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Josera ADDISON sus born May 21, 1673, at Milstun, of which his father was then Rector, near Ambrosebary in wahrt. He was early sent to school, tbere, under the care of the Rev. Mr. Naish; from whence be was re

red to Salisbery seboul, and then to the Charterhouse, under the tuition of the Icarned Dr. Ellis, Here he first e etnied an itay with Dr. Steele, which contioned almost to his death. Ai fifieen he was entered of Queen's (4*, Opferd, and is about two years admilled to the degrees of bachelor and master of aris in that college; ut

me be was celebrated for his lalin poems, to be found in a second volume of the Musue Britanicue, collected b: Addine. Be ng at the boiversity, he was upon the point of coding to the desires of his father and several of his friends, tot er jota hiiv orders; bnt having, through Mr. Congreve's means, become a favourite of Lord Halifax, he was prevailed

pa by that mollcaza, to give up the design. He successively filled the public stations, in 1703, of Commissioner of the Arials in the Excise; 10, Under-Secretary of State ; 1709, Secretary of Ireland, and Keeper of the Records in bland; 1'15 (the vand climacteric of Addison's reputation, Cato appeared) Secretary to the Lords' Justices; 1714 oue of the lds Comissioners of Trade; and at last, 1717, one of the first Secretaries of Stale. Dr. Jobison says, “For Lis employecat be might justly be supposed qualified by long practice of business, and by his regular ascent through siber ofhces; but especiation is often disappointed; it is universally confessed, that he was unequal to the dutics of ba plece la Le House of Commons he could not speak, and therefore was useless to the defence of the Governtaent,

the ofxe, says Pope, be coald not issue an order without losing his time in quest of fine expressions." He sobacited his domissal with • pension of 1500 pounds a year. lle married the Countess Dowager of Warwick, 1716; and is a bare first kauwn her by becoming tutor to her son. Johnson says, “The Lady was at last prevailed byer i bary kia, on terms much like those, on which a Turkish process is espoused, to whom the sulau is re. puted to grieuste, Daughter, I give thee this man for thy slase.' The marriage' made no adelicion to his happiBens, is besker bide beo nor found them equal." lu 1718 — 19, te had a severe dispute on The Peerage Bill - Sinek, nb, inveterate in his political opinions, supported them in a pamphlel called The Pleberun, which Addi• Berted to an thier, ander te tille of The Old Whig. Some epiiliers, let drop by Addison, answered by a culLord 44** afro Cato, by Sleele, were the cau e of their friendship's being dissolved; and every person acquainted widibe trwadiy leT ILS on which these two great men had lived so long, must regret, that they should finally part in «! Con as I POUR. Addison died of an asılıma and dropsy, on the 17th June, 1919, aged 48, leaving only ono

The general esteem ia wlich leis productions, both serious and bumorunis in The Spectator, The Tatier, and The Guardian are beid, “pleads (as Spakspeare says), like engels, trumpel-longuud, in their behalf” As . peel, tas Cute, ia the dramatic, and his Campaign, in the heroic way, will ever maintain a place among il:e first-rale works of the biod. - And a good man's death displays the character of his life. Al his last hour, le sent for a relist bus, young Loid Warwick, whose youth he'supposed might be influenced by an awful lesson, wien, laking bed of the youag man's hand, he said "see in what peace a Christian can die!" and immediately expired.



CATO, ACTED « Drury Lane. 1715. It is one of the first of our dramatic poems, and was performed 18 nighis success timely; this very successful run for a tragedy, is aliibuted by Dennis, who wrole : very bitter critique upon Calo, to pooreet from Addison's having raised prejudices in his own lacour, by false positions or preparatory criticism : and

s having poisoned the town by contradicting, in The Spectuur, 'the established rule of poetical justice, becalise La sa hero, puh all his virtues, was to fall before a tyrant. Julinson says, “il iact is curtain; the mulives we Sterle packed an audience. The danger was

