Luc. Why have not I this constancy of mind, Mar. Lucia, disburthen all thy cares on me, Lucia, thou knowest not half the love he bears thee; Whene'er he speaks of thee, his heart's in He sends out all his soul in every word, Unhappy youth! How will thy coldness raise They are Marcia's brothers, and the sons of Cato. And often have revealed their passion to me. And yet for both-The youths have equal share Luc. Marcia, they both are high in my esteem, him! Luc. You seem to plead Had Portius been the unsuccessful lover, Mar. He knows too well how easily he is fired, And would not plunge his brother in despair, Thou knowest it is a blind and foolish passion, I must hereafter call my happy brother? -Oh, Portius, thou hast stolen away my soul! Marcus is over-warm, his fond complaints Mar. Alas, poor youth! how canst thou throw Born to afflict my Marcia's family, Mar. Let us not, Lucia, aggravate our sor rows, But to the gods submit the event of things. hours. So the pure limpid stream, when foul with stains Of rushing torrents, and descending rains, [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE L-The Senate. LUCIUS, SEMPRONIUS, Cæsar's approach has summoned us together, and Senators. Sem. ROME still survives in this assembled senate. And Rome attends her fate from our resolves. cree What course to take. Our foe advances on us, Cato. Fathers, we once again are met in coun- Fathers, pronounce your thoughts: are they still PP cil: VOL. I. fixed To hold it out and fight it to the last? Or are your hearts subdued at length, and wrought By time, and ill success, to a submission? Sem. My voice is still for war. Gods! can a Roman senate long debate Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest, May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage. Rise, fathers, rise! Tis Rome demands your help: Rise, and revenge your slaughtered citizens, nate Manure the fields of Thessaly, while we And Scipio's ghost walks unrevenged amongst us. son! True fortitude is seen in great exploits, on peace. Already have our quarrels filled the world 'Tis time to sheath the sword, and spare mankind, It is not Cæsar, but the gods, my fathers, That drew our swords, now wrests them from our hands, And bids us not delight in Roman blood Conceal a traitor-something whispers me Cato. Let us appear nor rash nor diffident; Within our walls are troops inured to toil Disdains a life which he has power to offer. Dec. Rome and her senators submit to Cæsar; Her generals and her consuls are no more, For all his generous cares and proffered friendship? Who checked his conquests, and denied his Presumptuous man! the gods take care of Cato: triumphs. Why will not Cato be this Cæsar's friend? Cato. These very reasons thou has urged for bid it. Dec. Cato, I have orders to expostulate, And reason with you, as from friend to friend: Think on the storm that gathers o'er your head, And threatens every hour to burst upon it; Still may you stand high in your country's ho nours; Do but comply, and make your peace with Cæsar, Cato. No more: I must not think of life on such conditions. And therefore sets this value on your life. Cato. Bid him disband his legions, Dec. Cato, the world talks loudly of your wisdom Cato. Nay, more; though Cato's voice was ne'er employed 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 is a friend to virtue. Dec. Consider, Cato, you are 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 thinned its ranks. Alas! thy dazzled eye Beholds this man in a false glaring light, Which conquest and success have thrown upon him; Did'st thou but view him right, thou'dst see him black With murder, treason, sacrilege, and crimes, Dec. Does Cato send this answer back to Cato. His cares for me are insolent and vain. Would Cæsar shew 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 unconquered heart makes you forget You are a man. You rush on your destruction. The tale of this unhappy embassy, [Exit Decius. Sem. Cato, we thank thee. The mighty genius of immortal Rome Speaks in thy voice; thy soul breathes liberty. Cæsar will shrink to hear the words thou utterest, And shudder in the midst of all his conquests. Luc. The senate owns its gratitude to Cato, Who with so great a soul consults its safety, And guards our lives while he neglects his own. Sem. Sempronius gives no thanks on this ac Enter JUBA. Juba, the Roman senate has resolved, Till time give better prospects, still to keep These are not ills; else would they never fall The sword unsheathed, and turn its edge on Their hidden strength, and throw out into prac Casar. 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 ordered me to march for Utica, (Alas! I thought not then his death so near!) Wept o'er me, pressed me in his aged arms, And, as his griefs gave way, 'My son,' said he, "Whatever fortune shall befal thy father, '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 them.' Cato. Juba, thy father was a worthy prince, And merited, alas! a better fate; But Heaven thought otherwise. Juba. I would not boast the greatness of my father, But point out new alliances to Cato. embattled multitudes about him; Their swarthy hosts would darken all our plains, Doubling the native horrors of the war, And making death more grim. Cato. And canst thou think Cato will fly before the sword of Cæsar! From court to court, and wander up and down Juba. Cato, perhaps I am too officious; but my forward cares Cuto. Thy nobleness of soul obliges me، You look as if yon stern philosopher Had just now chid you. Juba. Syphax, I am undone ! Syph. I know it well. Juba. Cato thinks meanly of me. Syph. And so will all mankind. Juba. I have opened to him The weakness of my soul, my love for Marcia. Juba. Oh, I could pierce my heart, of late! I have known young Juba rise before the sun, To beat the thicket where the tiger slept, Even in the Lybian dog-days, hunt him down, Rivet the panting savage to the ground. Juba. Prithee, no more. Syph. How would the old king smile To see you weigh the paws, when tipped with gold, And throw the shaggy spoils about your shoulders! Juba. Syphax, this old man's talk (though ho- In every word) would now lose its sweetness. Syph. Young prince, I yet could give you good Marcia might still be yours. Juba. What sayest thou, Syphax? By Heavens, thou turnest me all into attention. Syph. Juba commands Numidia's hardy troops, Juba. Can such dishonest thoughts Honour's a fine imaginary notion, Syph. The boasted ancestors of those great men, 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. You have not read mankind; your youth admires May Juba ever live in ignorance! This arrogance unanswered! Thou art a traitor, A false old traitor. [Aside. Syph. I have gone too far. Juba. Cato shall know the baseness of thy soul. Syph. I must appease this storm, or perish in it. [Aside. 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 age, Throw down the merit of my better years? This the reward of a whole life of service! Curse on the boy! how steadily he hears me! [Aside. Juba. Is it because the throne of my forefa thers Still stands unfilled, and that Numidia's crown Does not old Syphax follow you to war? Syph. Not hear me talk! what, when my faith My royal master's son, is called in question? Juba. Thou knowest the way too well into my heart; I do believe thee loyal to thy prince. Syph. What greater instance can I give? I've offered To do an action which my soul abhors, Syph. And 'tis for this my prince has called Juba. Sure thou mistakest; I did not call thee so. Syph. You did, indeed, my prince, you called me traitor. |