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any more about it; you had better give it up, Sir C. Now then, I tell you once more, you you had indeed.

are a vile woman. Enter FOOTMAN.

Lady R. Don't make me laugh again, Sir Charles.

(Walks and sings. Foot. Your honour's cap and slippers. Sir C. Hell and the devil! Will you sit

Sir C. Lay down my cap, and here take down quietly and let me convince you? these shoes off. (He takes them off, and leaves Lady R. I don't choose to hear any more them at a distance.] Indeed, my Lady Rackett, about it. you make me ready to expire with laughing. Sir C. Why then may I perish if evera Ha, ha!

block head, an idiot, I was to marry. (Walks Lady R. You may laugh, but I am right not about.] Such provoking impertinence! She sits withstanding.

down.) Damnation ! I am so clear in the thing. Sir C. How can you say so?

She is not worth my notice. (Sits down, turns Ludy R. How can you say otherwise ? his buck, and looks uneasy.) I'll take no more

Sir C. Well, now mind me, Lady Rackett, pains about it. (Pauses for some time, then looks we can now talk of this in good humour; we ut her.] Is it not strange, that you wont lear can discuss it coolly.

me? Lady R. So we can, and it is for that reason Lady R. Sir, I am very ready to hear you. I venture to speak to you. Are these the Sir C. Very well then, very well; you reruffes I bought for you?

member how the game stood. Sir C. They are, my dear.

[Draws his chair near her. Lady R. They are very pretty. But, in- Lady R. I wish you would untie my peckdeed, you played the card wrong:

lace, it hurts me. Sir C. No, no, listen to me; the affair was Sir C. Why can't you listen ? thus: Mr. Jenkins having never a club left- Lady R. I tell you it hurts me terribly. Lady R. Mr. Jenkins finessed the club. Sir C. Death and confusion! [Moves his Sir C. (Peevishly.) How can you?

chair away.)-There is no bearing this. (Lonks Ludy R. And trumps being all out- at her angrily.] It wont take a moment, if you Sir C. And we playing for the odd trick- will but listen. (Moves towards her.) Can't Lady R. Jf you had minded your game- you see, that, by forcing the adversary's hand, Sir C. And the club being the best- Mr. Jenkins would be obliged toLady R. If you had led your diamond- Lady R. (Moving her chuir uway from him.]

Sir C. Mr. Jepkins would, of course, put on Mr. Jenkins had the best club, and never a a spade.

diamond left. Lady R. And so the odd trick was sure. Sir C. (Rising.) Distraction! Bedlam is not Sir C. Damnation will you let me speak? so mad. "Be as wrong as you please, Madam, Lady R. Very well, Sir, iy out again. May I never hold four by honours, may I lose Sir C. Look here now; here is a pack of every thing I play for, may fortune eternally cards.-Now you shall be convinced.

forsake me, it I endeavour to set you right Lady R. You may talk till to-morrow, I again.

[Exit. know I am right.

(Walks about. Sir C. Why then, by all that's perverse, you Enter Mr. and Mrs. DRUGGET, WOODLEY, and are the most beadstrong- -Can't you look

NANCY. here? here are the very cards.

Mrs. D. Gracious! what's the matter pow? Ludy R. Go on; you'll find it out at last.

Lady R. Such another man does not exist. Sir C. Will you hold your tongue, or not?! I did not say a word to the gentleman, and yet will you let me show you?-Po! it is all non- he has been raving about the room, and stormsense. (Puts up the cards.] Come, let us go to ing like a whirlwind. bed. (Going;] Only stay one moment. (Tukes Drug. And about a club again! I heard it out the cards.] Now command yourself, and all.-Come hither, Nancy; Mr. Woodley, she you shall have demonstration.

is yours for life. Lady R. It does not signify, Sir. Your head Mrs. D. My dear, how can you be so paswill be clearer in the morning. I choose to go sionate? to bed.

Drug. It shall be so. Take her for life, Mr. Sir C. Stay and hear me, can't you?

Woodley. Lady R. No; my head aches. I am tired of Wood. My whole life shall be devoted to the subject.

her happiness. Sir C. Why then damn the cards. There, Drug. Mr. Woodley, I recommend my girl and there, and there. [Throuing them about the to your care. I sball have nothing now to room.) You may go to bed by yourself. Con think of, but my greens, and my images, and fusion seize me if I stay here to be tormented my shrubbery. - Though, mercy on all

married a moment longer. (Putting on his shoes. folks, say 1; for these wranglings are, I am Lady R. Take your own way, Sir.

afraid, what they must all come to. (Exeunt.




