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: In high ambition and a thirst of greatness; Should he 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 beats in every pulse: Ye gods, what havoc does ambition make I feel it here: my resolution melts- Among your works! Por. Behold young Juba, the Numidian
Marc. Thy steady temper, Portius, Can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud, and Caesar, In the calm lights of mild philosophy; I'm tortur'd, e'en to madness, when I think On the proud victor: ev'ry time he's nam'd Pharsalia rises to my view!-I see Th' insulting tyrant, prancing o'er the field, Strew'd with Rome's citizens, and drench'd in slaughter;
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; But still the smother'd fondness burns within him:
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, What, 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:
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. By heav'n, such virtues, join'd with such success, Distracts 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 heav'n 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.
Marc. These are suggestions of a mind at
Oh, Portius, didst thou taste but half the griefs That wring my soul, thou couldst not talk thus coldly.
Marc. Portius, no more! your words leave stings behind them. 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 honour? Por. Oh, Marcus! did I know the way to
Good morrow, Portius; let us once embrace, Once more embrace, while yet we both are free. To-morrow, should we thus express our friendship,
Each might receive a slave into his arms. This sun, perhaps, this morning sun's the last, That e'er shall rise on Roman liberty.
Por. My father has this morning call'd to- gether
To this poor hall, his little Roman senate (The leavings of Pharsalia), to consult If he can yet oppose the mighty torrent That bears down Rome and all her gods before it, Or must at length give up the world to Caesar. Sem. Not all the pomp and majesty of Rome Can raise her senate more than Cato's presence.
Passion unpitied, and successless love, Plant daggers in my heart, and aggravate 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, And make ev'n Caesar tremble at the head
But I must hide it, for I know thy temper. Of armies flush'd with conquest. Oh, my
Could I but call that wondrous man 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
[Aside. 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. To Marcia, whilst her father's life's in danger? Marc. Alas, the counsel which I cannot take, Thou might'st as well court the pale, tremInstead of healing, but upbraids my weakness.
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; The father's merit sets thee up to view, And shows 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
Syph. But is it true, Sempronius, that your
Is call'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 Caesar, 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, in fury! Syph. In troth, thou'rt able to instruct grey hairs,
On this important hour-I'll straight away, And while the fathers of the senate meet In close debate, to weigh th' events of war, Пanimate the soldiers' drooping courage With love of freedom, and contempt of life; I thunder 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 not in mortals to command success, on Juba. But we'll do more, Sempronius; we'll deserve Meanwhile I'll hasten to my Roman soldiers, it. [Exit. Inflame the mutiny, and, underhand, Sem. Curse on the stripling! how he apes Blow up their discontents, till they break out
Ambitiously sententious-But I wonder Old Syphax comes not, his Numidian genius Is well dispos'd to mischief, were he prompt And eager on it; but he must be spurr'd, And every 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. Caesar's favour, That show'rs down greatness on his friends, will raise me
To Rome's first honours. If I give up Cato, I claim, in my reward, his captive daughter. But Syphax comes-
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 honour, and I know not what, That have corrupted his Numidian temper, And struck th' 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 Caesar's hands, And make him lord of half the burning zone.
Unlook'd for, and discharge themselves on Cato. Remember, Syphax, we must work in haste; Oh, think what anxious moments pass between The birth of plots, and their last fatal periods! Oh, '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 every thought, till the concluding stroke Determines all, and closes our design. [Exit. Syph. I'll try if yet I can reduce to reason This headstrong youth, and make him spurn at Cato.
The time is short; Caesar comes rushing on
But hold! young Juba sees me, and approaches! Enter JUBA.
Juba. Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone. I have observ'd of late thy looks are fall'n, O'ercast with gloomy cares and discontent; Then tell me, Syphax, I conjure thee, tell me, What are the thoughts that knit thy brow in frowns,
And turn thine eye thus coldly on thy prince? Syph. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my thoughts,
Or carry smiles and sunshine in my face, When discontent sits heavy at my heart; I have not yet so much the Roman in me. Juba. Why dost thou cast out such un- gen'rous terms Against the lords and sov'reigns of the world?
Dost thou not see mankind fall down before them,
And own the force of their superior virtue? Syph. Gods! where's the worth that sets these people up
Above your 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 vigour of a Roman arm? Who like our active African instructs The fiery steed, and trains him to his hand? Or guides in troops th' embattled elephant Laden with war? These, these are arts, my prince,
In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome. Juba. These all are virtues of a meaner rank: Perfections that are plac'd in bones and nerves. A Roman soul is bent on higher views. To make man mild, and sociable to man;
To cultivate the wild, licentious savage, And break our fierce barbarians into men. Turn up thy eyes to Cato;
There may'st 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; And when his fortune sets before him all The pomps and pleasures that his soul can wish, His rigid virtue will accept of none.
