ÆäÀÌÁö À̹ÌÁö
PDF
ePub

Por. Nor did he fall before

His Sword had pierc'd through the falfe Heart of Syphax. Yonder he lies. I faw 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 fure thou place

His Urn near mine.

Por. Long may they keep afunder!

Luc. O Cato, arm thy Soul with all its Patience; See where the Corps of thy dead Son approaches! The Citizens and Senators, alarm'd,

Have gather'd round it, and attend it weeping

Cato meeting the Corps.

Cato. Welcome, my Son! Here lay him down, my Friends,

Full in my Sight, that I may view at leisure

[ocr errors]

The bloody Coarse, 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 fits this Sadnels on your Brows, my Friends? I fhou'd have blufh'd if Gato's House had ftood

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 Nurfe of Heroes, the Delight of Gods,
That humbled the proud Tyrants of the Earth,
And fet the Nations free, Rome is no more.
Liberty! O Virtue! O my Country!

Jub. Behold that upright Man! Rome fills his Eyes

Afide.

With

[Afide,

With Tears, that flow'd not o'er his own dead Son.

Cato. Whate'er the Roman Virtue has fubdu'd,

The Sun's whole Course, the Day and Year, are Cafar's. For him the self devoted Decii dy'd,

The Fabii fell, and the great Scipio's conquer'd;

Ev'n Pompey fought for Cafar. Oh my Friends!
How is the Toil of Fate, the Work of Ages,
The Roman Empire fall'n! O curst Ambition!
Fall'n into Cafar's Hands! Our great Fore-fathers
Had left him nought to Conquer but his Country.
Fub. While Cato lives, Cafar will blush to see
Mankind enflaved, and be ashamed of Empire.
Cato. Cafar alhamed! Has not he seen Pharsalia !
Luc. Cato, 'tis Time thou, fave thy felf and us.
Cato. Lofe, not a Thought on me, I'm out of Danger.
Heav'n will not leave me in the Victor's Hand.
Cafar fhall never fay I conquer'd, Cato,

But Oh my Friends, your Safety, fills my. Heart
With anxious Thoughts: a thousand secret Terrors
Rife in my Soul: How shall I fave my Friends!
'Tis now, O Cafar, I begin to fear thee..

Luc. Cafar 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 it of him,
That I my felf, with Tears, request it, of him,
The Virtue of my Friends may pafs unpunish'd.
Juba,, my Heart is, troubled for thy Sake.
Should I advife thee to regain Numidia,
Or feek the Conqueror?

Fub. If I forfake thee

Whilst I have Life, may Heav'n 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.

[blocks in formation]

Portius, draw near! My Son! thou oft haft feen Thy Sire engaged in a corrupted State,

Wrestling with Vice and Faction: Now thou fee'st me
Spent, overpow'r'd, despairing of Success;

Let me advife thee to retreat betimes
To thy Paternal Seat, the Sabine Field,

Where the great Cenfor 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 thy felf to be Obfcurely good.

When Vice prevails, and impious Men bear Sway,
The Poft of Honour is a private Station.

Por. I hope, my Father does not recommend
A Life to Portius, that he fcorns himself.

Cato. Farewel, my Friends! if there be any of you
Who dare not truft the Victor's Clemency,
Know there are Ships prepared by my Command,
(Their Sails already op'ning to the Winds)
That fhall convey you to the wifht-for Port.
Is there aught elfe, my Friends, I can do for you?
The Conqueror draws near.

Once more Farewel!

If e'er we meet hereafter, we shall meet
In happier Climes, and on a fafer Shore,
Where Cafar never fhall 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 the Conquer'd. The firm Patriot there (Who made the Welfare of Mankind his Care) Tho' ftill, by Faction, Vice, and Fortune croft, Shall find the gen'rous Labour was not loft.

The End of the Fourth ACT.

ACT

ACT V. SCENE I.

Cato folus, fitting in a thoughtful Pofture: In his Hand Plato's Book on the Immortality of the Soul. A drawn Sword on the Table by him.

I

T must be fo--Plato, thou reason'st 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 Soul
Back on her felf, and startles at Destruction?
'Tis the Divinity that firs within us;

'Tis Heav'n it self, 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 Prospect lies before me;
But Shadows, Clouds, and Darkness, rest upon it.
Here will I hold. If there's a Pow'r 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 Cafar.
I'm weary of Conjectures--- This muft end 'em.

[Laying his Hand on 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 fhall never die. The Soul, fecur'd in her Existence, (miles At the drawn Dagger, and defies its Point.

D 3

The

The Stars fhall fade away, the Sun himself
Grow dim with Age, and Nature fink in Years,
But thou shalt flourish in immortal Youth,
Unhurt amidst the War of Elements,

The Wrecks of Matter, and the. Crush of Worlds.
What means this Heaviness that hangs upon me?:
This Lethargy that creeps through all my Senfes?
Nature opprefs'd, and harafs'd out with Care,
Sinks down to Reft. 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 Offring fit for Heav'n. Let Guilt or Fear
Difturb Man's Reft: Cato knows neither of 'em,
Indiffrent in his Choice to fleep or die..

SCENE II.

Cato, Portius.

Cato. But hah! how's this, my Son? Why this Intrufion? Were not my Orders that I would be private?

Why am I disobey'd?

Por. Alas, my Father!

What means this Sword? this Inftrument of Death?:

Let me convey it hence!

Cato. Rafh Youth, forbear!

Por. Olet the Pray'rs, th’Intreaties of your Friends,
Their Tears, their common Danger wreft it from you.
Cato: Wou'dft thou betray me? Wou'dft thou give me up
A Slave, a. Captive, into-Cafar's Hands?

Retire, and learn Obedience to a Father,
Or know, young Man !-----

Por. Look not thus fternly on me;
You know I'd rather die than disobey you.
Cato. 'Tis well! again I'm Master of my
Now, Cafar, let thy Troops befet our Gates,

felf.

And

« ÀÌÀü°è¼Ó »