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diff --git a/31592.txt b/31592.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8b26760 --- /dev/null +++ b/31592.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2842 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Cato, by Joseph Addison, et al + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Cato + A Tragedy, in Five Acts + + +Author: Joseph Addison + + + +Release Date: March 10, 2010 [eBook #31592] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CATO*** + + +E-text prepared by Delphine Lettau and the Project Gutenberg Online +Distributed Proofreading Canada Team (http://www.pgdpcanada.net) + + + +CATO; + +A Tragedy, +IN FIVE ACTS, + + +BY JOSEPH ADDISON, ESQ. + + +AS PERFORMED AT THE +THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN. + + +PRINTED UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE MANAGERS +FROM THE PROMPT BOOK. + +WITH REMARKS +BY MRS. INCHBALD. + + + + +PARIS, +PRINTED FOR BAUDRY, +ENGLISH, ITALIAN, SPANISH, PORTUGUESE AND GERMAN +LIBRARY, RUE DU COQ-SAINT-HONORE. + +1823. + + + + +REMARKS. + + +The author of this tragedy, to whose vigorous mind the English are +indebted for their choicest moral works, came into the world with a +frame so weak, that he was christened immediately on his birth, in +consequence of the symptoms he gave of a speedy dissolution. The hand +which reared him did a more than ordinary service to the age in which +he lived, and to succeeding generations. Addison's pious writings, +untainted by the rigour of superstition, have softened the harsh spirit +of ancient religion, whilst they have confirmed all its principles. + +He was the son of the Reverend Launcelot Addison, Rector of Milston, in +the county of Wilts, at which place he was born, on the 6th of May, 1672. + +After passing through some inferior schools, he was placed at the +Charter-House; where he contracted that intimacy with Steele, which +grew to a friendship honourable to them both, from its duration, and +the instructions which their joint labour bestowed on mankind. + +At the age of fifteen, young Addison was entered at Queen's College, +Oxford, where he applied himself so closely to study, that, in a few +years, his Latin poetry gained him high reputation in both universities, +and, at the age of twenty-two, he became known to the nation at large by +his English compositions. + +He was now pressed by his father to take holy orders; which, +notwithstanding his sedate turn of mind, and his habits of piety, he +positively refused. Mr. Tickell has alleged, that it was Addison's +extreme modesty, a constitutional timidity, which made him resolve +against being in the church--but he became a statesman; and, surely, +that is a character which requires as much courage as a clergyman's, +when the church is not under persecution. + +The first dramatic work from the pen of Addison, was an opera called +"Rosamond," which having but indifferent success, he next assisted +Steele in his play of "The Tender Husband;" for which the author +surprised him by a dedication, openly to avow the obligation. + +These two friends now united their efforts in that well-known periodical +work, "The Spectator;" by which they reformed the manners, as well as +the morals, of their readers, and established their own literary fame. +But, as the talents of Addison were superior to those of Steele, so are +the papers in this work which were written by him esteemed above the +rest;--and, as a mark of distinction, he had the laudable, or his friend +Steele the honest pride, to affix a letter at the end of every such +paper, by which it should be known for his. The Muse Clio furnished the +four letters which have been thus used in "The Spectator," as Addison's +honourable stamp of authorship. + +In the periodical work of "The Guardian" he had likewise some share; +and, in 1713, he produced, what Dr. Johnson has called "the noblest work +of Addison's genius"--"Cato." + +Notwithstanding the merit of this play, it is certain that it was +indebted to the political circumstances of the times, for that +enthusiastic applause with which it was received by the town. + +The joy or sorrow which an author is certain to experience upon every +new production, is far more powerful in the heart of a dramatist than +in that of any other writer. The sound of clamorous plaudits raises +his spirits to a kind of ecstacy; whilst hisses and groans, from a +dissatisfied audience, strike on the ear like a personal insult, avowing +loud and public contempt for that in which he has been labouring to show +his skill. + +Addison, with his timid nature, felt all the excruciating tortures of +an ambitious, yet a fearful dramatist. He could not stay at home on the +first night of "Cato;" for to be told, at once, that his tragedy was +driven from the stage with derision, had been to his tremulous nerves +like the dart of death. Not less peril might have befallen him as an +auditor--he therefore was neither present on the first performance, +nor absent from the theatre;--but, placing himself on a bench in the +green-room, his body motionless, his soul in tumult, he kept by his side +a friend, whom he dispatched every minute towards the stage, to bring +him news of what was passing there. He thus secured, he conceived, +progressive information of his fate, without the risk of hearing it +from an enraged multitude. But such was the vehemence of applause, +that shouts of admiration forced their way through the walls of the +green-room, before his messenger could return with the gladsome tidings. +Yet, not till the last sentence was spoken, and the curtain fairly +dropped upon Cato and his weeping friends, did the author venture to +move from the inanimate position in which he was fixed. This acute dread +of failure now heightened the joy of success, and never was success +more complete. + +"Cato," says Pope, in a letter to one of his friends, written at the +time, "was not so much the wonder of Rome in his days, as he is of +Britain in ours." + +The most fortunate of all occurrences took place, from the skill with +which Addison drew this illustrious Roman--he gave him so much virtue, +that both Whigs and Tories declared him of their party; and instead of +any one, on either side, opposing his sentences in the cause of freedom, +all strove which should the most honour him. + +Both auditors and readers, since that noted period, much as they may +praise this tragedy, complain that it wants the very first requisite of +a dramatic work--power to affect the passions. This criticism shows, +to the full extent, how men were impassioned, at that time, by their +political sentiments. They brought their passions with them to the +playhouse, fired on the subject of the play; and all the poet had to +do was to extend the flame. + +It is a charge against this drama, that the love scenes are all insipid; +but it should be considered, that neither Cato nor his family, with +strict propriety, could love any thing but their country.