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To my cold, headless corpse; but see it shrouded, | That struck my Guilford! Oh, his bleeding And decent laid in earth.
trunk Gar. Wilt thou then die ?
Shall live in these distracted eyes for ever! Thy blood be on thy head.
Curse on thy fatal arts, thy cruel counsels ! L. J. Gruy. My blood be where it falls ; let
(T. GARDINER. the earth hide it;
The queen is deaf, and pitiless as thou art. And may it never rise, or call for vengeance. Gar. The just reward of heresy and treason Oh, that it were the last shall fall a victim Is fallen upon them both, for their vain obstiTo zeal's inhuman wrath! Thou, gracious Hea
Untimely death, with infamy on earth, Hear and defend at length thy suffering people; And everlasting punishment hereafter. Raise up a monarch of the royal blood,
Pem. And canst thou tell? Who gave thee to Brave, pious, equitable, wise, and good.
explore In thy due season let the hero come,
The secret purposes of Heaven, or taught thee To save thy altars from the rage of Rome: To set a bound to mercy unconfined? Long let him reign, to bless the rescued land, But know, thou proud, perversely-judging WinAnd deal out justice with a righteous hand.
chester! And when he fails, oh, may he leave a son, Howe'er you hard, imperious censures doom, With equal virtues to adorn his throne; And portion out our lot in worlds to come, To latest times the blessing to convey,
Those, who, with honest hearts, pursue the right, And guard that faith for which I die to-day! And follow faithfully truth's sacred light,
(Lady JANE goes up to the scaffold. Though suffering here, shall from their sorrows The scene closes.
Rest with the saints, and dwell in endless peace. Enter PEMBROKE.
(Ercant. Pem. Horror on horror! Blasted be the hand
THE palms of virtue heroes oft have worn; What sense of such a bounty can be shown! Those wreaths to-night a female brow adorn. But Heav'n must make the vast reward its own, The destin'd saint, unfortunately brave,
And stars shall join to make her future crown. Sunk with those altars which she strove to save. Your gratitude with ease may be expressed; Greatly she dar'd to prop the juster side, Strive but to be, what she would make you, As greatly with her adverse fate complied,
bless'd. Did all that Heav'n could ask, resign'd, and died; Let not vile faction vex the vulgar ear, Died for the land for which she wish'd to live, With fond surmise, and false affected fear : And gain'd that liberty she could not give. Confirm but to yourselves the given good ; Oh, happy people of this fav’rite isle,
'Tis all she asks, for all she has bestow'd. On whom so many better angels smile !
Such was our great example shewn to-day, For you, kind Heav'n new blessings still supplies, And with such thanks our author's pains repar. Bids other saints, and other guardians rise: If from these scenes, to guard your faith you For you the fairest of her sex is come,
learn; Adopts our Britain, and forgets her home: If for our laws you shew a just concern; For truth and you the heroine declines
If you are taught to dread a popish reign; Austria's proud eagles, and the Indian mines. Our beauteous patriot has not died in vain.
To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, Who sees him act but envies ev'ry deed ?
The triumph ceas'd—tears gush'd from ev'ry eye,
Be justly warm’d with your own native rage;
Such plays alone should please a British ear, What bosom beats not in his country's cause ? As Cato's self had not disdain’d to hear.
Puzzl'd in mazes, and perplex'd with errors. Enter Pontius and MARCUS.