Envy itself is dumb, in wonder lost,

And factions strive who shall applaud him most. POPE, writing to Sir W. Trumbull, has well applied these words of our author, (on some other occasion,) to this tragedy, in allusion to the endeavours of both whigs and tories of that period, to make it a party-play. So many presents were made by both parties to Mr. Booth, (who played Cato,) that Dr. Garth is recorded to have said, “ "T'is probable that Cato may have something to live on after he dies."-It is certain, however, that this excellent dramatic poem derived, from empassioned politics, much of the enthusiastic admiration which graced its earlier performance. The deficiency of dramatic business is scarcely balanced by the poetical beauties of the diction, and the noble sentiments of liberty that adorn it throughout. The characters, though strongly depicted, fail to excite either solicitude or affection ; " But, (as the great moralist observes,) they are made the vehicles of such sentiments and such expression, that there is scarcely a scene in the play which the reader does not wish to impress on his memory."-Johnson.

In our own day, the virtuous and dignified Roman has been so transcendantly pourtrayed by Mr. Kemble, that Cato and his little senate have never failed to interest the public and reward the managers.

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In pitying love we but our weakness show,

And wild ambition well deserves its woe. WRITTEN BY MR. POPE.

Here tears shall flow from a more gen'rous To wake the soul by tender strokes of art,

cause, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart; Such tears as patriots shed for dying laws: To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold, He bids your breasts with antient ardour rise, Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold: And calls forth Roman drops from British eyes. For this, the tragic muse first trod the stage, Virtue confess'd, in human shape he draws, Commanding tears to stream through every What Plato thought, and godlike Cato was: age;

No common object to your sight displays, Tyrants no more their savage nature kept, But what with pleasure Heaven itself surAnd foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept.


(fate, Our author shuns by vulgar springs to move

A brave man struggling in the storms of The hero's glory or the virgin's love; And greatly falling in a falling state!

us :


While Cato gives his little Senate laws, That courts the yoke and bows the neck to
What bosom beats not in his country's cause? Pent up io Utica, he vainly forms [Cæsar?
Who sees him act, but envies every deed ? A poor epitome of Roman greatness,
Who hears him groan, and does not wish to And, cover'd with Numidian guards, directs
bleed ?

A feeble army and an empty senale ;
E'en when proud Cæsar, 'midst triumphal cars, Remnants of mighty battles fought in vain.
The spoils of nations, and the pomp of wars, By Heaven, such virtues, join'd with such suc-
Ignobly vain, and impotently great,

cess, Show'd Rome her Cato's figure drawn in state. Distract my very soul ! our father's fortune As her dead father's rev'rend image past,

Would almost tempt us to renounce his preThe pomp was darken'd and the day o'ercast,

cepts. The iriumph ceas'd-tears gush'd from every Por. Remember what our father oft has told

eye, The world's great victor pass' unheeded by: The ways of Heaven are dark and intricate ; Her last good man dejected Rome ador’d, Puzzled in mazes, and perplex'd with errors, And honour'd Cæsar's, less than Cato's sword. Our understanding traces them in vain,

Britons, attend; be worth like this approv'd, Lost and bewilder'd in the fruitless search ; And show you have the virtue to be mov'd. Nor sees with how much art the windings run, With honest scorn the first fam'd Cato view'd Nor where the regular confusion ends. Rome learning arts from Greece, whom she Marc. These are suggestions of a mind at

subdu'd. Our scenes precariously subsist too long Oh, Portius, didst thou taste but half the griefs On French translation and Italian song : That wring my soul, thou couldst not talk thus Dare to have sense yourselves; assert the coldly. stage ;

Passion unpitied, and successless love, Be justly warm’d with your own native rage : Plant daggers in my heart, and aggravate Such plays alone should please a British ear, My other griefs.-Were but my Lucia kindAs Cato's self had not disdain'd to bear. Por. Thou seest not that thy brother is thy


But I must bide it, for I know thy temper. ACT I.

(Aside. Now, Marcus, now thy virtue's on the proof, SCENE 1.-4 Hall.

Put 'forth thy utmost strength, work every Enter Portius and MARCUS.