The while nation was, al that time, on fire faction. The Whigs applauded every line, in which liberty was mentioned, as

a salire

011 the Torics; and thic Teria ebued every c'ap, w skew, that the satire was unfell." !" was ushered into notice by right complimentary copets & TET*s to the auilur, amoug wlicli, one by Steele, leads the vau; besiiles a prologue by Pure, and an epilo*** by Ds. Garth: Dr. Jubos'n, with the abovenientioned persons, may, even Dennis's Ball, has marked this tragedy wa buna clasie, and a succession of audiences for above a century has proved, that it has deserved "Gold. n opinmes to all worls of people.” Johnson ulserves, "of a work so much read, it is difficult !" say any thing new. Abwe things on which the public thinks ting, it commonly allains to think right; and of Cat it has been vot injustly dezera aed, what it is rather a poem in dialogue than a diama; rarber a sucee'ssin'l of julle sentiments in elegant lanpage, uue a repue-calaiiva on naiural ailee tions, or of any slave probable or possible in human life. Nothing here exEstes or usanges emotion; here is no magical power of raising phantastic levior or exciting wild anxiety. The events * capcaird without anlieitude, and remembered without iny or sorrow. of the agents we have no care. Cato is a be az abore a solicitude, a man of whum "the gods lake care,” and whom we leave to their care with heedless obtence. To the resi, neither gods nor men can have much attention; for there is not one amuongst them, that ervasiy strats either allecuiva or esteem. But they are made the vehicles of such sentiments and such expicasions laci sex i Karely scene in the play, which the reader does not wish to impress upon his memory.









MUTINEERS. GUARDS. etc. SCENE-The Governor's Palace in Ulica.

ACT 1.

| And heavily in clouds brings on the day, SCENE I.-A Hall.

The great, th' important day, big with the fale Enter Portios and MARCUS. Of Cato and of Rome-our father's dealb Par. Taz dawo is overcast, the morning Would all up all the guilt of civil war, low'rs,

And close the scene of blood. Already Caesar


Has ravag'd more than half the globe, and sees Love is not to be reason'd down, or lost
Mankind grown thin by his destructive sword: la high ambition and a thirst of greatness;
Should be go further, numbers would be wanting 'Tis second life, that grows into the soul,
To form new battles, and support his crimes. Warms every vein, and beals in every pulse:
Ye gods, what havoc does ambition make I feel it here: my resolution mells-
Among your works!

Por. Behold young Juba, the Numidian Marc. Thy steady temper, Portius,

prince, Can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud, and Caesar, With how much care he forms himself to glory, In the calm lights of mild philosophy;

And breaks the fierceness of his nalive temper, I'm tortur'd, c'en to madness, when I think To copy out our father's bright example. On the proud victor: ev'ry time he's nam'd He loves our sister Marcia, greatly loves her; Pharsalia rises lo my view!-I see

His eyes, his looks, his actions, all betray it; Th' insulting, tyrant, prancing o'er the field, But still the smother'd fondness burns within Strew'd with "Rome's citizens, and drench'd

bim: in slaughter;

When most it swells, and labours for a vent, His horses hoofs wet with patrician blood! The sense of honour, and desire of fame, Oh, Portius! is not there some chosen curse, Drive the big passion back into his heart. Some hidden thunder in the stores of heav'n, Whal, shall an African, shall Juba's heir Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man Reproach great Cato's son, and show the world Who owes his greatness to his country's ruin? A virtue wanting in a Roman soul? Por. Believe me, Marcus, 'tis an impious Marc. Portius, no more! your words leave grealness,

stings behind them. And mix'd with too much horror to be envied: Whene'er did Juba, or did Portius, show How does the lustre of our father's actions, A virtue that has cast me at a distance, Through the dark cloud of ills that cover him, And thrown me out in the pursuils of honour? Break out, and burn with more triumphapl Por. Oh, Marcus! did I know the way to

brighiness! His sufferings shine, and spread a glory round Thy troubled heart, and mitigate thy, pains, him;

Marcus, believe me, I could die to do it. Greatly unfortunate, he fights the cause Marc. Thou best of brothers, and thou best Of honour, virtue, liberty, and Rome.

of friends! Marc. Who knows not this? But what can Pardon a weak, distemper'd soul, that swells Cato do

With sudden gusts, and sinks as soon in calms, Against a world, a base, degen'rate world, The sport of passions. But Sempronius comes: That courts the yoke, and bows the neck to He must not find this softness hanging on me. Caesar?

