Had Porcius been the unsuccessful lover,
The same compassion would have fallen on him.
Luc. Porcius himself oft falls in tears before me,
Juba. Hail, charming maid! How does thy As if he mourn'd his rival's ill success;
The face of war, and make even horror smile!
At sight of thee my heart shakes off its sorrows;
I feel a dawn of joy break in upon me,
And for a while forget the approach of Cæsar.
Mar. I should be griev'd, young prince, to think
Unbent your thoughts, and slacken'd them to arms,
While, warm with slaughter, our victorious foe
Threatens aloud, and calls you to the field.
Juba. O, Marcia, let me hope thy kind concerns
And gentle wishes follow me to battle:
The thought will give new vigour to my arm,
Add strength and weight to my descending sword
And drive it in a tempest on the foe.
Mar. My prayers and wishes always shall attend
The friends of Rome, the glorious cause of virtue,
And men approv'd of by the gods and Cato.
Juba. That Juba may deserve thy pious cares,
gaze for ever on thy godlike father,
Transplanting, one by one, into my life
His bright perfections, till I shine like him.
Mar. My father never at a time like this
Would lay out his great soul in words, and waste
Such precious moments.
Juba. Thy reproofs are just,
Thou virtuous maid. I'll hasten to my troops,
And fire their languid souls with Cato's virtue.
If e'er I lead them to the field, when all
The war shall stand rang'd in its just array,
And dreadful pomp, then will I think on thee-
O, lovely maid!-then will I think on thee;
And, in the shock of charging hosts, remember,
What glorious deeds should grace the man, who
hopes
Luc. Marcia, you're too severe :
How could you chide, and drive so sternly from you,
A prince that loves and dotes on you to death?
Mar. How, Lucia! would'st thou have me sink
away
In pleasing dreams, and lose myself in love,
When every moment Cato's life's at stake?
Luc. Why have not I this constancy of mind,
Who have so many griefs to try its force?
Pity and love, by turns, oppress my heart.
Mar. Lucia, disburthen all thy cares on me,
And let me share thy most retir'd distress:
Tell me, who raises up this conflict in thee?
Luc. I need not blush to name them, when I say, They're Marcia's brothers, and the sons of Cato. Mar. But tell me, whose address thou favour'st
I long to know, and yet I dread to hear it.
Luc. Suppose 'twere Porcius-could you blame
my choice?
O, Porcius, thou hast stolen away my soul!
Marcius is furious, wild, in his complaints;
I fear him with a secret kind of dread,
And tremble at his vehemence of temper.
Then bids me hide the motions of my heart,
Nor shew which way it turns: so much he fears
The sad effects that it would have on Marcus.
Mar. Let us not, Lucia, aggravate our sorrows;
But to the gods submit the event of things.
Our lives, discolour'd with our present woes,
May still grow bright, and smile with happier hours:
So the pure limpid stream, when foul with stains
Of rushing torrents, and descending rains,
Works itself clear, and, as it runs, refines,
Till, by degrees, the floating mirror shines,
Reflects each flower that on the border grows,
And a new heaven in its fair bosom shows.
SCENE I.-The Senate House.-A Flourish of
Trumpets
SEMPRONIUS, LUCIUS, and Senators discovered.
Sem. Rome still survives in this assembled senate.
Let us remember we are Cato's friends,
And act like men who claim that glorious title.
Luci. Cato will soon be here, and open to us
The occasion of our meeting.-
May all the guardian-gods of Rome direct him!
[Trumpets.
Enter CATO, PORCIUS, and MARCUS.
Cato. [Sits between PORCIUS and MARCUS.]
Fathers, we once again are met in council:
Cæsar's approach has summon'd us together,
And Rome attends her fate from our resolves.
How shall we treat this bold aspiring man?
Success still follows him, and backs his crimes:
Pharsalia gave him Rome; Egypt has since
Receiv'd his yoke, and the whole Nile is Cæsar's.
