Part of the Senate House.
Enter Sempronius, with Leaders of the Mutiny.
| Sem. At length the winds are raised, the storm blows high! |
| Be it your care, my friends, to keep it up |
| In all its fury, and direct it right, |
| Till it has spent itself on Cato's head. |
| Meanwhile, I'll herd among his friends, and seem |
| One of the number, that, whate'er arrive, |
| My friends and fellow soldiers may be safe.[Exit. |
| 1 Lead. We are all safe; Sempronius is our friend. |
| Sempronius is as brave a man as Cato. |
| But, hark, he enters. Bear up boldly to him; |
| Be sure you beat him down, and bind him fast; |
| This day will end our toils. |
| Fear nothing, for Sempronius is our friend. |
| Enter Sempronius, with Cato, Lucius, Portius, and Marcus. |
| Cato. Where are those bold, intrepid sons of war, |
| That greatly turn their backs upon the foe, |
| And to their general send a brave defiance? |
| Sem. Curse on their dastard souls, they stand astonish'd! |
| [Aside. |
| Cato. Perfidious men! And will you thus dishonour |
| Your past exploits, and sully all your wars? |
| Why could not Cato fall |
| Without your guilt! Behold, ungrateful men, |
| Behold my bosom naked to your swords, |
| And let the man that's injured strike the blow. |
| Which of you all suspects that he is wrong'd, |
| Or thinks he suffers greater ills than Cato? |
| Am I distinguished from you but by toils, |
| Superior toils, and heavier weight of cares? |
| Painful pre-eminence! |
| Sem. Confusion to the villains! all is lost![Aside. |
| Cato. Have you forgotten Lybia's burning waste, |
| Its barren rocks, parch'd earth, and hills of sand, |
| Its tainted air, and all its broods of poison? |
| Who was the first to explore th' untrodden path, |
| When life was hazarded in ev'ry step? |
| Or, fainting in the long laborious march, |
| When, on the banks of an unlook'd-for stream, |
| You sunk the river with repeated draughts, |
| Who was the last of all your host who thirsted? |
| Sem. Did not his temples glow |
| In the same sultry winds and scorching heats? |
| Cato. Hence, worthless men! hence! and complain to Cæsar, |
| You could not undergo the toil of war, |
| Nor bear the hardships that your leader bore. |
| Lucius. See, Cato, see the unhappy men: they weep! |
| Fear, and remorse, and sorrow for their crime, |
| Appear in ev'ry look, and plead for mercy. |
| Cato. Learn to be honest men; give up yon leaders, |
| And pardon shall descend on all the rest. |
| Sem. Cato, commit these wretches to my care; |
| First let them each be broken on the rack, |
| Then, with what life remains, impaled, and left |
| To writhe at leisure round the bloody stake; |
| There let them hang, and taint the southern wind. |
| The partners of their crime will learn obedience. |
| Cato. Forbear, Sempronius!—see they suffer death, |
| But in their deaths remember they are men; |
| Strain not the laws, to make their tortures grievous. |
| Lucius, the base, degen'rate age requires |
| Severity. |
| When by just vengeance guilty mortals perish, |
| The gods behold the punishment with pleasure, |
| And lay th' uplifted thunderbolt aside. |
| Sem. Cato, I execute thy will with pleasure. |
| Cato. Meanwhile, we'll sacrifice to liberty. |
| Remember, O my friends! the laws, the rights, |
| The gen'rous plan of power delivered down |
| From age to age by your renown'd forefathers, |
| (So dearly bought, the price of so much blood:) |
| Oh, let it never perish in your hands! |
| But piously transmit it to your children. |
| Do thou, great liberty, inspire our souls, |
| And make our lives in thy possession happy, |
| Or our deaths glorious in thy just defence. |
| [Exeunt Cato, etc. |
| 1 Lead. Sempronius, you have acted like yourself. |
| One would have thought you had been half in earnest. |
| Sem. Villain, stand off; base, grov'ling, worthless wretches, |
| Mongrels in faction, poor faint-hearted traitors! |
| 1 Lead. Nay, now, you carry it too far, Sempronius! |