[Exit. Pent up in Utica, be vainly forms

Enter SEMPRONIUS. A poor epitome of Roman greatness,

Sem. Conspiracies no

sooner should be And, cover'd with Numidian guards, directs

form'd A feeble army, and an emply senate, Than executed, What means Portius here? Remnants of mighty batiles fought in vain. I like not that cold youth. I must dissemble, By heav'n, such virtues, join'd with such success, And speak a language foreign to my heart. Distracts my very soul! our father's fortune

[Aside, Would almost templus to renounce his precepts. Good morrow, Portius; let us once embrace, Por. Remember what our father oft bas Once more embrace, while yet we both are free.

To-morrow, should we thus express The ways of heav'n are dark and intricate;

friendship, Puzzled'in mazes, and perplex'd with errors, Each might receive a slave into his arms. Our understanding traces them in vain, This sun, perhaps, this morning sun's the last, Lost and bewilder'd in the fruilless search; Thal e'er shall rise on Roman liberty. Nor sees with how much art the windings run, Por. My father has this morning calld toNor where the regular confusion ends.

gether Marc. These are suggestions of a mind at To this poor hall, his little Roman senale

(The leavings of Pharsalia), to consult Oh, Portius, didst thou taste but half the griefs If he can yet oppose the mighly torrent That wring my soul, thon couldst not talk That bears down Rome and all her gods before it, thus coldly.

Or must at length give up the world to Caesar. Passion unpilied, and successless love,

Sem. Not all the pomp and majesty of Rome Plant daggers in my heart, and aggravate

Can raise ber sepate more than Calo's presence. My other griefs.—Were but my Lucia kind- His virtues render our assembly awful, Por. Thou seest not that thy brother is thy They strike with something like religious fear, rival;

And make evin Caesar tremble at the head But I must bide it, for I know thy temper. Of armies flush'd with conquest. Oh, my


Portius! Now, Marcus, now thy virtue's on the proof, Could I but call that wondrous man my father, Pui lorth thy utmost strength, work ev'ry nerse, Would but thy sister Marcia be propitious And call up all thy father in thy soul: To thy friend's vows, I might be blesi indeed! To quell the lyrant love, and guard thy heart Por. Alas, Sempronius! wouldst thou talk On this wcak side, where most our nature fails,

of love Would be a conquest worthy Cato's son. To Marcia, whilst her fatber's life's in danger?

Marc. Alas, the counsel which I cannot take, Thou might'st as well court the pale, trcmInstead of bcaling, but upbraids my weakness.

bling vestal,

told us:




on Juba.

Wbea sbe bebolds the holy flame expiring. Syph. But is it true, Sempronius, that your

Sem. The more I see the wonders of thy race, The more I'm charm’d. Thou must take heed, Is calld together? Gods! thou must be cautious; my Portius;

Cato has piercing eyes, and will discern The world has all its eyes on Cato's son; Our frauds, unless they're cover'd thick with art. Tbs father's merit sets ihee up to view, Sem. Let me alone, good Syphax, I'll conceal Add sbows thee in the fairest point of light, My thoughts in passion ('tis the surest way); To make thy virtues or thy faults conspicuous. Til bellow out for Rome, and for my country, Por. Well dost thou seem to check my And mouth at Caesar, till I shake the senate. ling’ring here

Your cold bypocrisy's a stale device, On this important bour-l'll straight away, A worn-out' trick: wouldst thou be thought And while the fathers of the senate meet

in earnest, In close debate, to weigh th' events of war, Clothe thy seign'd zeal in rage, in fire, in fury!

animate the soldiers' drooping courage. Syph. În troth, thou'rt able to instruct grey With love of freedom, and contempt of life;

hairs, itthunder in their ears their country's cause, and teach the wily African deceit. And try to rouse up all that's Roman in them. Sem. Once more be sure to try thy skill 'Tis pot in mortals to command success, But we'll do more, Sempronius; we'll deserve Meanwhile I'll hasten to my Roman soldiers, it.

[Exil. Inflame the mutiny, and, underhand, Sem. Curse on the stripling! how he apes Blow up their discontents, till they break out his sire!