Why should I mention Juba's overthrow,
And Scipio's death? Numidia's burning sands
Still smoke with blood.-'Tis time, we should decree
What course to take. Our foe advances on us,
And envies us even Libya's sultry deserts.
Fathers, pronounce your thoughts:-are they still
fix'd
To hold it out, and fight it to the last?
Or are your hearts subdu'd at length, and wrought
By time and ill success to a submission?
Sempronius, speak.
Sem. [Rises.] My voice is still for war.
Gods! can a Roman senate long debate
Which of the two to choose-slavery or death?
Mar. Alas, poor youth! And canst thou throw No; let us rise at once, gird on our swords,
him from thee?
How will thy coldness raise
Tempests and storms in his afflicted bosom!
I dread the consequence.
Luc. You seem to plead
Against your brother Porcius
Mar. Lucia, no:
And, at the head of our remaining troops,
Attack the foe, break through the thick array
Of his throng'd legions, and charge home upon him.
Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest,
May reach his heart, and free the world from bond
Rise, fathers, rise! 'tis Rome demands your help;
Cato. Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal.
Transport thee thus beyond the bounds of reason.
True fortitude is seen in great exploits
That justice warrants, and that wisdom guides:
All else is towering frenzy and distraction.
Are not the lives of those who draw the sword
In Rome's defence intrusted to our care?
Should we thus lead them to a field of slaughter,
Might not the impartial world too justly say,
We lavish'd at our death the blood of thousands,
To grace our fall, and make our ruin glorious?
Lucius, we next would know what's your opinion.
Luci. [Rises.] My thoughts, I must confess, are
turn'd on peace.
We took up arms, not to revenge ourselves,
But free the commonwealth: when this end fails,
Arms have no further use: our country's cause,
That drew our swords, now wrests them from our
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The straits to which you're driven; 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 Disdains a life which he has power to offer.
Dee. Rome and her senators submit to Cæsar: Her generals and her consuls are no more, Who check'd his conquests, and denied his triumphs. Why will not Cato be this Cæsar's friend?
Cato. Those very reasons thou hast urg'd, forbid it.
Dec. Cæsar is well acquainted with your virtues,
And therefore sets this value on your life :
Let him but know the price of Cato's friendship,
And name your terms.
Cato. Bid him disband his legions;
Restore the commonwealth to liberty;
Submit his actions to the public censure,
And stand the judgment of a Roman senate:-
Bid him do this, and Cato is his friend.
Dec. Cato, the world talks loudly of your wisdomCoto. 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 Cæsar's foe?
Cato. Greater than Cæsar; 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:
Are grown thus desperate: we have bulwarks round 'Tis Cæsar's sword has made Rome's senate little,
Within our walls are troops inur'd to toil
In Africk's heats, and season'd to the sun;
Numidia's spacious kingdom lies behind us,
Ready to rise at its young prince's call.
While there is hope, do not distrust the gods:
But wait, at least, till Cæsar's near approach
Force us to yield. "Twill never be too late
To sue for chains, and own a conqueror.
Why should Rome fall a moment ere her time?
No, let us draw her term of freedom out
In its full length, and spin it to the last;
So shall we gain still one day's liberty:
And let me perish, but, in Cato's judgment,
A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty
Is worth a whole eternity in bondage.
Jun. Fathers, even now, a herald is arriv'd From Cæsar's camp; and with him comes old Decius, The Roman knight: he carries in his looks Impatience, and demands to speak with Cato. Cato. By your permission, father.-Bid him enter ]Exit JUNIUS. Decius was once my friend: but other prospects Have loos'd those ties, and bound him fast to Cæsar. His message may determine our resolves.
Enter DECIUS, JUNIUS, and TITUS.
Dec. Cæsar sends health to Cato-
Cato. Cold he send it
To Cato's slaughter'd friends, it would be welcome.
Are not your orders to address the senate?
Dec. My business is with Cato. Cæsar sees
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 'em..
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 Cæsar
Dec. Does Cato send this answer back to Cæsar,
For all his generous cares, and proffer'd friendship?