--As this is +a love which women feel in a much less degree than men, and as bondage, +not liberty, is woman's wish, "Cato," with all his patriotism, must ever +be a dull entertainment to the female sex; and men of course receive but +little pleasure from elegant amusements, of which women do not partake. + +The language and sentiments contained here are worthy of the great +Addison and the great Cato; and if, as it is objected, the characters +are too elevated to be natural, yet they accord with that idea of nature +which imagination conceives of such remarkable personages. + +The author of "Cato" had planned other tragedies and celebrated works, +which the subsequent part of his days did not give him leisure to +execute; for, on the death of Queen Anne, the Lords Justices made him +their Secretary: he was soon after appointed principal Secretary of +State. These, and other public employments, prevented his completing +farther literary designs. Or, it may be thought, that the loss of his +domestic tranquillity, at this time, by his marriage with the Countess +Dowager of Warwick, might possibly impede every future attempt for the +favour of the Muses, to whom this, his wife, had not the slightest +affinity. It is supposed she embittered, by arrogance and discontent, +the remainder of this good man's life, which terminated on the 17th of +June, 1719, in the 47th year of his age. He died at Holland House, near +Kensington, and left an only child, a daughter, by the Countess. + +Lady Warwick had also a son by her former husband, a very fine, +spirited, and accomplished youth, for whose welfare the dying Addison +showed peculiar concern; for, in the extremity of his disorder, having +dismissed his physicians, and with them all hopes of recovery, he +desired that the young Lord Warwick might be called to his bedside. He +came--but life was now fast departing from his revered father-in-law, +and he uttered not a word. After an afflicting pause, the young man +said, "Dear sir, you sent for me; I believe, and I hope, that you +have some commands; I shall hold them most sacred." Grasping his hand, +Addison softly replied, "I sent for you, that you might see in what +peace a Christian can die." He spoke with difficulty, and instantly +expired. + +It is to this circumstance Mr. Tickell refers in his lines on Addison's +death, where he has this passage: + + "He taught us how to live; and, oh! too high + A price for knowledge, taught us how to die." + + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + _Cato_, Mr. Cooke. + _Portius_, Mr. Siddons. + _Marcus_, Mr. H. Johnston. + _Sempronius_, Mr. Cory. + _Juba_, Mr. Brunton. + _Syphax_, Mr. Murray. + _Lucius_, Mr. Claremont. + _Decius_, Mr. Williams. + + _Lucia_, Miss Marriott. + _Marcia_, Mrs. Litchfield. + + _Mutineers, Guards, etc._ + + + _SCENE--The Governor's Palace in Utica._ + + + + +CATO. + + + + +ACT THE FIRST. + + +SCENE I. + +_A Hall._ + +_Enter_ PORTIUS _and_ MARCUS. + +_Por._ The dawn is overcast, the morning low'rs, +And heavily in clouds brings on the day, +The great, the important day, big with the fate +Of Cato and of Rome----Our father's death +Would fill up all the guilt of civil war, +And close the scene of blood. Already Caesar +Has ravaged more than half the globe, and sees +Mankind grown thin by his destructive sword: +Should he go farther, numbers would be wanting +To form new battles, and support his crimes. +Ye gods, what havoc does ambition make +Among your works! + +_Marc._ Thy steady temper, Portius, +Can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud, and Caesar, +In the calm lights of mild philosophy; +I'm tortured e'en to madness, when I think +On the proud victor--ev'ry time he's named, +Pharsalia rises to my view!--I see +Th' insulting tyrant, prancing o'er the field, +Strew'd with Rome's citizens, and drench'd in slaughter; +His horse's hoofs wet with patrician blood! +Oh, Portius! is there not some chosen curse, +Some hidden thunder in the stores of Heav'n, +Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man +Who owes his greatness to his country's ruin? + +_Por._ Believe me, Marcus, 'tis an impious greatness, +And mix'd with too much horror to be envied: +How does the lustre of our father's actions, +Through the dark cloud of ills that cover him, +Break out, and burn with more triumphant brightness! +His sufferings shine, and spread a glory round him; +Greatly unfortunate, he fights the cause +Of honour, virtue, liberty, and Rome. +His sword ne'er fell, but on the guilty head; +Oppression, tyranny, and pow'r usurp'd, +Draw all the vengeance of his arm upon them. + +_Marc._ Who knows not this? but what can Cato do +Against a world, a base, degenerate world, +That courts the yoke, and bows the neck to Caesar? +Pent up in Utica, he vainly forms +A poor epitome of Roman greatness, +And, cover'd with Numidian guards, directs +A feeble army, and an empty senate, +Remnants of mighty battles fought in vain. +By Heav'n, such virtue, join'd with such success, +Distracts my very soul! Our father's fortune +Would almost tempt us to renounce his precepts. + +_Por._ Remember what our father oft has told us: +The ways of Heav'n are dark and intricate, +Puzzled in mazes, and perplex'd with errors; +Our understanding traces them in vain, +Lost and bewilder'd in the fruitless search; +Nor sees with how much art the windings run, +Nor where the regular confusion ends. + +_Marc._ These are suggestions of a mind at ease:-- +Oh, Portius! didst thou taste but half the griefs +That wring my soul, thou couldst not talk thus coldly. +Passion unpitied, and successless love, +Plant daggers in my heart, and aggravate +My other griefs.--Were but my Lucia kind---- + +_Por._ Thou see'st not that thy brother is thy rival; +But I must hide it, for I know thy temper. [_Aside._ +Behold young Juba, the Numidian prince, +With how much care he forms himself to glory, +And breaks the fierceness of his native temper, +To copy out our father's bright example. +He loves our sister Marcia, greatly loves her; +His eyes, his looks, his actions, all betray it; +But still the smother'd fondness burns within him; +When most it swells, and labours for a vent, +The sense of honour, and desire of fame, +Drive the big passion back into his heart. +What! shall an African, shall Juba's heir, +Reproach great Cato's son, and show the world +A virtue wanting in a Roman soul? + +_Marc._ Portius, no more! your words leave stings behind them. +Whene'er did Juba, or did Portius, show +A virtue that has cast me at a distance, +And thrown me out in the pursuits of honour? + +_Por._ Marcus, I know thy gen'rous temper well; +Fling but the appearance of dishonour on it, +It straight takes fire, and mounts into a