Syph. Believe me, prince, there's not an African
That traverses our vast Numidian deserts In quest of prey, and lives upon his bow, But better practises those 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 th' 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.
Juba. Thy prejudices, Syphax, won't discern What virtues grow from ignorance and choice, Nor how the hero differs from the brute. Where shall we find the man that bears af fliction,
Great and majestic in his griefs, like Cato? How does he rise against a load of woes, And thank the gods that threw the weight upon him!
Syph. 'Tis pride, rank pride, and haughti- ness of soul;
Why wilt thou urge me to confess a flame long have stifled, and would fain conceal? Syph. Believe me, prince, though hard to conquer love,
'Tis easy 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 flush'd with more exalted charms; Were you with these, my prince, you'd soon forget
The pale, unripen'd beauties of the north.
Juba. 'Tis not a set of features, or complexion, The tincture of a skin, that I admire: I think the Romans call it stoicism. Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover, Hlad not your royal father thought so highly Fades in his eye, and palls upon 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, disfigur'd 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 afresh?
My father's name brings tears into my eyes. Syph. Oh, that you'd profit by your father's ills!
Juba. What wouldst thou have me do? Syph. Abandon Cato.
Juba. Syphax, I should be more than twice an orphan,
Syph. 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.
Shines out in ev'ry thing she acts or speaks, While winning mildness and attractive smiles Dwell in her looks, and with becoming grace, Soften the rigour of her father's virtue.
Syph. How does your tongue grow wanton in her praise!
But, on my knees, I beg you would consider- Juba. Ha! 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
Syph. Ten thousand curses fasten on them both!
Juba. Syphax, your zeal becomes impor-Now will the woman, with a single glance, Undo what I've been lab'ring all this while.
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. Syph. Sir, your great father never us'd me thus.
Alas, he's dead! but can you e'er forget The tender sorrows, And repeated blessings, Which you drew from him in your last fare- well?
Enter MARCIA and LUCIA. Juba. Hail, charming maid! how does thy beauty smooth
The face of war, and make ev'n horror smile! At sight of thee my heart shakes off its sorrows; I feel a dawn of joy break in upon me, And for awhile forget th' approach of Caesar. Marcia. I should be griev'd, young prince, to think my presence Unbent your thoughts, and slacken'd them'
The good old king, at parting, wrung my hand (His eyes brimful of tears), then, sighing, cry'd, Pr'ythee be careful of my son!-His grief While, warm with slaughter, our victorious foe Swell'd up so high, he could not utter more. Threatens aloud, and calls you to the field.
Juba. Oh, Marcia, let me hope thy kind | As if he mourn'd his rival's ill success;
And gentle wishes follow me to battle!
Then bids me hide the motions of my heart, Nor show which way it turns. So much he fears The thought will give 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.
And drive it in a tempest on the foe. Marcia. My pray'rs and wishes always shall attend
The friends of Rome, the glorious cause of virtue, And men approv'd of by the gods and Cato. Juba. That Juba may deserve thy pious cares, gaze for ever on thy godlike father, Transplanting, one by one, into my life, His bright perfections, till I shine like him.
Marcia. My father never, at a time like this,
Would lay out his great soul in words, and waste Such precious moments.
Juba. Thy reproofs are just,
Marcia. Let us not, Lucia, aggravate our
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 heav'n in its fair bosom shows. [Exeunt.
SCENE I.-The Senate-house. Flourish. SEMPRONIUS, LUCIUS, and Senators discovered.
Thou virtuous maid; I'll hasten to my troops, And fire their languid souls with Cato's virtue. If e'er I lead them to the field, when all The war shall stand rang'd in its just array, And dreadial pomp, then will I think on thee. Oh, lovely maid! then will I think on thee; And in the shock of charging hosts, remember What glorious deeds should grace the man, Let us remember we are Cato's friends, And act like men who claim that glorious title. [Trumpets. Luc. Hark! he comes.
Lucia. Marcia, you're too severe : How could you chide the young, good-natur'd prince,
And drive him from you with so stern an air; A prince that loves, and dotes on you to death? Marcia. How, Lucia! wouldst thou have me
In pleasing dreams, and lose myself in love, When ev'ry moment Cato's life's at stake? Lucia. Why have I not 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 ev'n below my own weak sex: Pay and love, by turns, oppress my heart.