Cato. His cares for me are insolent and vain:
Presumptuous man! the gods take care of Cato.-
Would Cæsar show the greatness of his soul,
Bid him employ his care for these my friends
And make good use of his ill-gotten power,
By sheltering men much better than himself.
Dec. Your high unconquer'd heart makes you for
get
You are a man. You rush on your destruction.
But I have done When I relate hereafter
The tale of this unhappy embassy
All Rome will be in tears.
[Erit with JUNIUS, and TITUS. Sem. [Rises.] Cato, we thank thee: Cæsar will shrink to hear the words thou utter❜st, And shudder in the midst of all his conquests. [Sits.
Luci. [Rises.] The senate owns its gratitude to Cato;
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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.
Luci. Cato, we all go in to your opinion:
Cæsar'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.
Cato,
Had we not better leave this Utica,
To arm Numidia in our cause, and court
The assistance of my father's numerous friends?
Did they know Cato, our remotest kings
Would pour embattled multitudes about him;
Their swathy hosts would darken all our plains,
Doubling the native horror of the war,
And making death more grim.
Cato. And canst thou think,
Cato will fly before the sword of Cæsar,
Reduc'd, like Hannibal, to seek relief
From court to court, and wander up and down
A vagabond in Africk?
I'm too officious; but my forward cares
Would fain preserve a life of so much value.
My heart is wounded, when I see such virtue
Afflicted by the weight of such misfortunes.
Cato. Thy nobleness of soul obliges me.
But know, young prince, that valour soars above
What the world calls misfortune and affliction.
These are not ills; else would they never fall
On heaven's first favourites, and the best of men :
The gods, in bounty, work up storms about us,
That give mankind occasion to exert
My private voice is drown'd amid the senate's.
Cato. Then let us rise, my friends, and strive to fill Virtues, which lie conceal'd
Their hidden strength, and throw out into practice
This little interval, this pause of life,
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: SEMPRO-Success and fortune must thou learn from Cæsar
Cato. Juba, the Roman senate has resolv'd,
Till time give better prospects, still to keep
The sword unsheath'd, and turn its edge on Cæsar.
Juba. The resolution fits a Roman senate.
But, Cato, lend me for a while 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!
Wept o'er me, press'd me in his aged arms,
And, as his griefs gave way, My son, he said,
How fortune may dispose of me,
Be Cato's friend; he'll train thee up to great
And virtuous deeds: do but observe him well,
Thou'lt shun misfortunes, or thou'lt learn to bear 'em.
Cato. Thy sire, good Juba, was a worthy prince,
And merited, alas! a better fate :-
But heaven thought otherwise.
Juba. His cruel fate,
In spite of all the fortitude that shines
Before my face in Cato's great example,
Subdues my soul, and fills my eyes with tears.
Cato. It is an honest sorrow, and becomes thee.
Juba His virtues drew respect from foreign climes:
The kings of Africk sought him for their friend,
Kings far remote, that rule, as fame reports,
Behind the hidden sources of the Nile;
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 greatness.
Juba. I do not mean to boast his power and great-
But point out new alliances to Cato.
Syph, Alas, my prince, how are you chang'd of
I've known young Juba rise before the sun,
To beat the thicket where the tiger slept,
Or seek the lion in his dreadful haunts:
How did the colour mount into your cheeks,
When first you rous'd him to the chase!
you,
Even in the Libyan dog-days, hunt him down ;
Then charge him close, provoke him to the rage
Of fangs and claws, and, stooping from your horse,
Rivet the panting savage to the ground.
Juba. Pr'ythee, no more.
Suph. How would the old king smile
To see you weigh the paws, when tipp'd with gold,
And throw the shaggy spoils about your shoulders!
Juda. Syphax, this old man's talk, though honey
flow'd
In every word, would now lose all its sweetness.
Cato's displeas'd, and Marcia's lost for ever!
Syph. Young prince, I yet could give you good
Marcia might still be yours.
Juba. What say'st thou, Syphax?