| Sem. Know, villains, when such paltry slaves presume |
| To mix in treason, if the plot succeeds, |
| They're thrown neglected by; but if it fails, |
| They're sure to die like dogs, as you shall do. |
| Here, take these factious monsters, drag them forth |
| To sudden death. |
| 1 Lead. Nay, since it comes to this— |
| Sem. Dispatch them quick, but first pluck out their tongues, |
| Lest with their dying breath they sow sedition. |
| [Exeunt Guards, with their Leaders. |
| Enter Syphax. |
| Syph. Our first design, my friend, has proved abortive; |
| Still there remains an after-game to play; |
| My troops are mounted; |
| Let but Sempronius head us in our flight, |
| We'll force the gate where Marcus keeps his guard, |
| And hew down all that would oppose our passage. |
| A day will bring us into Cæsar's camp. |
| Sem. Confusion! I have fail'd of half my purpose: |
| Marcia, the charming Marcia's left behind! |
| Syph. How! will Sempronius turn a woman's slave? |
| Sem. Think not thy friend can ever feel the soft |
| Unmanly warmth and tenderness of love. |
| Syphax, I long to clasp that haughty maid, |
| And bend her stubborn virtue to my passion: |
| When I have gone thus far, I'd cast her off. |
| Syph. Well said! that's spoken like thyself, Sempronius! |
| What hinders, then, but that thou find her out, |
| And hurry her away by manly force? |
| Sem. But how to gain admission? For access |
| Is given to none but Juba, and her brothers. |
| Syph. Thou shalt have Juba's dress, and Juba's guards; |
| The doors will open, when Numidia's prince |
| Seems to appear before the slaves that watch them. |
| Sem. Heavens, what a thought is there! Marcia's my own! |
| How will my bosom swell with anxious joy, |
| When I behold her struggling in my arms, |
| With glowing beauty, and disorder'd charms, |
| While fear and anger, with alternate grace, |
| Pant in her breast, and vary in her face! |
| So Pluto seized off Proserpine, convey'd |
| To hell's tremendous gloom th' affrighted maid; |
| There grimly smiled, pleased with the beauteous prize, |
| Nor envied Jove his sunshine and his skies.[Exeunt. |
ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I.
A Chamber.
Enter Lucia and Marcia.
| Lucia. Now, tell me, Marcia, tell me from thy soul, |
| If thou believest 'tis possible for woman |
| To suffer greater ills than Lucia suffers? |
| Marcia. Oh, Lucia, Lucia, might my big swol'n heart |
| Vent all its griefs, and give a loose to sorrow, |
| Marcia could answer thee in sighs, keep pace |
| With all thy woes, and count out tear for tear. |
| Lucia. I know thou'rt doom'd alike to be beloved |
| By Juba, and thy father's friend, Sempronius: |
| But which of these has power to charm like Portius? |
| Marcia. Still, I must beg thee not to name Sempronius. |
| Lucia, I like not that loud, boist'rous man. |
| Juba, to all the bravery of a hero, |
| Adds softest love, and more than female sweetness; |
| Juba might make the proudest of our sex, |
| Any of womankind, but Marcia, happy. |
| Lucia. And why not Marcia? Come, you strive in vain |
| To hide your thoughts from one who knows too well |
| The inward glowings of a heart in love. |
| Marcia. While Cato lives, his daughter has no right |
| To love or hate, but as his choice directs. |
| Lucia. But should this father give you to Sempronius? |
| 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 lodged, I've track'd her to her covert. |
| How will the young Numidian rave to see |
| His mistress lost! If aught could glad my soul, |
| Beyond the 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—— |
| Enter Juba. |
| Jub. What do I see? Who's this that dares usurp |
| The guards and habits of Numidia's prince? |
| Sem. One that was born to scourge thy arrogance, |
| Presumptuous youth! |
| Jub. What can this mean? Sempronius! |
| Sem. My sword shall answer thee. Have at thy heart. |
| Jub. Nay then, beware thy own, proud, barbarous man. |