And call up all thy father in thy soul : Por. The dawn is overcast, the morning To quell the tyrant Love, and guard thy heart lowers,

On this weak side, where most our nature And heavily in clouds brings on the day,

fails, The great, th' important day, big with the fate would be a conquest worthy Cato's son. Or Cato and of Rome;

-our father's death Marc. Alas, the counsel which I cannot take, Would fill up all the guilt of civil war, Instead of healing, but upbraids my weakness. And close the scene of blood. Already Love is not to be reason'd down, or lost Cæsar

(sees In high ambition and a thirst of greatness; Has ravag'd more than half the globe, and 'Tis second life, that grows into the soul, Mankind grown thin by his destructive sword: Warms every vein, and beats in every pulse : Should he go farther, numbers would be want. I feel it here : my resolation meltsing

Por. Behold young Juba, the Numidian To form new battles, and support his crimes.

prince, Ye gods, what havoc does ambition make With how much care he forms himself to glory, Among your works!

And breaks the fierceness of his native temper, Marc. Thy steady temper, Portius,

To copy out our father's bright example. Can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud, and Cæsar, He loves our sister Marcia, greatly loves her; In the calm lights of mild philosophy, His eyes, bis looks, his actions, all betray it; I'm tortur'd e'en to madness, when I think But still the smother'd fondness burns within On the proud victor: every time he's nam'd

him; Pharsalia rises to my view !- I see

When most it swells, and labours for a vent, Th’ insulting tyrant, prancing o'er the field The sense of honour, and desire of fame, Strew'd with Rome's citizens, and drench'd in Drive the big passion back into his heart. slaughter;

What, shall an African, sball Juba's heir, His horses' hoofs wet with patrician blood ! Reproach great Cato's son, and show the world Oh, Portius! is not there some chosen curse, A virtue wanting in a Roman soul ? Some hidden thunder, in the stores of Heaven, Marc. Portius, po more! your words leave Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man

stings behind them. Who owes his greatness to his country's ruin? Whene'er did Juba, or did Portius show Por. Believe me, Marcus, 'tis an impious A virtue that bad cast me at a distance, greatness,

And thrown me out in the pursuits of honour ? And mix'd with too much horror to be envied. Por. Oh, Marcus ! did I know the way to How does the lustre of our father's actions, Through the dark clouds of ills that cover him, Thy troubled heart, and mitigate thy pains, Break out, and burn with more triumphant Marcus, believe me, I could die to do it. brightness !

(him ; Marc. Thou best of brothers, and thou best His sufferings shine, and spread a glory round

of friends! Greatly unfortunate, he fights the cause Pardon a weak, distemper'd, soul, that swells Of honour, virtue, liberty, and Rome. With sudden gusts, and sinks as soon in calms, Murc. Who knows not this ? But what can The sport of passions. But Sempronius comes: Cato do

He must not find this softuess hanging on me. Against a world, a base, degen’rate world,




I've sounded my Numidians, man by man,

Apd find them ripe for a revolt: they all Sem. Conspiracies no sooner should be complain aloud of Cato's discipline, form a

And wait but the command to change their Than executed. What means Portius here?

master I like not that cold youth. I must dissemble, Sem. Believe me, Syphax, there's no time to And speak a language foreign to my heart.


[Aside. Even while we speak, our conqueror comes on, Good morrow, Portius ; let us once embrace, And gathers ground upon us every moment. Once more embrace, while yet we both are free. Alas! thou know'st not Cæsar's active soul, To-morrow, should we thus express our friend- Witb what a dreadful course he rushes on ship,

From war to war. In vain has nature form'd Each might receive a slave into his arms. Mountains and oceans to oppose his passage; This sun, perhaps, this

morning sun's the last, He bounds o'er all; That e'er sball rise un Romap liberty..

One day more Por. My father has this morning call'd to- Will set the victor thund'ring at our gates. getber

But, tell me, hast thou yet drawn o'er young To this poor hall, his little Roman senate,

Juba ? (The leavings of Pharsalia,) to consult That still would recommend thee more to Cæsar, If he can yet oppose the mighty torrent And challenge better terms. That bears down Rome and all her gods before Syph. Alas! he's lost! it,

He's lost, Sempronius; all his thoughts are full Or must at length give up the world to Cæsar. Of Cato's virtues—But I'll try once more

Sem. Not all the pomp and majesty of Rome (For every instant I expect him here,) Can raise her senate more than Cato's presence. If yet I can subdue those stubborn principles His virtues render our assembly awful, Of faith and honour, and I know not what, They strike with something like religious fear, That have corrupted his Numidian temper, And make even Cæsar tremble, at the head And struck th' infection into all his soul. Of armies Push'd with conquest. Oh, my Sem. Be sure to press upon him every motive. Portius !