By heavens, thou turn'st me all into attention.
Suph. Marcia might still be yours.
Jun. As how, dear Syphax?
Syph. Juba commands Numidia's hardy troops,
Mounted on steeds unus'd to the restraint
Of curbs and bits, and fleeter than the wind:
Give but the word, we'll snatch this damsel up,
And bear her off.
Juba. Can such dishonest thoughts Rise up in man? Would'st thou seduce my youth To do an act that would destroy my honour? Syph. Gods, I could tear my beard to hear you
Honour's a fine imaginary notion,
That draws in raw and unexperienc'd men
To real mischiefs, while they hunt a shadow.
Juba. Would'st thou degrade thy prince into a ruffian?
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 heaven, was founded on a rape : Your Scipios, Caesars, Pompeys, and your Catos,These gods on earth,-are all the spurious brood Of violated maids, of ravish'd Sabines.
Juba. Syphax, I fear, that hoary head of thine Abounds too much in our Numidian wiles.
Suph. My prince, you want to know the world: You have not read mankind: your youth admires The throes and swellings of a Roman soul, Cato's bold flights, the extravagance of virtue.
Juba. If knowledge of the world makes man perfidious,
May Juba ever live in ignorance!
Syph. Go, go, you're young.
Juba. Gods! must I tamely bear
This arrogance unanswer'd-Thou'rt a traitor,
A false old traitor.
Syph. [Aside.] I have gone too far.
Juba. Cato shall know the baseness of thy soul.
Syph. Must one rash word, the infirmity of age,
Throw down the merit of my better years?
This the reward of a whole life of service?
[Aside.] Curse on the boy! how steadily he hears me!
Juba. Is it, because the throne of my forefathers
Still stands unfill'd, and that Numidia's crown
Hangs doubtful yet whose head it shall inclose,
Thou thus presum'st to treat thy prince with scorn?
Syph. Why will you rive my heart with such ex-
pressions?
Does not old Syphax follow you to war?
What are his aims? What is it he aspires to?
Is it not this? To shed the slow remains,
His last poor ebb of blood in your defence?
Juba. Syphax, no more: I would not hear you
Syph. Nor 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 live, I must not hold my tongue,
And languish out old age in his displeasure.
Juba. Thou knows't the way too well into my heart:
I do believe thee loyal to thy prince.
Syph. What greater instance can I give? I've offer'd
To do an action which my soul abhors,
And gain you whom you love, at any price:
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
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
His life,-nay, more, his honour,-in your service?
Juba. Syphax, I know thou lov'st me: but thy
zeal
To serve thy master, carried thee too far.
Honour's a sacred tie, the law of kings,
The noble mind's distinguishing perfection,
That aids and strengthens virtue where it meets her,
And imitates her actions, where she is not:
It ought not to be sported with.
Syph. Believe me, prince, you make old Syphax
To hear you talk,-but 'tis with tears of joy.
If e'er your father's crown adorn your brows,
Numidia will be blest by Cato's lectures.
Juba. Give me thy hand: we'll mutually forget
The warmth of youth, and frowardness of age.
Thy prince esteems thy worth, and loves thy person:
[Embraces SYPHAX.
If e'er the sceptre comes into my hand,
Syphax shall stand the second in my kingdom.
Syph. Why will you overwhelm my age with
kindness?
My joy grows burdensome: I sha'n't support it, Juba. My friend, farewell. I'll hence, and try to find
Some blest occasion that may set me right
In Cato's thoughts. I'd rather have that man
Approve my deeds, than worlds for my admirers.
Syph. Young men soon give, and soon forget affronts;
Old age is slow in both.-A false old traitor!
Those words, rash boy, may chance to cost thee dear.
My heart had still some foolish fondness for thee · –
Cæsar, I'm wholly thine.
But hence! 'tis gone: I give it to the winds:-
All hail, Sempronius
Well, Cato's senate is resolv'd to wait
The fury of a siege, before it yields.