Our understanding traces them in vain, Por. Tue dawn is overcast, the morning Lost and bewildered in the fruitless search; lowers,
Nor sees with how much art the windings run, And heavily in clouds brings on the day ; Nor where the regular confusion ends. The great, the important day, big with the fate Marc. These are suggestions of a mind Of Cato and of Rome. Our father's death Would fill up all the guilt of civil war,
Oh, Portius, didst thou taste but half the griefs And close the scene of blood. Already Cæsar That wring my soul, thou couldst not talk thus Has ravaged more than half the globe, and sees
coldly. Mankind grown thin by his destructive sword: Passion unpitied, and suceessless love, Should he go farther, numbers would be wanting Plant daggers in my heart, and aggravate To form new battles, and support his crimes. My other griefs. Were but my Lucia kind Ye gods, what havoc does ambition make
*Por. Thou seest not that thy brother is thy Among your works!
rival; Marc. Thy steady temper, Portius,
But I must hide it, for I know thy temper. Can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud, and Cæsar, In the calm lights of mild philosophy;
Now, Marcus, now thy virtue's on the proof: I'm tortured, even to madness, when I think Put forth thy utmost strength, work every nerve, On the proud victor: every time he's named, And call up all thy father in thy soal: Pharsalia rises to my view!- I see
To quell the tyrant, Love, and guard thy heart The insulting tyrant prancing o'er the field, On this weak side, where most our nature fak, Strewed with Rome's citizens, and drenched in Would be a conquest worthy Cato's son. slaughter,
Marc. Portius, the counsel which I caneet His horse's hoofs wet with patrician blood !
take, Oh, Portius! is there not some chosen curse, Instead of healing, but upbraids my weakness Some hidden thunder in the stores of Heaven, Bid me for honour plunge into a war Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man, Of thickest foes, and rush on certain death, Who owes his greatness to his country's ruin? Then shalt thou see that Marcus is not slow Por. Believe me, Marcus, 'tis an impious To follow glory, and confess his father. greatness,
Love is not to be reasoned down, or lost And mix'd with too much horror to be envied; In high ambition, or a thirst of greatness: How does the lustre of our father's actions, 'Tis second life, it grows into the soul, Through the dark cloud of ills that cover him, Warms every vein, and beats in every pulse; Break out, and burn with more triumphant I feel it here: my resolution meltsbrightness!
Por. Behold young Juba, the Numidian prince, His sufferings shine, and spread a glory round with how much care he forms himself to glors,
And breaks the fierceness of his native tempet, Greatly unfortunate, he fights the cause
To copy out our father's bright example. Of honour, virtue, liberty, and Rome.
He loves our sister Marcia, greatly loves her; His sword ne'er fell, but on the guilty head; His eyes, his looks, his actions, all betray it; Oppression, tyranny, and power usurp’d, But still the smothered fondness burns within Draw all the vengeance of his arm upon them. Marc. Who knows not this ? But what can When most it swells, and labours for a venit, Cato do
The sense of honour, and desire of fame, Against a world, a base, degenerate world, Drive the big passion back into his heart. That courts the yoke, and bows the neck to What! shall an African, shall Juba's heir Cæsar?
Reproach great Cato's son, and shew the world Pent up in Utica, he vainly forms
A virtue, wanting in a Roman soul! A poor epitome of Roman greatness,
Alarc. Portius, no more! your words leare And, covered with Numidian guards, directs
stings behind them. A feeble army, and an empty senate,
Whene'er did Juba, or did Portius shew Remnants of mighty battles fought in vain. A virtue that has cast me at a distance, By Heaven, such virtue, joined with such suc- And thrown me out in the pursuits
of honour? cess,
Por. Marcus, I know thy generous tecuper Distracts my very soul! our father's fortune Would almost tempt us to renounce his precepts. Fling but the appearance of dishonour on it, Por. Remember what our father oft has told It straight takes fire, and mounts into a blaze.
Murc. A brother's sufferings claim a brother's The way's of Heaven are dark and intricate,
Por. Heaven knows I pity thee! Behold my And while the fathers of the senate meet
In close debate, to weigh the event of war,
I'll thunder in their ears their country's cause, Marc. Why then dosť trcát me with rebukes, And try to rouse up all that's Roman in them. instead
'Tis not in mortals to cominand success, Of kind condoling cares, and friendly sorrow? But we'll do more, Sempronius; we'll deserve it. Por. Oh, Marcus! did I know the way to case
(Erit. Thy troubled heart, and mitigate thy pains, Sem. Curse on the stripling! how he apes his 2. Marcus, believe me, I could die to do it.