Juba's surrender, since his father's death, Could I but call that wondrous man my father, Would give up Afric into Cæsar's hands, Would but thy sister Marcia be propitious And make him lord of half the burning zone. To thy friend's vows, I might be bless'd indeed! Syph. But is it true, Sempronius, that your Por. Alas, Sempronius! wouldst thou talk

senate of love

Is call's together? Gods! thou must be cautious; To Marcia, wbilst her father's life's in danger ? | Cato has piercing eyes, and will discern (art

. Thou might'st as well court the pale, tremb- Our frauds, unless they're cover'd thick with ling vestal,

Sem. Let me alone, good Syphax, I'll conceal When she beholds the holy flame expiring. My thoughts in passion ('tis the surest way ;)

Sem. The more I see the wonders of thy race, I'll bellow out for Rome, and for my country, The more I'm charni’d. Thou must take heed, And mouth at Cæsar, till I shake the senate. my Portius ;

Your cold hypocrisy's a stale device, The world has all its eyes on Cato's son; A worn-out trick: wouldst thou be thought in Thy father's merit sets thee up to view,

earnest, And shows thee in the fairest point of light, Clothe thy feiga'd zeal in rage, in fire, in fury! To inake thy virtues or thy faults conspicuous. Syph. In troth, thou’rt able to instruct gray Por. Well dost thou seem to check my ling'

hairs ring here

And teach the wily African deceit. On this important hour.- I'll straight away, Sem. Once more, be sure to try thy skill on And while the fathers of the senate ineet

Juba. In close debate, to weigh th' events of war, Meanwhile I'll hasten to my Roman soldiers, I'll animate the soldiers' drooping courage Inflame the mutiny, and, underhand, With love of freedom, and contempt of life; Blow

up. their discontents, till they break out I'll thunder in their ears their country's cause, Unlook'd for, and discharge themselves on And try to rouse up all that's Roman in them.

Cato. 'Tis not in mortals to command success, Remember, Syphax, we must work in haste; But we'll do more, Sempronius; we'll deserve Oh, think what anxious moments pass between it.

(Exit. The birth of plots, and their last fatal periods ! Sem. Curse on the stripling! how he apes his Oh, 'uis a dreadful interval of time, sire!

Fill'd up with horror all, and big with death! Ambitiously sententious.-But I wonder Destruction hangs on every word we speak, Old Syphax comes not; his Numidian genius On every thought, till the concluding stroke Is well dispos'd to mischief, were he prompt Determines all, and closes our design. [Exit. And eager on it; but he must be spurr'd, Syph. I'll try if yet I can reduce to reason And every moment quicken’d to the course. This headstrong youth, and make him spurn Cato has us'd me ill; he has refus'd

at Cato. His daughter Marcia to my ardent vows, The time is short; Cæsar comes rushing on Besides, bis baffled arms and ruin'd cause

les ! Are bars to my ambition. Cæsar's favour, But hold ! young Juba sees me, and approachThat showers down greatness on his friends, will raise me

Enter JUBA. To Rome's first honours. If I give up Cato, Juba. Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone, I claim, in my reward, his captive daughter. I have observ'd of late thy looks are fallen, But Syphax comes

O'ercast with gloomy cares and discontent; Enter SYPHAX.

Then tell me, Syphax, I conjure thee, tell me,

What are the thoughts that koit thy brow in Syph. Sempronius, all is ready;



And turn thine eye thus coldly on thy prince? To gorge the wolves and vultures of Numidia. Syph. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my Juba. Why dost thou call my sorrows up thoughts,

afresh ? Or carry smiles and sunshine in my face, My father's name brings tears into my eyes. When discontent sits heavy at my heart; Syph. Oh, that you'd profit by your father's I have not yet so much the Roman in me.

ills! Juba. Why dost thou cast out suchungen

Juba. What wouldst thou have me do ? erous terms

Syph. Abandon Cato. Against the lords and sov'reigns of the world? Juba. Syphax, I should be more than twice Dost thou not see mankind fall down before

an orphan, them,

By such a loss. And own the force of their superior virtue ? Syph. Ay, there's the tie that binds you! Syph, Gods! Where's the worth that sets You long to call him father. Marcia's charms these people up,

Work in your heart unseen, and plead for Cato. Above your own Numidia's tawny sons ?