blaze. + +_Marc._ A brother's suff'rings claim a brother's pity. + +_Por._ Heav'n knows, I pity thee----Behold my eyes, +Ev'n whilst I speak--Do they not swim in tears? +Were but my heart as naked to thy view, +Marcus would see it bleed in his behalf. + +_Marc._ Why then dost treat me with rebukes, instead +Of kind condoling cares, and friendly sorrow? + +_Por._ Oh, Marcus! did I know the way to ease +Thy troubled heart, and mitigate thy pains, +Marcus, believe me, I could die to do it. + +_Marc._ Thou best of brothers, and thou best of friends! +Pardon a weak distemper'd soul, that swells +With sudden gusts, and sinks as soon in calms, +The sport of passions. But Sempronius comes: +He must not find this softness hanging on me. [_Exit_ MARCUS. + +_Enter_ SEMPRONIUS. + +_Sem._ Conspiracies no sooner should be form'd +Than executed. What means Portius here? +I like not that cold youth. I must dissemble, +And speak a language foreign to my heart. [_Aside._ +Good-morrow, Portius; let us once embrace, +Once more embrace, while yet we both are free. +To-morrow, should we thus express our friendship, +Each might receive a slave into his arms; +This sun, perhaps, this morning sun's the last +That e'er shall rise on Roman liberty. + +_Por._ My father has this morning call'd together +To this poor hall, his little Roman senate, +(The leavings of Pharsalia) to consult +If he can yet oppose the mighty torrent +That bears down Rome and all her gods before it, +Or must at length give up the world to Caesar. + +_Sem._ Not all the pomp and majesty of Rome +Can raise her senate more than Cato's presence. +His virtues render our assembly awful, +They strike with something like religious fear, +And make even Caesar tremble at the head +Of armies flush'd with conquest. Oh, my Portius! +Could I but call that wond'rous man my father, +Would but thy sister Marcia be propitious +To thy friend's vows, I might be blest indeed! + +_Por._ Alas, Sempronius! wouldst thou talk of love +To Marcia, whilst her father's life's in danger? +Thou might'st as well court the pale, trembling vestal, +When she beholds the holy flame expiring. + +_Sem._ The more I see the wonders of thy race, +The more I'm charm'd. Thou must take heed, my Portius; +The world has all its eyes on Cato's son; +Thy father's merit sets thee up to view, +And shows thee in the fairest point of light, +To make thy virtues or thy faults conspicuous. + +_Por._ Well dost thou seem to check my ling'ring here +In this important hour--I'll straight away, +And while the fathers of the senate meet +In close debate, to weigh th' events of war, +I'll animate the soldiers' drooping courage +With love of freedom and contempt of life; +I'll thunder in their ears their country's cause, +And try to rouse up all that's Roman in them. +'Tis not in mortals to command success, +But we'll do more, Sempronius--we'll deserve it. [_Exit._ + +_Sem._ Curse on the stripling! how he apes his sire! +Ambitiously sententious--But I wonder +Old Syphax comes not; his Numidian genius +Is well disposed to mischief, were he prompt +And eager on it; but he must be spurr'd, +And every moment quicken'd to the course. +Cato has used me ill; he has refused +His daughter Marcia to my ardent vows. +Besides, his baffled arms, and ruin'd cause, +Are bars to my ambition. Caesar's favour, +That show'rs down greatness on his friends, will raise me +To Rome's first honours. If I give up Cato, +I claim, in my reward, his captive daughter. +But Syphax comes---- + +_Enter_ SYPHAX. + +_Syph._ Sempronius, all is ready; +I've sounded my Numidians, man by man, +And find them ripe for a revolt: they all +Complain aloud of Cato's discipline, +And wait but the command to change their master. + +_Sem._ Believe me, Syphax, there's no time to waste; +Ev'n while we speak, our conqueror comes on, +And gathers ground upon us every moment. +Alas! thou know'st not Caesar's active soul, +With what a dreadful course he rushes on +From war to war. In vain has nature form'd +Mountains and oceans t'oppose his passage; +He bounds o'er all. +One day more +Will set the victor thund'ring at our gates. +But, tell me, hast thou yet drawn o'er young Juba? +That still would recommend thee more to Caesar, +And challenge better terms. + +_Syph._ Alas! he's lost! +He's lost, Sempronius; all his thoughts are full +Of Cato's virtues--But I'll try once more +(For every instant I expect him here) +If yet I can subdue those stubborn principles +Of faith and honour, and I know not what, +That have corrupted his Numidian temper, +And struck th' infection into all his soul. + +_Sem._ Be sure to press upon him every motive. +Juba's surrender, since his father's death, +Would give up Afric into Caesar's hands, +And make him lord of half the burning zone. + +_Syph._ But is it true, Sempronius, that your senate +Is call'd together? Gods! thou must be cautious; +Cato has piercing eyes, and will discern +Our frauds, unless they're cover'd thick with art. + +_Sem._ Let me alone, good Syphax, I'll conceal +My thoughts in passion ('tis the surest way); +I'll bellow out for Rome, and for my country, +And mouth at Caesar, till I shake the senate. +Your cold hypocrisy's a stale device, +A worn-out trick: wouldst thou be thought in earnest, +Clothe thy feign'd zeal in rage, in fire, in fury! + +_Syph._ In troth, thou'rt able to instruct grey hairs, +And teach the wily African deceit. + +_Sem._ Once more be sure to try thy skill on Juba. +Remember, Syphax, we must work in haste; +Oh, think what anxious moments pass between +The birth of plots, and their last fatal periods! +Oh, 'tis a dreadful interval of time, +Fill'd up with horror all, and big with death! +Destruction hangs on every word we speak, +On every thought, till the concluding stroke +Determines all, and closes our design. [_Exit._ + +_Syph._ I'll try if yet I can reduce to reason +This headstrong youth, and make him spurn at Cato. +The time is short; Caesar comes rushing on us-- +But hold! young Juba sees me, and approaches! + +_Enter_ JUBA. + +_Jub._ Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone. +I have observed of late thy looks are fall'n, +O'ercast with gloomy cares and discontent; +Then tell me, Syphax, I conjure thee, tell me, +What are the thoughts that knit thy brow in frowns, +And turn thine eye thus coldly on thy prince? + +_Syph._ 'Tis not my talent to conceal my thoughts, +Or carry smiles and sunshine in my face, +When discontent sits heavy at my heart; +I have not yet so much the Roman in me. + +_Jub._ Why dost thou cast out such ungenerous terms +Against the lords and sov'reigns of the world? +Dost thou not see mankind fall down before them, +And own the force of their superior virtue? +Is there a nation in the wilds of Afric, +Amidst our barren rocks and burning sands, +That does not tremble at the Roman name? + +_Syph._ Gods! where's the worth that sets these people up +Above