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. Cato. Bid him disband his legions, That drew our swords, now wrests them And stand the judgment of a Roman senate. from our hands, No, let us draw her term of freedom out Jun. Fathers, e'en now a herald is arriv'd From Caesar's camp, and with him comes old Decius, The Roman knight: he carries in his looks Impatience, and demands to speak with Cato. Bid him do this, and Cato is his friend. Dec. Cato, the world talks loudly of your wisdom Cato. Nay, more; though Cato's voice was ne'er employ'd To clear the guilty, and to varnish crimes, Myself will mount the rostrum in his favour, And strive to gain his pardon from the people. Dec. A style like this becomes a conqueror. Cato. Decius, a style like this becomes a Roman. Dec. What is a Roman, that is Caesar's foe? Cato. Greater than Caesar: he's a friend to virtue. Dec. Consider, Cato, you're in Utica, And at the head of your own little senate: You don't now thunder in the capitol, With all the mouths of Rome to second you. Cato. Let him consider that, who drives us hither. '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, Cato. By your permission, fathers-bid him For all his gen'rous cares and proffer'd friend[Exit Junius. enter. Decius was once my friend, but other prospects Have loos'd those ties, and bound him fast to Caesar. His message may determine our resolves. Dec. Caesar sends health to Cato- come. 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 ship? Cato. His cares for me are insolent and vain: Presumptuous man! the gods take care of Cato. You are a man. You rush on your destruction. Luc. The senate owns its gratitude to Cato, Kings far remote, that rule, as fame reports Who with so great a soul consults its safety, Behind the hidden sources of the Nile, And guards our lives, while he neglects his own. In distant worlds, on t'other side the sun; Sem. Sempronius gives no thanks on this Oft have their black ambassadors appear'd, Loaden with gifts, and fill'd the courts of Zama. Cato. I am no stranger to thy father's great account. Lucius seems fond of life; but what is life? 'Tis not to stalk about, and draw fresh air From time to time, or gaze upon the sun; 'Tis to be free. When liberty is gone, Life grows insipid, and has lost its relish. ness. Juba. I do not mean to boast his power and greatness, But point out new alliances to Cato. Oh, could my dying hand but lodge a sword Had we not better leave this Utica, In Caesar's bosom, and revenge my country, To arm Numidia in our cause, and court By beav'n, I could enjoy the pangs of death, Th'assistance of my father's powerful friends? And smile in agony! Luc. Others perhaps May serve their country with as warm a zeal, Though 'tis not kindled into so much rage. Sem. This sober conduct is a mighty virtue In lukewarm patriots. Cato. Come, no more, Sempronius; All here are friends to Rome, and to each other. Let us not weaken still the weaker side By our divisions. Sem. Cato, my resentments Are sacrific'd to Rome-I stand reprov'd. Cato. Fathers, 'tis time you come to a resolve. Luc. Cato, we all go into your opinion: Caesar's behaviour has convinc'd the senate, We ought to hold it out till terms arrive. Sem. We ought to hold it out till death; but, Cato, My private voice is drown'd amidst the senate's. Cato. Then let us rise, my friends, strive to fill Did they know Cato, our remotest kings Cato. And canst thou think Cato will fly before the sword of Caesar! Juba. Cato, perhaps I'm too officious; but my forward cares Cato. Thy nobleness of soul obliges me. This little interval, this pause of life Juba, the Roman senate has resolv'd, Juba. The resolution fits a Roman senate. But, Cato, lend me for awhile thy patience, And condescend to hear a young man speak. My father, when, some days before his death, He order'd me to march for Utica, (Alas! I thought not then his death so near!) Virtues which shun the day, and lie conceal'd In the smooth seasons and the calms of life. Juba. I'm charm'd whene'er thou talk'st; I pant for virtue; And all my soul endeavours at perfection. Cato. Dost thou love watchings, abstinence, and toil, Laborious virtues all? Learn them from Cato: Success and fortune must thou learn from Caesar. Juba. The best good fortune that can fall on Juba, The whole success at which my heart aspires, Depends on Cato. Cato. What does Juba say? Thy words confound me. Juba. I would fain retract them. Give them me back again: they aim'd at nothing. Cato. Tell me thy wish, young prince; make not my ear A stranger to thy thoughts. Calo. What can Juba ask, Cato. Juba, thy father was a worthy prince, That Cato will refuse? And merited, alas! a better fate; But heav'n thought otherwise. Juba. My father's fate, In spite of all the fortitude that shines The kings of Afric sought him for their friend; Juba. I fear to name it. Marcia-inherits all her father's virtues. Should lessen thee in my esteem. Remember Syph. How's this, my prince? What, cover'd with confusion? You look as if yon stern philosopher Juba. Syphax, I'm undone! Syph. I know it well. | Juba. Cato thinks meanly of me. The weakness of my soul, my love for Marcia. Juba. Oh, I could pierce my heart, Syph. Alas, my prince, how are you chang'd of late! I've known young Juba rise before the sun, Ev'n in the Libyan dog-days, hunt him down, And, stooping from your horse, Rivet the panting savage to the ground. Syph. How would the old king smile, To see you weigh the paws, when tipp'd with gold, Syph. I must appease this storm, or perish Aside. in it. Young prince, behold these locks, that are grown white