Old Syphax comes not; his Numidian genius Pardon a weak distempered soul, that swells Is well disposed to mischief, were he prompt With sudden gusts, and sinks as soon in calms, And eager on it; but he must be spuưred, The sport of passions. But Sempronius comes: And every moment quickened to the course. He must not find this softness hanging on me. Cato has used me ill: he has refused
[Erit MARC. His daughter Marcia to my ardent vows.
Besides, his baffled arms, and ruined cause,
Are bars to my ambition. Cæsar's favour,
raise me I like not that cold youth. I must dissemble, To Rome's first honours. If I give up Cato, And speak a language foreign to my heart. I claim, in my reward, his captive daughter.
(Aside. But Syphax comes
Complain aloud of Cato's discipline,
ther, To this poor hall, his little Roman senate, Sem. Believe me, Syphax, there's no time to (The leavings of Pharsalia) to consult
waste; If he can vet oppose the mighty torrent
Even while we speak our conqueror comes on, That bears down Rome, and all hier gods before And gathers ground upon us every moment. it,
Alas! thou know'st not Cæsar's active soul, Or must at length give up the world to Cæsar. With what a dreadful course he rushes on
Sem. Not all the pomp and majesty of Rome From war to war. In vain has nature formed Can raise her senate more than Cato's presence. Mountains and oceans to oppose his passage; His virtues render our assembly awful;
He bounds o'er all; victorious in his march, They strike with something like religious fear, The Alps and Pyreneans sink before him: And make even Cæsar trenible, at the head Through winds, and waves, and storms, he Of armies flushed with conquest. Oh, my Por.
works his way, tius!
Impatient for the battle; one day more Could I but call that wondrous man my father, Will see the victor thundering at our gates. Would but thy sister Marcia be propitious But, tell me, hast thou yet drawn o'er young To thy friend's vows, I might be blessed indeed!
Juba? Por. Alas, Sempronius! wouldst thou talk of That still would recommend thee more to Cæsar, love
And challenge better terms. To Marcia, whilst her father's life's in danger? Syph. Alas, he's lost! Thou might'st as well court the pale, trembling He's lost, Sempronius; all his thoughts are full vestal,
Of Cato's virtues—But I'll try once more, When she beholds the holy flame expiring, (For every instant I expect him here)
Sem. The more I see the wonders of thy race, if yet I can subdue those stubborn principles The more I'm charmed. Thou must take heed, of faith and honour, and I know not what, my Portius;
That have corrupted his Numidian temper, The world has all its eyes ou Cato's son; And struck the infection into all his soul. Thy father's merit sets thee up to view,
Sem. Be sure to press upon him every motive. And shews thee in the fairest point of light, Juba's surrender, since his father's death, To make thy virtues or thy faults conspicuous. Would give up Afric into Cæsar's hands, Por. Well dost thou seem to check my linger. And make him lord of half the burning zone. ing here
Syph. But is it true, Sempronius, tlrat your On this important hour-I'll straight away,
Is called together? Gods! thou must be cau- Or guides, in troops, the embattled elephant, tious;
Laden with war? These, these, are arts, by Cato has piercing eyes, and will discern
prince, Our frauds, unless they're covered thick with art, In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome.
Sem. Let me alone, good Syphax; I'll conceal Juba. These all are virtues of a meaner rank; My thoughts in passion ('tis the surest way); Perfections that are placed in bones and nerves I'll bellow out for Rome, and for my country, A Roman soul is bent on higher views : And mouth at Cæsar, till I shake the senate. To civilize the rude, unpolished world, Your cold hypocrisy's a stale device,
And lay it under the restraint of laws; A wom-out trick; wouldst thou be thought in To make man mild, and sociable to man; earnest,
To cultivate the wild, licentious savage, Clothe thy feigned zeal in rage, in fire, in fury! With wisdom, discipline, and liberal arts; Syph. in troth, thou’rt able to instruct grey The embellishments of life: virtues like these hairs,
Make human nature shine, reform the soul, And teach the wily African deceit.