your own Numidia's tawny sons? +Do they with tougher sinews bend the bow? +Or flies the javelin swifter to its mark, +Launch'd from the vigour of a Roman arm? +Who like our active African instructs +The fiery steed, and trains him to his hand? +Or guides in troops th' embattled elephant +Laden with war? These, these are arts, my prince, +In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome. + +_Jub._ These all are virtues of a meaner rank: +Perfections that are placed in bones and nerves. +A Roman soul is bent on higher views; +Turn up thy eyes to Cato; +There may'st thou see to what a godlike height +The Roman virtues lift up mortal man. +While good, and just, and anxious for his friends, +He's still severely bent against himself; +And when his fortune sets before him all +The pomps and pleasures that his soul can wish, +His rigid virtue will accept of none. + +_Syph._ Believe me, prince, there's not an African +That traverses our vast Numidian deserts +In quest of prey, and lives upon his bow, +But better practises those boasted virtues. +Coarse are his meals, the fortune of the chase; +Amidst the running stream he slakes his thirst; +Toils all the day, and, at the approach of night, +On the first friendly bank he throws him down, +Or rests his head upon a rock till morn; +Then rises fresh, pursues his wonted game, +And if the following day he chance to find +A new repast, or an untasted spring, +Blesses his stars, and thinks it luxury. + +_Jub._ Thy prejudices, Syphax, won't discern +What virtues grow from ignorance and choice, +Nor how the hero differs from the brute. +Where shall we find the man that bears affliction, +Great and majestic in his griefs, like Cato? +How does he rise against a load of woes, +And thank the gods that threw the weight upon him! + +_Syph._ 'Tis pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of soul; +I think the Romans call it stoicism. +Had not your royal father thought so highly +Of Roman virtue, and of Cato's cause, +He had not fall'n by a slave's hand inglorious. + +_Jub._ Why dost thou call my sorrows up afresh? +My father's name brings tears into my eyes. + +_Syph._ Oh, that you'd profit by your father's ills! + +_Jub._ What wouldst thou have me do? + +_Syph._ Abandon Cato. + +_Jub._ Syphax, I should be more than twice an orphan +By such a loss. + +_Syph._ Ay, there's the tie that binds you! +You long to call him father. Marcia's charms +Work in your heart unseen, and plead for Cato. +No wonder you are deaf to all I say. + +_Jub._ Syphax, your zeal becomes importunate; +I've hitherto permitted it to rave, +And talk at large; but learn to keep it in, +Lest it should take more freedom than I'll give it. + +_Syph._ Sir, your great father never used me thus. +Alas, he's dead! but can you e'er forget +The tender sorrows, +And repeated blessings, +Which you drew from him in your last farewell? +The good old king, at parting, wrung my hand, +(His eyes brimful of tears) then sighing cried, +Pr'ythee be careful of my son!----His grief +Swell'd up so high, he could not utter more. + +_Jub._ Alas! thy story melts away my soul! +That best of fathers! how shall I discharge +The gratitude and duty that I owe him? + +_Syph._ By laying up his counsels in your heart. + +_Jub._ His counsels bade me yield to thy direction: +Then, Syphax, chide me in severest terms, +Vent all thy passion, and I'll stand its shock, +Calm and unruffled as a summer sea, +When not a breath of wind flies o'er its surface. + +_Syph._ Alas! my prince, I'd guide you to your safety. + +_Jub._ I do believe thou wouldst; but tell me how? + +_Syph._ Fly from the fate that follows Caesar's foes. + +_Jub._ My father scorn'd to do it. + +_Syph._ And therefore died. + +_Jub._ Better to die ten thousand thousand deaths, +Than wound my honour. + +_Syph._ Rather say, your love. + +_Jub._ Syphax, I've promised to preserve my temper; +Why wilt thou urge me to confess a flame +I long have stifled, and would fain conceal? + +_Syph._ Believe me, prince, though hard to conquer love, +'Tis easy to divert and break its force. +Absence might cure it, or a second mistress +Light up another flame, and put out this. +The glowing dames of Zama's royal court +Have faces flush'd with more exalted charms; +Were you with these, my prince, you'd soon forget +The pale, unripen'd beauties of the north. + +_Jub._ 'Tis not a set of features, or complexion, +The tincture of a skin, that I admire: +Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover, +Fades in his eye, and palls upon the sense. +The virtuous Marcia tow'rs above her sex: +True, she is fair (Oh, how divinely fair!), +But still the lovely maid improves her charms, +With inward greatness, unaffected wisdom, +And sanctity of manners; Cato's soul +Shines out in every thing she acts or speaks, +While winning mildness and attractive smiles +Dwell in her looks, and, with becoming grace, +Soften the rigour of her father's virtue. + +_Syph._ How does your tongue grow wanton in her praise! +But on my knees, I beg you would consider-- + +_Jub._ Ha! Syphax, is't not she?--She moves this way; +And with her Lucia, Lucius's fair daughter. +My heart beats thick--I pr'ythee, Syphax, leave me. + +_Syph._ Ten thousand curses fasten on them both! +Now will the woman, with a single glance, +Undo what I've been lab'ring all this while. [_Exit_ SYPHAX. + +_Enter_ MARCIA _and_ LUCIA. + +_Jub._ Hail, charming maid! How does thy beauty smooth +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 th' approach of Caesar. + +_Marcia._ I should be grieved, young prince, to think my presence +Unbent your thoughts, and slacken'd them to arms, +While, warm with slaughter, our victorious foe +Threatens aloud, and calls you to the field. + +_Jub._ Oh, Marcia, let me hope thy kind concerns +And gentle wishes follow me to battle! +The thought will give new vigour to my arm, +And strength and weight to my descending sword, +And drive it in a tempest on the foe. + +_Marcia._ My pray'rs and wishes always shall attend +The friends of Rome, the glorious cause of virtue, +And men approved of by the gods and Cato. + +_Jub._ That Juba may deserve thy pious cares, +I'll gaze for ever on thy godlike father, +Transplanting one by one, into my life, +His bright perfections, till I shine like him. + +_Marcia._ My father never, at a time like this, +Would lay out his great soul in words, and waste +Such precious moments. + +_Jub._ 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 ranged in its just array, +And dreadful pomp, then will I think on thee; +Oh, 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 +For Marcia's love. [_Exit_ JUBA. + +_Lucia._ Marcia, you're too severe; +How could you chide the young good-natured prince, +And drive him from you with so stern an air, +A prince that loves, and dotes on you to death? + +_Marcia._ 'Tis therefore, Lucia, that I chide him from me; +His