САТО.

Thanks to the gods! my boy has done his duty.

Portius, when I am

dead, be fure thou place

His urn near mine.

PORTIUS.

Long may they keep afunder!

LUCIUS.

O Cato, arm thy foul with all its patience; See where the corpfe of thy dead fon approaches! The citizens and fenators, alarm'd,

Have gather'd round it, and attend it weeping.

CATO meeting the corpfe.

САТО.

Welcome, my fon! here lay him down, my friends, Full in my fight, that I may view at leisure

The bloody corfe, and count thofe 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 ferve our country!
Why fits this fadnefs on your brows, my friends?
I fhould have blufh'd if Cato's houfe 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.

Why mourn you thus? let not a private loss

Afflict your hearts. 'Tis Rome requires our tears.
The mistrefs of the world, the feat of empire,
'The nurse of heroes, the delight of gods,
That humbled the proud tyrants of the earth,
And fet the nations free, Rome is no more.
O liberty! O virtue ! O my country!

JUBA.

Behold that upright man! Rome fills his eyes With tears, that flow'd not o'er his own dead fon. [Afide.

САТО.

Whate'er the Roman virtue has fubdued,

The fun's whole courfe, the day and year, are Cæfar's
For him the felf-devoted Decii dy'd,

The Fabii fell, and the great Scipio's conquer'd :
Ev'n Pompey fought for Cæfar. Oh, my friends!
How is the toil of fate, the work of ages,

The Roman empire fall'n! O curs ambition!
Fall'n into Cæfar's hands! Our great fore-fathers
Had left him nought to conquer but his country.
JUBA.

While Cato lives, Cæfar will blush to fee
Mankind enflav`d, and be asham'd of empire.

САТО.

Cæfar afham'd! has not he feen Pharfalia !

LUCIU S.

Cato, 'tis time thou fave thyfelf and us.

САТО.

Lofe not a thought on me.

I'm out of danger.

Heaven will not leave me in the victor's hand.

Cæfar

Cæfar fhall never fay, I've conquer'd Cato.
But oh! my friends, your fafety fills my heart
With anxious thoughts: a thousand fecret terrors
Rife in my foul: how shall I fave my friends?
'Tis now, O Cæfar, I begin to fear thee.

LUCIU S.

Cæfar has mercy, if we ask it of him.

САТО.

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 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 fake.
Should I advise thee to regain Numidia,
Or feek the conqueror?

JUBA.

If I forfake thee

Whilft I have life, may heaven abandon Juba!

САТО.

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 fon, thou oft hast seen
Thy fire engag'd in a corrupted state,

Wrestling with vice and faction: now thou feeft me
Spent, overpower'd, defpairing of fuccefs;

Let me advife thee to retreat betimes

To thy paternal feat, the Sabine field,

Where the great Censor toil'd with his own hands,

And all our frugal ancestors were blefs'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 fway,
The post of honour is a private station.

PORTIU S.

I hope, my father does not recommend A life to Portius, that he fcorns himself.

САТО.

Farewell, my friends! if there be any

That dares not truft the victor's clemency,

of

you

Know there are fhips prepar'd by my command,
(Their fails already opening to the winds)
That fhall convey you to the wish'd-for port.
Is there aught elfe, my friends, I can do for you?
The conqueror draws near. Once more farewell!
If e'er we meet hereafter, we shall meet
In happlier climes and on a fafer shore,
Where Cæfar never fhall approach us more.
There the brave youth, with love of virtue fir'd,

[Pointing to the body of his dead for.

Who greatly in his country's caufe expir'd,
Shall know he conquer'd. The firm patriot there
(Who made the welfare of mankind his care)
Though ftill, by faction, vice, and fortune, croft,
Shall find the generous labour was not loft.

END OF THE FOURTH ACT.

АСТ

ACT V. SCENE I.

CATO folus,

Sitting in a thoughtful pofture: In his hand Plato's book on the immortality of the foul. A drawn word on the table by him.

I

T must be fo-Plato, thou reafon'ft well!

Elfe whence this pleafing hope, this fond defire,. This longing after immortality?

Or whence this fecret dread, and inward horror,
Of falling into nought? Why fhrinks the foul
Back on herself, and ftartles at deftruction?
'Tis the divinity that firs within us;

"Tis heaven itself, that points out an hereafter,
And intimates eternity to man.

Eternity thou pleafing, dreadful, thought!
Through what variety of untry'd being,

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass!
The wide, th' unbounded profpect, lies before me ;
But fhadows, clouds, and darkness, reft 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 Cæfar.
I'm weary of conjectures-This must end them.

[Laying his hand upon his fword.

Thus