Unlook'd for, and discharge themselves on Cato. Ambitiously sententious--But I wonder Remember, Syphax, we must work in haste; Old Sypbar comes not, his Numidian genius Oh, think what anxious moments pass

between Is wel dispos'd to mischief, were he prompt The birth of plots, and their last fatal periods! And eager op it; but he must be spurr’d, Oh, 'tis a dreadful interval of time, And ev'ry moment quicken'd to the course. Filld up with horror all, and big with death! Cato bas us'd me ill; he has refus'd

Destruction hangs on ev'ry word' we speak, Flis daughter Marcia lo my ardent vows. On every thought, till the concluding stroké Besides, bis baffled arins and ruin'd cause, Determines all, and closes our design. [Exit. Are bars to my ambition. Caesar's favour, Syph. I'll try if yet I can reduce to reason That show'ss dowa greatness on bis friends, This headstrong youth, and make him spurn will raise me

at Cato. To Rome's first honours. If I give up Cato, The time is short; Caesar comes rushing on I daim, in my reward, his captive daughter.

USBut Syphax comes

But hola!

Juba sees me,

and approaches!

Enter JUBA.
Enter SypnAX.

Juba. Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone. Syph. Sempronius, all is ready;

I have observ'd of late thy looks are fall'n, I've sounded my Numidians, man by man, O'ercast with gloomy cares and discontent; And find them ripe for a revolt: they all Then tell me, Syphax, I conjure thee, tell me, Complain aloud of Cato's discipline, What are the thoughts that knit thy brow in lad wait but the command to change their

frowns, master.

And turn thine eye thus coldly on thy prince? Sem. Believe me, Syphax, there's no time Syph. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my to waste:

thoughts, Ein wbile we speak, our conqueror comes on, Or carry smiles and sunshine in my face, And gatbers ground upon us ev'ry moment. When discontent sits heavy at my heart; vas! 'tbou know'st noi Caesar's active soul,

I have not yet so much the Roman in me. With what a dreadful course be rushes on

Juba. Why dost thou cast out such unFrom war to war. In vain bas nature form'd

gen'rous terms Mountains and oceans to oppose his passage; Against the lords and sov'reigns of the world ? Ale bounds o'er all;

Dost thou not see mankind Tall down before One day more

them, Will set the victor thund'ring at our gates. And own the force of their superior virtue ? But, tell me, hast thou yet drawn o'er young Syph. Gods! where's the worth that sets Juba?

these people up That still would recommend thee more to Caesar, above your own Numidia's lawny sons? And challenge belter terms.

Do they with tougher sinews bend the bow ? SyphAlas! he's lost!

Or flies the jav'lin swisier to its mark, Hei lost, Sempronius; all his thoughts are full Launch'd from the vigour of a Roman arm? Of Cato's virtues-But I'll try once more Who like our active African instructs (For ev'ry instant I expect bim here), The fiery sleed, and trains him to his hand ? If yet I can subdue those stubborn principles Or guides in troops th' embattled elephant Of faith and bonour, and I know not what, Laden with war? 'These, these are arts, my That have corrupted his Numidian temper,

prince, And struck th' infection into all his soul. In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome.

Sem. Be sure to press upon him ev'ry motive. Juba. These all are virtues of a meaner rank: Juba's surrender, since his father's death, Perfections that are plac'd in bones and nerves. Would give up Afric into Caesar's hands, A Roman soul is bent on higher views. And make himn lord of half the burning zone. To make man mild, and sociable to man;

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say your love.

upon him!

To cultivate the wild, licentious savage,

Juba. Alas! thy story melts away my soul! And break our fierce barbarians into men. That best of fathers! how shall I discharge Turn up thy eyes to Cato;

The gratitude and duty that I owe him? There may'st thou see to what a godlike height Syph. By laying up his counsels in your The Roman virtues lift up mortal man.

heart. While good, and just, and anxious for his friends, Juba. His counsels bade me yield to thy Jle's still severely bent against himself;

direction. And when his fortune sets before bim all Syph. Alas! my prince, I'd guide you to The pomps and pleasures that his soul can wish,

your safety. His rigid virtue will accept of none.

Juba. I do believe thou wouldst; but tell Syph. Believe me, prince, there's not an

me how. African

Syph. Fly from the fate that follows CaeThat traverses our vast Numidian deserts

sar's foes. In quest of prey, and lives upon his bow, Juba. My father scorn'd to do it. But better practises those boasted virtues. Syph. And therefore died. Coarse are his meals, the fortune of the chase; Juba. Better to die ten thousand thousand Amidst the running stream he slakes his thirst;

deaths, Toils all the day, and at th' approach of night, Than wound my honour. On the first friendly bank he throws him down, Syph. Rather Or rests his head upon a rock till morn; Juba. Syphas, I've promis'd to preserve my Then rises fresh, pursues his wonted game;

temper. And if the following day he chance to find Why wilt thou urge me to confess a flame A new repast, or an untasted spring, I long hare stifled, and would fain conceal? Blesses his stars, and thinks it luxury.