air, his voice, his looks, and honest soul, +Speak all so movingly in his behalf, +I dare not trust myself to hear him talk. + +_Lucia._ Why will you fight against so sweet a passion, +And steel your heart to such a world of charms? + +_Marcia._ How, Lucia! wouldst thou have me sink away +In pleasing dreams, and lose myself in love, +When ev'ry moment Cato's life's at stake? +Caesar comes arm'd with terror and revenge, +And aims his thunder at my father's head. +Should not the sad occasion swallow up +My other cares? + +_Lucia._ Why have I not this constancy of mind, +Who have so many griefs to try its force? +Sure, Nature form'd me of her softest mould, +Enfeebled all my soul with tender passions, +And sunk me ev'n below my own weak sex: +Pity and love, by turns, oppress my heart. + +_Marcia._ Lucia, disburden all thy cares on me, +And let me share thy most retired distress. +Tell me, who raises up this conflict in thee? + +_Lucia._ I need not blush to name them, when I tell thee +They're Marcia's brothers, and the sons of Cato. + +_Marcia._ They both behold thee with their sister's eyes, +And often have reveal'd their passion to me. +But tell me, which of them is Lucia's choice? + +_Lucia._ Suppose 'twere Portius, could you blame my choice?-- +Oh, Portius, thou hast stolen away my soul! +Marcus is over warm, his fond complaints +Have so much earnestness and passion in them, +I hear him with a secret kind of horror, +And tremble at his vehemence of temper. + +_Marcia._ Alas, poor youth! +How will thy coldness raise +Tempests and storms in his afflicted bosom! +I dread the consequence. + +_Lucia._ You seem to plead +Against your brother Portius. + +_Marcia._ Heav'n forbid. +Had Portius been the unsuccessful lover, +The same compassion would have fall'n on him. + +_Lucia._ Was ever virgin love distress'd like mine! +Portius himself oft falls in tears before me +As if he mourn'd his rival's ill success; +Then bids me hide the motions of my heart, +Nor show which way it turns--so much he fears +The sad effect that it will have on Marcus. + +_Marcia._ 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 heav'n in its fair bosom shows. [_Exeunt._ + + + + +ACT THE SECOND. + + +SCENE I. + +_The Senate sitting._ + +_Flourish._ + +_Enter_ CATO. + +_Cato._ Fathers, we once again are met in council; +Caesar'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 +Received his yoke, and the whole Nile is Caesar'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 Lybia'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 subdued at length, and wrought, +By time and ill success, to a submission? +Sempronius, speak. + +_Sem._ Gods! can a Roman senate long debate +Which of the two to chuse, slav'ry or death! +No; let us rise at once, gird on our swords, +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 bondage. +Rise, fathers, rise! 'tis Rome demands your help; +Rise, and revenge her slaughter'd citizens, +Or share their fate!-- +To battle! +Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow; +And Scipio's ghost walks unrevenged amongst us. + +_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 tow'ring phrensy and distraction. +Lucius, we next would know what's your opinion. + +_Luc._ My thoughts, I must confess, are turn'd on peace. +Already have our quarrels fill'd the world +With widows, and with orphans: Scythia mourns +Our guilty wars, and earth's remotest regions +Lie half unpeopled by the feuds of Rome: +'Tis time to sheathe the sword, and spare mankind. +Already have we shown our love to Rome, +Now let us show submission to the gods. +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 hands. +And bids us not delight in Roman blood, +Unprofitably shed. What men could do, +Is done already: Heav'n and earth will witness, +If Rome must fall, that we are innocent. + +_Cato._ Let us appear nor rash nor diffident; +Immod'rate valour swells into a fault; +And fear, admitted into public councils, +Betrays like treason. Let us shun them both. +Fathers, I cannot see that our affairs +Are grown thus desp'rate: we have bulwarks round us; +Within our walls are troops inured to toil +In Afric's heat, 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 Caesar'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. + +_Enter_ MARCUS. + +_Marc._ Fathers, this moment, as I watch'd the gate, +Lodged on my post, a herald is arrived +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. + +_Cato._ By your permission, fathers--bid him enter. [_Exit_ MARCUS. +Decius was once my friend, but other prospects +Have loosed those ties, and bound him fast to Caesar. +His message may determine our resolves. + +_Enter_ DECIUS. + +_Dec._ Caesar sends health to Cato-- + +_Cato._ Could 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. Caesar sees +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. + +_Dec._ Rome and her senators submit to Caesar; +Her gen'rals and her consuls are no more, +Who check'd his conquests, and denied his triumphs. +Why will not Cato be this Caesar's friend? + +_Cato._ These very reasons thou hast urged forbid it. + +_Dec._ Cato, I've orders to expostulate +And reason with you, as from friend to friend: +Think on the storm that gathers o'er your head, +And threatens ev'ry hour to burst upon it; +Still may you stand high in your country's honours-- +Do but comply, and make your peace with Caesar; +Rome will rejoice, and cast its eyes on Cato, +As on the second of mankind. + +_Cato._ No more; +I must not think of life on such conditions. + +_Dec._ Caesar 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 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 do not 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; +Did'st 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, +For all his gen'rous cares and proffer'd friendship? + +_Cato._ His cares for me are insolent and vain: +Presumptuous man! the gods take care of Cato. +Would Caesar show the greatness of his soul, +Bid him employ his care for these my friends, +And make good use of his ill-gotten pow'r, +By sheltering men much better than himself. + +_Dec._ Your high, unconquer'd heart makes you forget +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. [_Exit_ DECIUS. + +_Sem._ Cato, we thank thee. +The mighty genius of immortal Rome +Speaks in thy voice; thy soul breathes liberty. +Caesar will shrink to hear the words thou utter'st, +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 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. + +_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 sacrificed to Rome--I stand reproved. + +_Cato._ Fathers, 'tis time you come to a resolve. + +_Luc._ Cato, we all go in to your opinion; +Caesar's behaviour has convinced 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, and strive to fill +This little interval, this pause of life +(While yet our liberty and fates are