Marcia. Lucia, disburden all thy cares on me, And let me share thy most retir'd distress. Tell me, who raises up this conflict in thee? Lucia. I need not blush to name them, when I tell thee They're Marcia's brothers, and the sons of Cato. Marcia. But tell me whose address thou fa- vour'st most?
I long to know, and yet I dread to hear it. Lucia. Suppose 'twere Portius, could you blame my choice?
Oh, Portius, thou hast stol'n away my soul! 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. Marria. Alas, poor youth!
How will thy coldness raise
Sem. Rome still survives in this assembled senate.
What course to take. Our foe advances on us, And envies us ev'n 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, and wrought,
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,
Tempests and storms in his afflicted bosom! May reach his heart, and free the world
I dread the consequence. Lucia. You seem to plead
Against your brother Portius. Marcia. Lucia, no;
Hlad Portius been the unsuccessful lover, The same compassion would have fall'n on him. Lucia. Portius himself oft falls in tears be-
Rise, fathers, rise! 'tis Rome demands your help; Rise and revenge her slaughter'd citizens, Or share their fate;-
Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow;
And Scipio's ghost walks unreveng'd amongst us.
Disdains a life which he has power to offer. Dec. Rome and her senators submit to Caesar; Her gen'rals and her consuls are no more, Who check'd his conquests, and deny'd his triumphs.
Why will not Cato be this Caesar's friend? Cato. These very reasons thou hast urg'd forbid it.
Dec. Caesar is well acquainted with your virtues,
And therefore sets this value on your life. Let him but know the price of Cato's friendship, And name your terms.
Cato. Bid him disband his legions, Restore the commonwealth to liberty, Submit his actions to the public censure,
That drew our swords, now wrests them And stand the judgment of a Roman senate.
And bids us not delight in Roman blood, Unprofitably shed. What men could do, Is done already: heav'n and earth will wit-
If Rome must fall, that we are innocent. Cato. Let us appear nor rash nor diffident; Immod'rate valour swells into a fault; And fear, admitted into public councils, Betrays like treason. Let us shun them both. Fathers, I cannot see that our affairs Are grown thus desp'rate: we have bulwarks round us;
Within our walls are troops inur'd to toil In Afric's heat, and season'd to the sun; Numidia's spacious kingdom lies behind Ready to rise at its young prince's call. While there is hope, do not distrust the gods; But wait at least till Caesar's near approach Force us to yield. Twill never be too late To sue for chains, and own a conqueror. Why should Rome fall a moment ere her time?
No, let us draw her term of freedom out In its full length, and spin it to the last, So shall we gain still one day's liberty: Ant let me perish, but, in Cato's judgment, A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty, Is worth a whole eternity in bondage. Enter JUNIUS.
Jun. Fathers, e'en now a herald is arriv'd From Caesar's 'camp, and with him comes old Decius,
'Tis Caesar's sword has made Rome's senate little, And thinn'd its ranks. Alas! thy dazzled eye Beholds this man in a false, glaring light, Which conquest and success have thrown upon him;
Didst thou but view him right, thou'dst see him black
With murder, treason, sacrilege, and crimes, That strike my soul with horror but to name them.
I know thou look'st on me as on a wretch Beset with ills, and cover'd with misfortunes; But, by the gods I swear, millions of worlds Should never buy me to be like that Caesar. Dec. Does Cato send this answer back to Caesar,
The Roman knight: he carries in his looks Impatience, and demands to speak with Cato. Cato. By your permission, fathers-bid him For all his gen'rous cares and proffer'd friend- [Exit Junius.
Decius was once my friend, but other prospects Have loos'd those ties, and bound him fast to
His message may determine our resolves. Enter DECIUS.
Dec. Caesar sends health to Cato- Cato. Could he send it To Cato's slaughter'd friends, it would be wel-
Are not your orders to address the senate? Dec. My business is with Cato; Caesar sees The straits to which you're driv'n; and, as he knows
Cato's high worth, is anxious for your life. Cato. My life is grafted on the fate of Rome. Would he save Cato, bid him spare his country. Tell your dictator this; and tell him, Cato
Cato. His cares for me are insolent and vain:
Presumptuous man! the gods take care of Cato. Would Caesar show the greatness of his soul, Bid him employ his care for these my friends, And make good use of his ill-gotten pow'r, By shelt'ring men much better than himself. Dec. Your high, unconquer'd heart makes you forget
You are a man. You rush on your destruction. But I have done. When I relate hereafter The tale of this unhappy embassy, All Rome will be in tears. [Exit, attended. Sem. Cato, we thank thee.
The mighty genius of immortal Rome Speaks in thy voice; thy soul breathes liberty. Caesar will shrink to hear the words thou utter'st, And shudder in the midst of all his conquests.
« 이전계속 » |