Syph. Believe me, prince, though hard to Juba. Thy prejudices, Syphax, won't discern

conquer love, \Vhat virtues grow from ignorance and choice, 'Tis easy to divert and break its forcc. Nor how the hero differs from the brute. Absence might cure it, or a second mistress Where shall we find the man that bears af- Light up another flame, and put out this. fliction,

The glowing dames of Zama's royal court Great and majestic in his griefs, like Cato? Have faces flush'd with more exalted charms; llow does he rise against a load of woes,


you with these, my prince, you'd soon And thank the gods that threw the weight


The pale, unripen'd beauties of the north. Syph. 'Tis pride, rank pride, and haughti Juba. 'Tis not a set of features, or complexion, ness of soul;

The tincture of a skin, that I admire: I think the Romans call it stoicism.

Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover, llad not your royal father thought so highly Fades in his eye, and palls


the sense. Of Roman virtue, and of Cato's cause, The virtuous Marcia tow'rs above her sex: He had not fall'n by a slave's hand inglorious; True, she is fair, (oh, how divinely fair!) Nor would his slaughter'd armies now have lain But still the lovely maid improves her charms On Afric's sands, disfigurd with their wounds, With inward greatness, unaffected wisdom, To gorge the wolves and vultures of Numidia. And sanctity of manners; Cato's soul Juba. Why dost thou call my sorrows up Shines out in ev'ry, thing she acts or speaks, afresh?

Wbile winning mildness and attractive smiles My father's name brings tears into my eyes. Dwell in her looks, and with becoming grace, Syph. Oh, that you'd profit by your father's Soften the rigour of her father's virtue. ills!

Syph. How does your tongue grow wanton Jubu. What wouldst thou have me do ?

in her praise! Syph. Abandon Cato.

But, on my knees, I beg you would considerJuba. Syphax, I should be more than twice Juba. Ha! Syphax, is'i not she?-She moves an orphan,


way; By such a loss.

And with her Lucia, Lucius's fair daughter. Syph. Ay, there's the tie that binds you! My heart beats thick-1 pr’ythee, Syphax, leave Yon long to call him father. Marcia's charms Work in your bearl unseen, and plead for Cato. Syph. Ten thousand curses fasten on them No wonder you are deaf to all I say.

both! Juba. Syphax, your zeal becomes impor- Now will the woman, with a single glance, tunate;

Undo what I've been lab'ring all this wbile. I've hitherto permitted it to rare,

[E.cit. And talk at large; but learn to keep it in,

Enter MARCIA and Lucia. Lest it should take more freedom than I'll give it. Juba. Hail, charming maid! how does thy Syph. Sir, your great father never us’d

beauty smooth

The face, of war, and make ev'n horror smile! Alas, he's dead! but can you e'er forget At sight of thee my heart shakes off its sorrows; The tender sorrows,

I feel a dawn of joy break in upon me, And repeated blessings,

And for awhile forget th' approach of Caesar. Which you drew from him in your last fare Marcia. I should be griev'd, young prince, well ?

to think my presence The good old king, al parting, wrung my hand Unbent your thoughts, and slackend them (llis eyes brimful of tears), then, sighing, cry'd,

to arms, Pr'ythee be careful of my son!– His grief Wbile, warm with slaughter, our victorious soe Swelld up so high, he could not utter more. Threatens aloud, and calls you to the field.


me thus.