No wonder you are deaf to all I say. Do they with tougher sinews bend the bow? Juba. Syphax, your zeal becomes importuOr flies the jav'lin swifter to its mark,

I've hitherto permitted it to rave, (nate ; Launch'd from the vigour of a Roman arm? And talk at large ; but learn to keep it in. Who like our active African instructs

Lest it should take more freedom than I'll The fiery steed, and trains him to his hand ?

give it. Or guides in troops th' embattled elephant, Syph. Sir, your great father never us'd me Laden with war? These, these, are arts, my

thus. prince,

Alas, he's dead! but can you e'er forget In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome.

The tender sorrows, Juba. These all are virtues of a meaner And repeated blessings,

{well? rank;

Which you drew from him in your last faréPerfections that are plac'd in bones and perves. The good old king, at parting, wrung my hand A Roman soul is bent on higher views,

(His eyes brim full of tears,) thed, sighing, To make man mild, and sociable to man;

cried, To cultivate the wild, licentious, savage,

Prythee, be careful of my son!-His grief And break our fierce barbarians into men, Swell’d up so high, he could not utter more. Turn up thy eyes to Cato;

Juba. Alas! thy story melts away my soul ! There may'st thou see to what a godlike That best of fathers ! how shall I discharge height

The gratitude and duty that I owe him? The Roman virtues lift up mortal man.

Syph. By laying up his counsels in your While good, and just, and anxious for his

heart. friends,

Juba. His counsels bade me yield to thy He's still severely bent against himself:

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

your safety. wish,

! Juba. I do believe thou wouldst : but tell His rigid virtue will accept of none.

me how. Syph. Believe me, prince, there's not an Syph. Fly from the fate that follows Cæsar's African

foes. That traverses our vast Numidian deserts Juba. My father scorn'd to do it. In quest of prey, and lives upon his bow, Syph. And therefore died. But better practises those boasted virtnes. Juba. Better to die ten thousand thousand Coarse are his meals, the fortune of the chase ; | Than wound my honour.

(deaths, Amidst the running streams he slakes his Syph. Rather say, your love. thirst;

Juba. Syphax, I've promis'd to preserve my Toils all the day, and at th' approach of night,

temper. On the first friendly bank he throws him Why wilt thou urge me to confess a flame down,

I long have stifled, and would fain conceal ? Or rests his head upon a rock till morn;

Syph. Believe me, prince, though hard to Then rises fresh, pursues his wonted game;

conquer love, And if the following day he chance to find 'Tis easy to divert and break its force. A new repast, or an antasted spring,

Absence might cure it, or a second mistress Blesses his stars, and thinks it luxury. Light up another flame,

and put out this. Juba. Thy prejudices, Syphax, wont dis. The glowing dames of Zama's royal court

Have faces flush'd with more exalted charms; What virtues grow from ignorance and choice, Were you with these, my prince, you'd soon Nor how tbe hero differs from the bruto.

forget W bere shall we find the man that bears afflic- The pale, unripen'd beauties of the north. tion,

Juhu. 'Tis not a set of features, or comGreat and majestic in his griefs, like Cato?

plexion, How does he rise against a load of woes, The tincture of a skin, that I admire : And thank the gods that threw the weight Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover,

Fades in his eye, and palls upon his sense. Syph. 'Tis pride, rank pride, and baugh. The virtuous Marcia towers above her sex : tiness of soul;

True, she is fair, (oh, how divinely fair!) I think the Romans call it stoicism.

But still the lovely maid improves her charms Had not your royal father thought so highly With inward greatness, unaffected wisdom, Of Roman virtue, and of Cato's cause,

And sanctity of manners ; Cato's soul He had not fall'n by a slave's hand inglorious ; Shines out in every thing she acts or speaks, Nor would his slaughter'd armies now have While winning mildness and attractive smiles lain

Dwell in her looks, and, with becoming grace, On Afric's sands, disfigur'd with their wounds, , Soften the rigour of her father's virtue.


upon him!

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