And break our fierce barbarians into men. Sem. Once more be sure to try thy skill on Syph. Patience, kind Heaven !-excuse and! Juba.
inan's warmth : Meanwhile I'll hasten to my Roman soldiers, What are those wondrous civilizing arts, Inflame the mutiny, and underhand
This Roman polish, and this smooth behaviour
, Blow up their discontents, till they break out That renders man thus tractable and tame? Unlooked for, and discharge themselves on Cato. Are they not only to disguise our passions, Remember, Syphax, we must work in haste: To set our looks at variance with our thoughts
, Oh! think what anxious moments pass between To check the starts and sallies of the soul, The birth of plots, and their last fatal periods ! And break off all its commerce with the tongue? Oh! 'tis a dreadful interval of time,
In short, to change us into other creatures, Fill’d up with horror all, and big with death! Than what our nature and the gods designed es? Destruction hangs on every word we speak, Juba. To strike thee dumb-turn up thy eyes On every thought, till the concluding stroke
to Cato! Determines all, and closes our design. [Exit. There may'st thou see to what a god-like height:
Syph. I'll try if yet I can reduce to reason The Roman virtues lift up mortal man. This headstrong youth, and make him spurn at While good, and just, and anxious for his friends
He's still severely bent against himself; The time is short; Cæsar comes rushing on us- Renouncing sleep, and rest, and food, and ease, But hold! young Juba sees me, and approaches. He strives with thirst and hunger, toil and heati
And, when his fortune sets before him all Enter JUBA.
The pomps and pleasures that his soul can wrish, Juba. Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone. His rigid virtue will accept of none. I have observed of late thy looks are fallen, Syph. Believe me, prince, there's not an Afri O'ercast with gloomy cares and discontent:
can, Then tell me, Syphax, I conjure thee, tell me, That traverses our vast Numidian deserts What are the thoughts that knit thy brow in In quest of prey, and lives upon his bow, frowns,
But better practises those boasted virtues. And turn thine eye thus coldly on thy prince? Coarse are his meals, the fortune of the chace; Syph. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my Amidst the running stream he slakes his thirst
Toils all the day, and, at the approach of nizten Or carry smiles and sunshine in my face, On the first friendly bank he throws him dosz, When discontent sits heavy at my heart; Or rests his head upon a rock till morn; I have not yet so much the Roman in me. Then rises fresh, pursues his wonted gave, Juba. Why dost thou cast out such ungener- And if the following day he chance to find ous terms
A new repast, or an untasted spring, Against the lords and sovereigns of the world? Blesses his stars, and thinks it luxury. Dost thou not see mankind fall down before Juba. Thy prejudices, Syphax, wont discer them,
What virtues grow from ignorance and choice, And own the force of their superior virtue ? Nor how the hero differs from the brute. Is there a nation in the wilds of Afric,
But grant that others could, with equal glory, Amidst our barren rocks, and burning sands, Look down on pleasures, and the baits of sense, That does not tremble at the Roman name? Where shall we find the man that bears afficSyph. Gods! where's the worth that sets these
tion, people up
Great and majestic in his griefs, like Cato? Above our own Numidia's tawny sons? Heavens! with what strength, what steadinex ora Do they, with tougher sinews, běnd the bow?
mind, Or flies the javelin swifter to its mark,
He triumphs in the midst of all his sufferings! Launched from the vigour of a Roman arm? How does he rise against a load of woes, Who, like our active African, instructs
And thank the gods that throw the weight upon The fiery steed, and trains him to his hand ?