doubtful) +With resolution, friendship, Roman bravery, +And all the virtues we can crowd into it; +That Heav'n may say, it ought to be prolong'd. +Fathers, farewell--The young Numidian prince +Comes forward, and expects to know our counsels. [_Exeunt_ SENATORS. + +_Enter_ JUBA. + +Juba, the Roman senate has resolved, +Till time give better prospects, still to keep +The sword unsheathed, and turn its edge on Caesar. + +_Jub._ 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," 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 Heav'n thought otherwise. + +_Jub._ My father's 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. + +_Jub._ My father drew respect from foreign climes: +The kings of Afric sought him for their friend; +Kings far remote, that rule, as fame reports, +Behind the hidden sources of the Nile, +In distant worlds, on t'other side the sun; +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. + +_Jub._ I would not boast the greatness of my father, +But point out new alliances to Cato. +Had we not better leave this Utica, +To arm Numidia in our cause, and court +Th' assistance of my father's powerful friends? +Did they know Cato, our remotest kings +Would pour embattled multitudes about him: +Their swarthy 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 Caesar? +Reduced, like Hannibal, to seek relief +From court to court, and wander up and down +A vagabond in Afric? + +_Jub._ Cato, perhaps +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 Heav'n's first fav'rites, and the best of men. +The gods, in bounty, work up storms about us, +That give mankind occasion to exert +Their hidden strength, and throw out into practice +Virtues, which shun the day, and lie conceal'd +In the smooth seasons and the calms of life. + +_Jub._ 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. + +_Jub._ 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. + +_Jub._ I would fain retract them. +Give them me back again: they aimed at nothing. + +_Cato._ Tell me thy wish, young prince; make not my ear +A stranger to thy thoughts. + +_Jub._ Oh! they're extravagant; +Still let me hide them. + +_Cato._ What can Juba ask, +That Cato will refuse? + +_Jub._ I fear to name it. +Marcia--inherits all her father's virtues. + +_Cato._ What wouldst thou say? + +_Jub._ Cato, thou hast a daughter. + +_Cato._ Adieu, young prince; I would not hear a word +Should lessen thee in my esteem. Remember, +The hand of fate is over us, and Heav'n +Exacts severity from all our thoughts. +It is not now a time to talk of aught +But chains or conquest, liberty or death. [_Exit._ + +_Enter_ SYPHAX. + +_Syph._ How's this, my prince? What, cover'd with confusion? +You look as if yon stern philosopher +Had just now chid you. + +_Jub._ Syphax, I'm undone! + +_Syph._ I know it well. + +_Jub._ Cato thinks meanly of me. + +_Syph._ And so will all mankind. + +_Jub._ I've open'd to him +The weakness of my soul--my love for Marcia. + +_Syph._ Cato's a proper person to intrust +A love-tale with! + +_Jub._ Oh, I could pierce my heart, +My foolish heart! + +_Syph._ Alas, my prince, how are you changed of late! +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. +I've seen you, +Ev'n in the Lybian dog-days, hunt him down, +Then charge him close, +And, stooping from your horse, +Rivet the panting savage to the ground. + +_Jub._ Pr'ythee, no more. + +_Syph._ 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! + +_Jub._ Syphax, this old man's talk, though honey flow'd +In ev'ry word, would now lose all its sweetness. +Cato's displeased, and Marcia lost for ever. + +_Syph._ Young prince, I yet could give you good advice; +Marcia might still be yours. + +_Jub._ As how, dear Syphax? + +_Syph._ Juba commands Numidia's hardy troops, +Mounted on steeds unused to the restraint +Of curbs or bits, and fleeter than the winds: +Give but the word, we snatch this damsel up, +And bear her off. + +_Jub._ Can such dishonest thoughts +Rise up in man? Wouldst thou seduce my youth +To do an act that would destroy mine honour? + +_Syph._ Gods, I could tear my hair to hear you talk! +Honour's a fine imaginary notion, +That draws in raw and inexperienced men +To real mischiefs, while they hunt a shadow. + +_Jub._ Wouldst 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 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. + +_Jub._ 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. + +_Jub._ If knowledge of the world makes men perfidious, +May Juba ever live in ignorance! + +_Syph._ Go, go; you're young. + +_Jub._ Gods, must I tamely bear +This arrogance, unanswer'd! Thou'rt a traitor, +A false old traitor. + +_Syph._ I've gone too far. [_Aside._ + +_Jub._ 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. + +_Jub._ 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._ + +_Jub._ 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 live I must not hold my tongue, +And languish out old age in his displeasure. + +_Jub._ 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? I've offer'd +To do an action which my soul abhors, +And gain you whom you love, at any price. + +_Jub._ Was this thy motive? I have been too hasty. + +_Syph._ And 'tis for this my prince has call'd me traitor. + +_Jub._ Sure thou mistakest; I did not call thee so. + +_Syph._ You did, indeed, my prince, you call'd me traitor. +Nay, further, threatened 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? + +_Jub._ Syphax, I know thou lovest me; but indeed +Thy zeal for Juba 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 weep +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. + +_Jub._ Syphax, thy hand; we'll mutually forget +The warmth of youth, and forwardness of age: +Thy prince esteems thy worth, and loves thy person. +If e'er the sceptre come into my hand, +Syphax shall stand the second in my kingdom. + +_Syph._ Why will you overwhelm my age with kindness? +My joys grow burdensome, I sha'n't support it. + +_Jub._ Syphax, 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. [_Exit._ + +_Syph._ Young men soon give, and soon forget, 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. + +_Enter_ SEMPRONIUS. + +All hail, Sempronius! +Well, Cato's senate is resolved to wait +The fury of a siege, before it yields. + +_Sem._ Syphax, we both were on the verge of fate; +Lucius declared for peace, and terms were offer'd +To Cato, by a messenger from Caesar. +Should they submit, ere our designs are ripe, +We both must perish in the common wreck, +Lost in the general, undistinguish'd ruin. + +_Syph._ But how stands Cato? + +_Sem._ Thou hast seen mount Atlas: +Whilst storms and tempests thunder on its brows, +And oceans break their billows at its feet, +It stands unmoved, and glories in its height; +Such is that haughty man; his tow'ring soul, +'Midst all the shocks and injuries of fortune, +Rises superior, and looks down on Caesar. + +_Syph._ But what's this messenger? + +_Sem._ I've practised with him, +And found a means to let the victor know +That Syphax and Sempronius are his friends. +But let me now examine in my turn; +Is Juba fix'd? + +_Syph._ Yes--but it is to Cato. +I've tried the force of every reason on him, +Soothed and caress'd; been angry, soothed again; +Laid safety, life, and interest in his sight; +But all are vain, he scorns them all for Cato. + +_Sem._ Come, 'tis no matter; we shall do without him. +He'll make a pretty figure in a triumph, +And serve to trip before the victor's chariot. +Syphax, I now may hope thou hast forsook +Thy Juba's cause, and wishest Marcia mine. + +_Syph._ May she be thine as fast as thou wouldst have her. + +_Sem._ Syphax, I love that woman; though I curse +Her and myself, yet, spite of me, I love her. + +_Syph._ Make Cato sure, and give up Utica, +Caesar will ne'er refuse thee such a trifle. +But are thy troops prepared for a revolt? +Does the sedition catch from man to man, +And run among the ranks? + +_Sem._ All, all is ready; +The factious leaders are our friends, that spread +Murmurs and discontents among the soldiers; +They count their toilsome marches, long fatigues, +Unusual fastings, and will hear no more +This medley of philosophy and war. +Within an hour they'll storm the senate house. + +_Syph._ Meanwhile I'll draw up my Numidian troops +Within the square, to exercise their arms, +And, as I see occasion, favour thee. +I laugh, to see 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. [_Exeunt._ + + + + +ACT THE THIRD. + + +SCENE I. + +_A Chamber._ + +_Enter_ MARCUS _and_ PORTIUS. + +_Marc._ Thanks to my stars, I have not ranged about +The wilds of life, ere I could find a friend; +Nature first pointed out my Portius to me, +And early taught me, by her secret force, +To love thy person, ere I knew thy merit, +Till what was instinct, grew up into friendship. + +_Por._ Marcus, the friendships of the world are oft +Confed'racies in vice, or leagues of pleasure; +Ours has severest virtue for its basis, +And such a friendship ends not but with life. + +_Marc._ Portius, thou know'st my soul in all its weakness; +Then, pr'ythee, 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-timed, 'tis not a fault to love. +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, +That pants and reaches after distant good! +A lover does not live by vulgar time; +Believe me, Portius, in my Lucia's absence +Life hangs upon me, and becomes a burden; +And yet, when I behold the charming maid, +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 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 +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 he forgets his sleep, and loathes his food; +That youth, and health, and war, are joyless to him; +Describe his anxious days, and restless nights, +And all the torments that thou see'st me suffer. + +_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, +To raise me from amidst this plunge of sorrows? + +_Por._ Marcus, thou canst not ask what I'd refuse; +But here, believe me, I've a thousand reasons---- + +_Marc._ I know thou'lt say my passion's out of season, +That Cato's great example and misfortunes +Should both conspire to drive it from my thoughts. +But what's all this to one that loves like me? +O Portius, Portius, from my soul I wish +Thou did'st but know thyself what 'tis to love! +Then wouldst thou pity and assist thy brother. + +_Por._ 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. [_Aside._ + +_Marc._ But see, where Lucia, at her wonted hour, +Amid the cool of yon high marble arch, +Enjoys the noon-day breeze! Observe her, Portius; +That face, that shape, those eyes, that heav'n of beauty! +Observe her well, and blame me if thou canst. + +_Por._ She sees us, and advances---- + +_Marc._ I'll withdraw, +And leave you for a while. Remember, Portius, +Thy brother's life depends upon thy tongue. [_Exit._ + +_Enter_ LUCIA. + +_Lucia._ Did not I see your brother Marcus here? +Why did he fly the place, and shun my presence? + +_Por._ Oh, Lucia, language is too faint to show +His rage of love; it preys upon his life; +He pines, he sickens, he despairs, he dies! + +_Lucia._ How wilt thou guard thy honour, in the shock +Of love and friendship! Think betimes, my Portius, +Think how the nuptial tie, that might ensure +Our mutual bliss, would raise to such a height +Thy brother's griefs, as might perhaps destroy him. + +_Por._ Alas, poor youth! What dost thou think, my Lucia? +His gen'rous, open, undesigning heart +Has begg'd his rival to solicit for him! +Then do not strike him dead with a denial. + +_Lucia._ No, Portius, no; I see thy sister's tears, +Thy father's anguish, and thy brother's death, +In the pursuit of our ill-fated loves; +And, Portius, here I swear, to Heav'n I swear, +To Heav'n, and all the powers that judge mankind, +Never to mix my plighted hands with thine, +While such a cloud of mischief hangs upon us, +But to forget our loves, and drive thee out +From all my thoughts--as far as I am able. + +_Por._ What hast thou said? I'm thunderstruck--recall +Those hasty words, or I am lost for ever. + +_Lucia._ Has not the vow already pass'd my lips? +The gods have heard it, and 'tis seal'd in heav'n. +May all the vengeance that was ever pour'd +On perjured heads, o'erwhelm me if I break it! + +_Por._ Fix'd in astonishment, I gaze upon thee, +Like one just blasted by a stroke from heav'n, +Who pants for breath and stiffens, yet alive, +In dreadful looks, a monument of wrath! + +_Lucia._ Think, Portius, think thou see'st thy dying brother +Stabb'd at his heart, and all besmear'd with blood, +Storming at Heav'n and thee! Thy awful sire +Sternly demands the cause, the accursed cause, +That robs him of his son: poor Marcia trembles, +Then tears her hair, and, frantic in her griefs, +Calls out on Lucia. What could Lucia answer, +Or how stand up in such a scene of sorrow? + +_Por._ To my confusion and eternal grief, +I must approve the sentence that destroys me. + +_Lucia._ Portius, no more; thy words shoot through my heart, +Melt my resolves, and turn me all to love. +Why are those tears of fondness in thy eyes? +Why heaves thy heart? Why swells thy soul with sorrow? +It softens me too much--Farewell, my Portius! +Farewell, though death is in the word,--for ever! + +_Por._ Stay, Lucia, stay! What dost thou say? For ever? +Thou must not go; my soul still hovers o'er thee, +And can't get loose. + +_Lucia._ If the firm Portius shake, +To hear of parting, think what Lucia suffers! + +_Por._ 'Tis true, unruffled and serene, I've met +The common accidents of life, but here +Such an unlook'd-for storm of ills falls on me. +It beats down all my strength--I cannot bear it. +We must not part. + +_Lucia._ What dost thou say? Not part! +Hast thou forgot the vow that I have made? +Are not there heavens, and gods, that thunder o'er us? +--But