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. 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 The bloody Coarse, and count those glorious Wounds. -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 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! But Oh my Friends, your Safety, fills my. Heart Luc. Cafar has Mercy, if we ask it of him. Fub. If I forfake thee Whilst I have Life, may Heav'n abandon Juba! 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 Let me advife thee to retreat betimes Where the great Cenfor toil'd with his own Hands, There live retired, pray for the Peace of Rome, When Vice prevails, and impious Men bear Sway, Por. I hope, my Father does not recommend Cato. Farewel, my Friends! if there be any of you Once more Farewel! If e'er we meet hereafter, we shall meet [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!--- This longing after Immortality? Or whence this fecret Dread, and inward Of falling into Nought? Why fhrinks the Soul 'Tis Heav'n it self, that points out an Hereafter, Eternity! thou pleafing, dreadful, Thought! Through what new Scenes and Changes must we pass! Through all her Works) He must delight in Virtue; But when! or where!-- This World was made for Cafar. [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 The Wrecks of Matter, and the. Crush of Worlds. 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, Retire, and learn Obedience to a Father, Por. Look not thus fternly on me; felf. And |