When vice prevails, and impious men bear sway, Por. I hope my father does not recommend Cato. Farewell, my friends! If there be any of you Who dare not trust the victor's clemency, Know there are ships prepar'd by my command (Their sails already op'ning to the winds), That shall convey you to the wish'd-for port. Is there aught else, my friends, I can do for you? The conqueror draws near. Once more farewell! If e'er we meet hereafter, we shall meet In happier climes, and on a safer shore, Where Cæsar never shall approach us more. [Pointing to his dead son. There, the brave youth, with love of virtue fir'd, Who greatly in his country's cause expir'd, Shall know he conquer'd. The firm partiot there, Who made the welfare of mankind his care, Though still by faction, vice, and fortune crost, Shall find the gen'rous labour was not lost. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE 1. CATO solus, sitting in a thoughtful posture: in his hand Plato's book on the Immortality of the Soul. A drawn sword on the table by him. Ir must be so-Plato, thou reason'st well- This longing after immortality? Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, 'Tis Heav'n itself that points out an hereafter, Eternity! thou pleasing, 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 Cæsar. I'm weary of conjectures-this must end 'em. [Laying his hand on his sword. Thus am I doubly arm'd: my death and life, The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. What means this heaviness that hangs upon me? Enter PORTIUS. But, hah! who's this, my son! Why this intrusion? Why am I disobey'd? Por. Alas, my father! What means this sword, this instrument of death? Cato. Rash youth, forbear! Por. Oh, let the pray'rs, th' intreaties of your friends, Their tears, their common danger, wrest it from you! Cato. Wouldst thou betray me? Wouldst thou give me up A slave, a captive into Cæsar's hands? Retire, and learn obedience to a father, Por. Look not thus sternly on me ; You know I'd rather die than disobey you. Cato. 'Tis well! again I'm master of myself. Now, Cæsar, let thy troops beset our gates, 1 ་ And bar each avenue; thy gath❜ring fleets Por. Oh, sir! forgive your son, Oh, my father! Whose grief hangs heavy on him. [Embracing him Weep not, my son, all will be well again; The righteous gods, whom I have sought to please, Will succour Cato, and preserve his children. Por. Your words give comfort to my drooping heart, Cato. Portius, thou may'st rely upon my conduct: Thy father will not act what misbecomes him. But go, my son, and see if aught be wanting Among thy father's friends; see them embark'd, And tell me if the winds and seas befriend them. My soul is quite weigh'd down with care, and asks The soft refreshment of a moment's sleep. Por. My thoughts are more at ease, my heart re❤ [Exit Cato. vives. Enter MARCIA. Oh, Marcia! Oh, my sister, still there's hope! So needful to us all and to his country. He is retir'd to rest, and seems to cherish Thoughts full of peace. He has dispatch'd me hence And studious for the safety of his friends. Marcia, take care that none disturb his slumbers. [Ex. With easy dreams; remember all his virtues, Enter LUCIA. Luc. Where is your father, Marcia, where is Cato? Lucia, I feel a gentle dawning hope Rise in my soul. We shall be happy still. Luc. Alas! I tremble when I think on Cato! In every view, in every thought, I tremble! He knows not how to wink at human frailty, Mar. Though stern and awful to the foes of Rome, Luc. 'Tis his consent alone can make us bless'd, Marcia, we both are equally involv'd |