Beneath a helmet in your father's battles. Juba. Those locks shall ne'er protect thy insolence. Syph. Must one rash word, the infirmity of Syph. Why will you rive my heart with such expressions? Does not old Syphax follow you to war! And throw the shaggy spoils about your shoul-What are his aims? to shed the slow remains, ders! Juba. Syphax, this old man's talk, though honey flow'd In ev'ry word, would now lose all its sweetness. Cato's displeas'd, and Marcia lost for ever. Syph. Young prince, I yet could give you good advice; Marcia might still be yours. Juba. As how, dear Syphax? Mounted on steeds unus'd. to the restraint Juba. Can such dishonest thoughts Honour's a fine imaginary notion, Syph. The boasted ancestors of these great men, Whose virtues you admire, were all such ruffians. This dread of nations, this almighty Rome, That comprehends in her wide empire's bounds All under heav'n, was founded on a rape; Your Scipios, Caesars, Pompeys, and your Catos (The gods on earth), are all the spurious blood Of violated maids, of ravish'd Sabines. Juba. Syphax, I fear that hoary head of thine Abounds too much in our Numidian wiles. Syph. Indeed, my prince, you want to know the world. His last poor ebb of blood in your defence? Juba. Syphax, no more! I would not hear you talk. Syph. Not hear me talk! what, when my faith to Juba, My royal master's son, is call'd in question? My prince may strike me dead, and I'll be dumb; But whilst I five I must not hold my tongue, And languish out old age in his displeasure. Juba. Thou know'st the way too well into my heart. I do believe thee loyal to thy prince. Syph. What greater instance can I give? To do an action which my soul abhors, Syph. And 'tis for this my prince has call'd me traitor. Juba. Sure thou mistak'st; I did not call thee so. Syph. You did indeed, my prince, you call'd me traitor. Nay, further, threaten'd you'd complain to Cato. Of what, my prince, would you complain to Cato? That Syphax loves you, and would sacrifice Thy zeal for Juba carried thee too far. And imitates her actions where she is not: phax weep Syph. Believe me, prince, you make old Sy-Unusual fastings, and will bear no more To hear you talk-but 'tis with tears of joy. person. If e'er the sceptre come into my hand, Syphax shall stand the second in my kingdom. Syph. Why will you o'erwhelm my age with kindness? My joys grow burdensome, I shan't support it. Juba. Syphax, farewell. I'll hence, and try Will look aghast, while unforeseen destruction Pours in upon him thus from every side. So, where our wide Numidian wastes extend, Sudden th' impetuous hurricanes descend, Wheel through th' air, in circling eddies play, Tear up the sands, and sweep whole plains away. to find Some blest occasion, that may set me right The helpless traveller, with wild surprise, In Cato's thoughts, I'd rather have that man Sees the dry desert all around him rise, Approve my deeds, than worlds for my admir-And, smother'd in the dusty whirlwind, dies. ers. [Exit. Syph. Young men soon give, and soon for get affronts; Old age is slow in both-A false old traitor!These words, rash boy, may chance to cost thee dear. My heart had still some foolish fondness for thee, But hence, 'tis gone! I give it to the winds: Caesar, I'm wholly thine. To Cato, by a messenger from Caesar. Sem. Thou hast seen mount Atlas: Syph. Yes-but it is to Cato. I've tried the force of ev'ry reason on him, Sooth'd and caress'd; been angry, sooth'd again; Laid safety, life, and interest in his sight; But all are vain, he scorns them all for Cato. Sem. Well, 'tis no matter; we shall do without him. Syphax, I now may hope, thou hast forsook But are thy troops prepar'd for a revolt? Sem. All, all is ready; ACT III. SCENE I.-The Palace. [Exeunt. The strong, the brave, the virtuous, and the wise Sink in the soft captivity together. Marc. Alas, thou talk'st like one that never felt. Th' impatient throbs and longings of a soul, And grief, and rage, and love, rise up at once, Por. What can thy Portius do to give thee help? Marc. Portius, thou oft enjoy'st the fair one's presence; Then undertake my cause, and plead it to her The factious leaders are our friends, that spread tigues, Por. Marcus, I beg thee give me not an office That suits with me so ill. Thou know'st my temper. Marc. Wilt thou behold me sinking in my woes, And wilt thou not reach out a friendly arm, Lucia. Has not the vow already pass'd my The gods have heard it, and 'tis seal'd in heav'n. Por. Fix'd in astonishment, I gaze upon thee, But here, believe me, I've a thousand reasons— of season, That Cato's great example and misfortunes But what's all this to one that loves like me? Our friendship's at an end; if I conceal it, Amid the cool of yon high marble arch, That face, that shape, those eyes, that heav'n Observe her well, and blame me if thou canst. And leave you for awhile. Remember, Portius, Enter LUCIA. in the shock Por. Alas, poor youth! What dost thou His gen'rous, open, undesigning heart Thy father's anguish, and thy brother's death, Never to mix my plighted hands with thine, blood, Storming at heav'n and thee! Thy awful sire And can't get loose. Lucia. If the firm Portius shake Lucia. What dost thou say? Not part! But see, thy brother Marcus bends this way; Ever was love, or ever grief, like mine. Por. What wouldst thou have me say? Tell me my fate. I ask not the success Por. I'm griev'd I undertook it. My aching heart, and triumph in my pains? Lucia, though sworn never to think of love, me! What is compassion when 'tis void of love? Marc. What have I said? Oh, Portius, oh A soul, exasperate in ills, falls out |