Juba. Oh, Marcia, let me hope thy kind | As if he mourn'd his rival's ill success; concerns

Then bids me hide the motions of my heart, And gentle wishes follow me to battle! Nor show which way it turns. So much he fears The thought will gire new vigour to my arm, The sad effect that it will have on Marcus. And strength and weight to my descending Was ever virgin love distress'd like mine. sword,

Marcia. Let us not, Lucia, aggravate our And drive it in a tempest on the foe. Naruia. My pray'rs and wishes always shall But to the gods submit th’event of things. attend

Our lives, discolour'd with our present woes, The friends of Rome, the glorious cause of virtue, May still grow bright, and smile with happier Lad men approv'd of by the gods and Cato.

bours. Juta. Thai Juba may deserve thy pious cares, II gaze for ever on thy godlike father,

So the pure, limpid stream, when foul with

stains Transplanting, one by one, into my life,

Of rushing torrents, and descending rains, His bright perfections, till í sbine like him. Marria. My father never, at a time like this, Till, by degrees, the floating mirror shines,

Works itself clear, and, as it runs, refines, Would lay oui bis great soul in words, and waste Reflecis each flow'r that on the border grows, Surb precious moments.

And a new heav'n in its fair bosom shows. Juba. Thy reproofs are just,

[Ereunt. Thou virtuous maid; I'll hasten to my troops,

ACT II. Ind fre their languid souls with Cato's virtue. leer I lead them to the field, when all

Scene I.The Senate-house. The war shall stand rang'd in its just array, Flourish. SEMPRONIUS, Lucius, and Senaind dreadtul pomp, then will I think on thee.

tors discovered. Oh, losely maid! then will I think on thee ; Sem. Rome still survives in this assembled And in the shock of charging bosts, remember What glorious deeds should grace the man, Let us remember we are Calo's friends, who hopes

And act like men who claim that glorious For Varcia's lose.



[Trumpets. Lucia. Marcia, you're loo severe:

Luc, Hark! be comes. llow could you chide the young, good-natur'd prince,

Trumpets. Enter Caro, PORTIUS, and MARCUS. And drive bim from you with so stern an air; Cato. Fathers, we once again are met in A princs that loves, and dotes on you to death?

council; Marcia. How, Lucia! wouldst thou have me Caesar's approach has summond us together,

And Rome attends her fate from our resolves. lo pleasing dreams, and lose myself in love, How shall we treat this bold, aspiring man? When ex'rt moment Cato's life's at stake? Success still follows him, and backs his crimes; Lucia. Why have I not this constancy of Pharsalia gave him Rome, Egypt has since mind,

Receiv'd his yoke, and the whole Nile is CaeWho have so many griefs to try its force ?

sar's. Sure, nature formd me of her softest mould, Why should I mention Juba's overthrow, Enkrebled all my soul with tender passions, And Scipio's death? Numidia's burning sands And sunk me ei'n below my own weak sex: Still smoke with blood. 'Tis time we should Pity and love, by turns, oppress my heart.

Marcia. Lucia, disburden all thy cares on me, What course to take. Our foe advances on us, And let me share thy most retir'd distress. And envies us ev'n Libya's sultry deserts. Tell me, who raises up this conflict in thee? Fathers, pronounce your thoughts: are they Luxia. I need not blush to name them,

still fix'd wben I tell thee

To hold it out, and fight it to the last? Thry're Marcia's brothers, and the sons of Cato. Or are your hearts subdu'd at length, and Marcia. But tell me whose address thou fa

wrought, Four'st most?

By time and ill success, to a submission? I long 10 know, and yet I dread to hear it. Sempronius, speak. Lucia. Suppose 'were Portius, could you Sem. My voice is still for war.

blame my choice? - Gods! can a Roman senate long debate OL, Portius, thou hast stol'n away my soul! Which of the two to choose, slav'ry or death? Marcus is over warm; his fond complaints No; let us rise at once, gird on our swords, Have so much earnestness and passion in them, And, at the head of our remaining troops, I bear him with a secret kind of horror, Attack the foe, break through the thick array And treable at his vehemence of temper. of his throng'd legions, and charge home

Marria. Alas, poor youth! How will thy coldness raise

Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest, Tempests and storms in his afflicted bosom! May reach his heart, and free the world I dread the consequence.

from bondage. Luria. You seemn to plead

Rise, fathers, rise! 'lis Rome demands your help ; Against your brother Portius.

Rise and revenge her slaughter'd citizens, Marcig. Lucia, no;

Or share their fate;llad Portius been the unsuccessful lover, To battle! The same compassion would have fall’n on him. Great Pompey's shade complains that we are Lucia. Portius himself oft falls in tears be

slow; And Scipio's ghost walks unreveng'd amongst us.

siok away

upon him.

fore me,

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