| [Sempronius falls. |
| Sem. Curse on my stars! Am I then doom'd to fall |
| By a boy's hand, disfigured 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 heav'n, and Cato tremble![Dies. |
| Jub. I'll hence to Cato, |
| That we may there at length unravel all |
| This dark design, this mystery of fate.[Exit Juba. |
| 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 ev'ry sound. |
| Oh, Marcia, should thy brothers, for my sake— |
| I die away with horror at the thought! |
| Marcia. See, Lucia, see! here's blood! here's blood and murder! |
| Ha! a Numidian! Heav'n 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! |
| Juba lies dead before us! |
| Lucia. Now, Marcia, now, call up to thy assistance |
| Thy wonted strength and constancy of mind; |
| Thou canst not put it to a greater trial. |
| Marcia. Lucia, 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 comfort? |
| Marcia. Talk not of comfort, 'tis for lighter ills: |
| Behold a sight that strikes all comfort dead. |
| Enter Juba, listening. |
| I will indulge my sorrows, and give way |
| To all the pangs and fury of despair; |
| That man, that best of men, deserved it from me. |
| Jub. What do I hear? and was the false Sempronius |
| That best of men? Oh, had I fall'n like him, |
| And could have been thus mourn'd, I had been happy. |
| Marcia. 'Tis not in fate to ease my tortured breast. |
| 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; |
| But when he talk'd, the proudest Roman blush'd |
| To hear his virtues, and old age grew wise. |
| Oh, Juba! Juba! |
| Jub. What means that voice? Did she not call on Juba? |
| Marcia. Why do I think on what he was? he's dead! |
| He's dead, and never knew how much I loved him! |
| 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! |
| Jub. Where am I? Do I live? or am indeed |
| What Marcia thinks? All is Elysium round me! |
| Marcia. Ye dear remains of the most loved of men, |
| Nor modesty nor virtue here forbid |
| A last embrace, while thus—— |
| Jub. 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? |
| Jub. A wretch, |
| Disguised like Juba on a cursed design. |
| I could not bear |
| To leave thee in the neighbourhood of death, |
| 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 surprised in an unguarded hour, |
| But must not 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. |
| Jub. My joy, my best beloved, my only wish! |
| How shall I speak the transport of my soul! |
| Marcia. Lucia, thy arm. Lead to my apartment. |
| 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. |
| Jub. I am so blest, 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.
The Street.
A March at a distance.
Enter Cato and Lucius.
| Luc. I stand astonish'd! What, the bold Sempronius, |
| That still broke foremost through the crowd of patriots, |
| As with a hurricane of zeal transported, |
| And virtuous even to madness— |
| Cato. Trust me, Lucius, |
| Our civil discords have produced such crimes, |
| Such monstrous crimes, I am surprized at nothing. |
| —Oh Lucius, I am sick of this bad world! |
| The daylight and the sun grow painful to me. |
| Enter Portius. |
| But see, where Portius comes: what means this haste? |
| Why are thy looks thus changed? |
| Por. My heart is grieved, |
| 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 exercised 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. |
| Cato. Would Lucius have me live to swell the number |
| Of Cæsar's slaves, or by a base submission |
| Give up the cause of Rome, and own a tyrant? |
| Luc. The victor never will impose on Cato |
| Ungen'rous 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! |
| Luc. Alas, poor prince! his fate deserves compassion. |
| Enter Juba. |
| Jub. I blush, and am confounded to appear |
| Before thy presence, Cato. |
| Cato. What's thy crime? |
| Jub. I'm a Numidian. |
| Cato. And a brave one, too. Thou hast a Roman soul. |
| Jub. Hast thou not heard of my false countrymen? |
| Cato. Alas, young prince! |