Sem. Syphax, we both were on the verge of fate:
Lucius declar'd for peace, and terms were offer'd
To Cato by a messenger from Cæsar.
Syph. Who is this messenger?
Sem. I've practis'd with him;
And found means to let the victor know
That Syphax and Sempronius are his friends.-
Is Juba fix'd?
Syph. Yes, but it is to Cato.
I've tried the force of every reason on him,
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
My friend, I now may hope thou hast forsook
Thy Juba's cause, and wishest Marcia mine.
Syph. May she be thine as fast as thou would'st
have her.
But are thy troops prepar'd for a revolt?
Does the sedition catch from man to man,
And run among their ranks?
Sem. All, all is ready;
The factious leaders are our friends, and spread
Murmurs and discontents among the soldiers:
Within an hour, they'll storm the senate-house.
Syph. Meanwhile, I'll draw up my Numidian
Within the square, to exercise their arms,
And, as I see occasion, favour thee.
I laugh to think how your unshaken Cato
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 the air, in circling eddies play,
Tear up the sands, and sweep whole plains away.
The helpless traveller, with wild surprise,
Sees the dry desert all around him rise
And smother'd in the dusty whirlwind, dies.
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Mar. Porcius, thou know'st my soul in all its
weakness:
Then, pry'thee, spare me on its tender side;
Indulge me but in love, my other passions
Shall rise and fall by virtue's nicest rules.
Por. When love's well-tim'd, 'tis not a fault to
love:
The strong, the brave, the virtuous, and the wise
Sink in the soft captivity together,
I would not urge thee to dismiss thy passion,-
I know 'twere vain; but to suppress its force,
Till better times may make it look more graceful.
Mar. Alas! thou talk'st like one who never felt
The impatient throbs and longings of a soul
That pants and reaches after distant good.
A lover does not live by vulgar time:
In every moment of my Lucia's absence
And yet, when I behold the charming maid,
Life hangs upon me, and becomes a burthen;
I'm ten times more undone; while hope, and fear,
And grief, and rage, and love, rise up at once,
And with variety of pain distract me.
Por. What can I say, or do, to give thee help?
Mar. Porcius, thou oft enjoy'st the fair one's
presence:
Then undertake my cause, and plead it to her
With all the strength and heat of eloquence
Fraternal love and friendship can inspire.
Tell her, thy brother languishes to death,
And fades away, and withers in his bloom;
That youth, and health, and war, are joyless to him?
That he forgets his sleep, and loathes his food,
Describe his anxious days, and restless nights,
And all the torments that thou see'st me suffer.
Por. I do intreat thee, give me not an office
That suits with me so ill:-thou know'st my temper.
Mar. Can'st thou behold me sinking in my woes
And wilt thou not reach out a friendly arm,
To raise me from amidst this plunge of sorrows?
O, Porcius, Porcius, from my soul I wish
Thou didst but know thyself what 'tis to love :
Then would'st thou pity and assist thy brother.
Por. [Aside.] What should I do? If I disclose
my passion,
Our friendship's at an end: if I conceal it,
The world will call me false to a friend and brother.
Mar. But see where Lucia, at her wonted hour,
Amid the cool of yon high marble arch,
Enjoys the noon-day breeze! Behold her! Porcius,
That face, that shape, those eyes, that heaven of
Observe her well, and blame me if thou canst.
Por. She sees us, and advances.
Mar. I'll withdraw,
And leave you for a while. Remember, Porcius,
Thy brother's life depends upon thy tongue.
Luc. Did I not see your brother Marcus here?
Why did he fly the place, and shun my presence?
Por. O, Lucia, language is too faint to show
His rage of love; it preys upon his life;
He pines, he sickens, he despairs, he dies.
My heart bleeds for him:
Even now, while thus I stand blest in thy presence,
A secret damp of grief comes o'er my thoughts,
And I'm unhappy, though thou smil'st upon me.
Luc. How wilt thou guard thy honour in the shock
Of love and friendship? Think betimes my Porcius,
Think how the nuptial tie,that might ensure
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