis not a fault to love. The ftrong, the brave, the virtuous, and the wise, Sink in the foft captivity together. I would not urge thee to difmifs thy paffion, (I know 'twere vain) but to suppress its force, Till better times may make it look more graceful. Marcus. Alas! thou talk'ft like one who never felt Th' impatient throbs and longings of a foul, That pants and reaches after diftant good. A lover does not live by vulgar time: Believe me, Portius, in my Lucia's absence Life hangs upon me, and becomes a burden; And yet when I behold the charming maid, I'm ten times more undone; while hope, and fear, And grief, and rage, and love, rife up at once, And with variety of pain distract me. Portius. What can thy Portius do to give thee help? Marcus. Portius, thou oft enjoy'ft the fair one's prefence: Then undertake my caufe, and plead it to her With all the ftrength and heat of eloquence Fraternal love and friendship can inspire. Tell her thy brother languishes to death, And fades away, and withers in his bloom; That he forgets his fleep, and lothes his food, That youth, and health, and war, are joylefs to him: Describe his anxious days and restless nights, And all the torments that thou feeft me fuffer. Portius. Marcus, I beg thee, give me not an office Wilt thou behold me finking in my woes? Marcus, thou canst not ask what I'd refuse. I know thou'lt fay, my paffion's out of feason, That Cato's great example and misfortunes Should both conspire to drive it from my thoughts. But what's all this to one who loves like me? Oh Portius, Portius, from my foul I wish Thou didst but know thyself what 'tis to love! Then would'st thou pity and assist thy brother. Portius. What fhould I do! If I disclose my paffion, Our friendship's at an end: if I conceal it, The world will call me falfe to a friend and brother. Q i |