| Falsehood and fraud shoot up in ev'ry soil, |
| The product of all climes—Rome has its Cæsars. |
| Jub. 'Tis generous thus to comfort the distress'd. |
| Cato. 'Tis just to give applause, where 'tis deserved: |
| Thy virtue, prince, has stood the test of fortune, |
| Like purest gold, that, tortured in the furnace, |
| Comes out more bright, and brings forth all its weight. |
| Jub. What shall I answer thee? |
| I'd rather gain |
| Thy praise, O Cato! than Numidia's empire. |
| Enter Portius. |
| Por. Misfortune on misfortune! grief on grief! |
| My brother Marcus—— |
| Cato. Ha! what has he done? |
| Has he forsook his post? Has he given way? |
| Did he look tamely on, and let them pass? |
| Por. Scarce had I left my father, but I met him |
| Borne on the shields of his surviving soldiers, |
| 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, |
| Till, obstinately brave, and bent on death, |
| Oppress'd with multitudes, he greatly fell. |
| Cato. I'm satisfied. |
| Por. Nor did he fall, before |
| His sword had pierced thro' the false heart of Syphax. |
| Yonder 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 his duty. |
| —Portius, when I am 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. |
| Cato meeting the Corpse.—Senators attending. |
| Cato. Welcome, my son! Here lay him down, my friends, |
| 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, |
| That we can die but once, to serve our country! |
| —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. |
| Jub. Was ever man like this! |
| Cato. Alas, my friends, |
| Why mourn you thus? let not a private loss |
| Afflict your hearts. 'Tis Rome requires our tears, |
| The mistress of the world, the seat of empire, |
| The nurse of heroes, the delight of gods, |
| That humbled the proud tyrants of the earth, |
| And set the nations free; Rome is no more. |
| Oh, liberty! Oh, virtue! Oh, my country! |
| Jub. Behold that upright man! Rome fills his eyes |
| With tears, that flow'd not o'er his own dear son.[Aside. |
| Cato. Whate'er the Roman virtue has subdued, |
| The sun's whole course, the day and year, are Cæsar's: |
| For him the self-devoted Decii died, |
| The Fabii fell, and the great Scipios conquer'd: |
| Ev'n Pompey fought for Cæsar. Oh, my friends, |
| How is the toil of fate, the work of ages, |
| The Roman empire, fall'n! Oh, cursed ambition! |
| Fall'n into Cæsar's hands! Our great forefathers |
| Had left him nought to conquer but his country. |
| Jub. While Cato lives, Cæsar will blush to see |
| Mankind enslaved, and be ashamed of empire. |
| Cato. Cæsar ashamed! Has he not seen Pharsalia? |
| Luc. 'Tis time thou save thyself and us. |
| Cato. Lose not a thought on me; I'm out of 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 know, |
| Whate'er was done against him, Cato did it. |
| Add, if you please, that I request 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? |
| Jub. If I forsake thee |
| 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 hast seen |
| Thy sire engaged in a corrupted state, |
| Wrestling with vice and faction: now thou see'st me |
| Spent, overpower'd, despairing of success. |
| Let me advise thee to retreat betimes |
| To thy paternal seat, 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 retired, 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 you |
| Who dare not trust the victor's clemency, |
| Know there are ships prepared, 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 fired, |
| Who greatly in his country's cause expired, |
| Shall know he conquer'd. The firm patriot there, |
| Who made the welfare of mankind his care, |
| Though still by faction, vice, and fortune crost, |
| Shall find the gen'rous labour was not lost.[Exeunt. |
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I.
A Chamber.
Cato solus, sitting in a thoughtful Posture;
in
his Hand, Plato's Book on the Immortality of the Soul.
A drawn Sword on the Table by him.
| Cato. It must be so—Plato, thou reason'st well— |
| Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, |
| This longing after immortality? |
| Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, |
| Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul |
| Back on herself, and startles at destruction? |
| 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us; |
| 'Tis Heav'n itself that points out an hereafter, |
| And intimates eternity to man. |
| Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought! |
| Through what variety of untried being, |
| Through what new scenes and changes must we pass? |
| The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me; |
| But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it. |
| Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us |
| (And that there is, all Nature cries aloud |
| Through all her works), He must delight in virtue; |
| And that which He delights in must be happy. |
| But when, or where?—this world was made for Cæsar: |
| I'm weary of conjectures—this must end them. |
| [Laying his hand upon 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, secured in her existence, smiles |
| At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. |
| The stars shall fade away, the sun himself |
| Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years, |
| But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, |
| Unhurt amidst the war of elements, |
| The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. |
| What means this heaviness, that hangs upon me? |
| This lethargy, that creeps through all my senses? |
| Nature, oppress'd and harass'd out with care, |
| Sinks down to rest. This once I'll favour her, |
| That my awaken'd soul may take her flight, |
| Renew'd in all her strength, and fresh with life, |
| An offering lit for Heav'n. Let guilt or fear |
| Disturb man's rest, Cato knows neither of them, |
| Indiff'rent in his choice to sleep or die. |
| Enter Portius. |
| But, hah! who's this? my son! Why this intrusion? |
| Were not my orders that I would be private? |
| Why am I disobey'd? |
| Por. Alas, my father! |
| What means this sword, this instrument of 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 from you! |
| Cato. Wouldst thou betray me? Wouldst thou give me up, |
| 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 gath'ring fleets |
| O'erspread the sea, and stop up ev'ry port; |
| Cato shall open to himself a passage, |
| And mock thy hopes.—— |
| Por. Oh, sir! forgive your son, |
| Whose grief hangs heavy on him. Oh, my father! |
| How am I sure it is not the last time |
| I e'er shall call you so? Be not displeased, |
| 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. |
| Cato. Portius, thou may'st rely upon my conduct: |
| 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. |
| Enter Marcia. |
| 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 retired to rest, and seems to cherish |
| Thoughts full of peace.—He has dispatch'd me hence |
| With orders that bespeak a mind composed, |
| 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, |
| 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 of Rome, |
| 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 blest. |
| Marcia, we both are equally involved |
| In the same intricate, perplex'd distress. |
| The cruel hand of fate, that has destroy'd |
| Thy brother Marcus, whom we both lament—— |
| Marcia. And ever shall lament; unhappy youth! |
| Lucia. Has set my soul at large, and now I stand |
| Loose of my vow. But who knows Cato's thoughts? |
| Who knows how yet he may dispose of Portius, |
| Or how he has determined of himself? |
| Marcia. Let him but live, commit the rest to Heav'n. |
| Enter Lucius. |
| Luc. Sweet are the slumbers of the virtuous man! |
| Oh, Marcia, I have seen thy godlike father! |
| Some power invisible supports his soul, |
| And bears it up in all its wonted greatness. |
| A kind, refreshing sleep is fall'n upon him: |
| I saw him stretch'd at ease; his fancy lost |
| In pleasing dreams; as I drew near his couch, |
| He smiled, and cried, "Cæsar, thou canst not hurt me." |
| Marcia. His mind still labours with some dreadful thought. |
| Enter Juba. |
| Jub. 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 disposed 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 ling'ring winds, a sail arrived |
| 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. |
| 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— |
| Heav'n guard us all! |
| Marcia. Alas, 'tis not the voice |
| Of one who sleeps; 'tis agonizing pain— |
| 'Tis death is in that sound—— |
| Enter Portius. |
| Por. Oh, sight of woe! |
| Oh, Marcia, what we fear'd is come to pass— |
| Cato has fall'n upon his sword—— |
| Luc. Oh, Portius, |
| Hide all the horrors of thy mournful tale, |
| And let me guess the rest. |
| Por. I've raised him up, |
| And placed him in his chair; where pale and faint, |
| He gasps for breath, and, as his life flows from him, |
| Demands to see his friends. His servants weeping, |
| Obsequious to his order, bear him hither!—— |
| Marcia. Oh, Heav'n! assist me in this dreadful hour, |
| To pay the last sad duties to my father! |
| Cato brought on, in a Chair. |
| Cato. Here set me down—— |
| Portius, come near me—Are my friends embark'd? |
| Can any thing be thought of for their service? |
| Whilst I yet live, let me not live in vain—— |
| Oh, Lucius, art thou here?—Thou art too good— |
| Let this our friendship live between our children; |
| Make Portius happy in thy daughter Lucia—— |
| Marcia, my daughter—— |
| Oh, bend me forward!——Juba loves thee, Marcia— |
| A senator of Rome, while Rome survived, |
| Would not have match'd his daughter with a king— |
| But Cæsar's arms have thrown down all distinction— |
| 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!—[Dies. |
| Por. There fled the greatest soul that ever warm'd |
| A Roman breast:— |
| 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 omnes. |
THE END. |
PRINTED BY J. SMITH. |