see, thy brother Marcus bends this way; +I sicken at the sight. Once more, farewell. +Farewell, and know, thou wrong'st me, if thou think'st +Ever was love or ever grief like mine. [_Exit_ LUCIA. + +_Enter_ MARCUS. + +_Marc._ Portius, what hopes? How stands she? am I doom'd +To life or death? + +_Por._ What wouldst thou have me say? + +_Marc._ What means this pensive posture? Thou appear'st +Like one amazed and terrified. + +_Por._ I've reason. + +_Marc._ Thy downcast looks, and thy disorder'd thoughts, +Tell me my fate. I ask not the success +My cause has found. + +_Por._ I'm grieved I undertook it. + +_Marc._ What, does the barbarous maid insult my heart, +My aching heart, and triumph in my pains? +That I could cast her from my thoughts for ever! + +_Por._ Away! you're too suspicious in your griefs; +Lucia, though sworn never to think of love, +Compassionates your pains, and pities you. + +_Marc._ Compassionates my pains, and pities me! +What is compassion, when 'tis void of love? +Fool that I was, to choose so cold a friend +To urge my cause!--Compassionates my pains! +Pr'ythee what art, what rhet'ric didst thou use +To gain this mighty boon?--She pities me! +To one that asks the warm returns of love, +Compassion's cruelty, 'tis scorn, 'tis death-- + +_Por._ Marcus, no more; have I deserved this treatment? + +_Marc._ What have I said? Oh! Portius, Oh, forgive me! +A soul exasperated in ills, falls out +With every thing--its friend, itself--but hah! [_Shout._ +What means that shout, big with the sounds of war? +What new alarm? + +_Por._ A second, louder yet, +Swells in the wind, and comes more full upon us. + +_Marc._ Oh, for some glorious cause to fall in battle! +Lucia, thou hast undone me: thy disdain +Has broke my heart; 'tis death must give me ease. + +_Por._ Quick let us hence. Who knows if Cato's life +Stands sure? Oh, Marcus, I am warm'd; my heart +Leaps at the trumpet's voice, and burns for glory. [_Exeunt._ + + +SCENE II. + +_Part of the Senate House._ + +_Enter_ SEMPRONIUS, _with_ LEADERS _of the Mutiny_. + +_Sem._ At length the winds are raised, the storm blows high! +Be it your care, my friends, to keep it up +In all its fury, and direct it right, +Till it has spent itself on Cato's head. +Meanwhile, I'll herd among his friends, and seem +One of the number, that, whate'er arrive, +My friends and fellow soldiers may be safe. [_Exit._ + +_1 Lead._ We are all safe; Sempronius is our friend. +Sempronius is as brave a man as Cato. +But, hark, he enters. Bear up boldly to him; +Be sure you beat him down, and bind him fast; +This day will end our toils. +Fear nothing, for Sempronius is our friend. + +_Enter_ SEMPRONIUS, _with_ CATO, LUCIUS, PORTIUS, _and_ MARCUS. + +_Cato._ Where are those bold, intrepid sons of war, +That greatly turn their backs upon the foe, +And to their general send a brave defiance? + +_Sem._ Curse on their dastard souls, they stand astonish'd! [_Aside._ + +_Cato._ Perfidious men! And will you thus dishonour +Your past exploits, and sully all your wars? +Why could not Cato fall +Without your guilt! Behold, ungrateful men, +Behold my bosom naked to your swords, +And let the man that's injured strike the blow. +Which of you all suspects that he is wrong'd, +Or thinks he suffers greater ills than Cato? +Am I distinguished from you but by toils, +Superior toils, and heavier weight of cares? +Painful pre-eminence! + +_Sem._ Confusion to the villains! all is lost! [_Aside._ + +_Cato._ Have you forgotten Lybia's burning waste, +Its barren rocks, parch'd earth, and hills of sand, +Its tainted air, and all its broods of poison? +Who was the first to explore th' untrodden path, +When life was hazarded in ev'ry step? +Or, fainting in the long laborious march, +When, on the banks of an unlook'd-for stream, +You sunk the river with repeated draughts, +Who was the last of all your host who thirsted? + +_Sem._ Did not his temples glow +In the same sultry winds and scorching heats? + +_Cato._ Hence, worthless men! hence! and complain to Caesar, +You could not undergo the toil of war, +Nor bear the hardships that your leader bore. + +_Lucius._ See, Cato, see the unhappy men: they weep! +Fear, and remorse, and sorrow for their crime, +Appear in ev'ry look, and plead for mercy. + +_Cato._ Learn to be honest men; give up yon leaders, +And pardon shall descend on all the rest. + +_Sem._ Cato, commit these wretches to my care; +First let them each be broken on the rack, +Then, with what life remains, impaled, and left +To writhe at leisure round the bloody stake; +There let them hang, and taint the southern wind. +The partners of their crime will learn obedience. + +_Cato._ Forbear, Sempronius!--see they suffer death, +But in their deaths remember they are men; +Strain not the laws, to make their tortures grievous. +Lucius, the base, degen'rate age requires +Severity. +When by just vengeance guilty mortals perish, +The gods behold the punishment with pleasure, +And lay th' uplifted thunderbolt aside. + +_Sem._ Cato, I execute thy will with pleasure. + +_Cato._ Meanwhile, we'll sacrifice to liberty. +Remember, O my friends! the laws, the rights, +The gen'rous plan of power delivered down +From age to age by your renown'd forefathers, +(So dearly bought, the price of so much blood:) +Oh, let it never perish in your hands! +But piously transmit it to your children. +Do thou, great liberty, inspire our souls, +And make our lives in thy possession happy, +Or our deaths glorious in thy just defence. [_Exeunt_ CATO, _etc._ + +_1 Lead._ Sempronius, you have acted like yourself. +One would have thought you had been half in earnest. + +_Sem._ Villain, stand off; base, grov'ling, worthless wretches, +Mongrels in faction, poor faint-hearted traitors! + +_1 Lead._ Nay, now, you carry it too far, Sempronius! + +_Sem._ Know, villains, when such paltry slaves presume +To mix in treason, if the plot succeeds, +They're thrown neglected by; but if it fails, +They're sure to die like dogs, as you shall do. +Here, take these factious monsters, drag them forth +To sudden death. + +_1 Lead._ Nay, since it comes to this-- + +_Sem._ Dispatch them quick, but first pluck out their tongues, +Lest with their dying breath they sow sedition. + [_Exeunt_ GUARDS, _with their_ LEADERS. + +_Enter_ SYPHAX. + +_Syph._ Our first design, my friend, has proved abortive; +Still there remains an after-game to play; +My troops are mounted; +Let but Sempronius head us in our flight, +We'll force the gate where Marcus keeps his guard, +And hew down all that would oppose our passage. +A day will bring us into Caesar's camp. + +_Sem._ Confusion! I have fail'd of half my purpose: +Marcia, the charming Marcia's left behind! + +_Syph._ How! will Sempronius turn a woman's slave? + +_Sem._ Think not thy friend can ever feel the soft +Unmanly warmth and tenderness of love. +Syphax, I long to clasp that haughty maid, +And bend her stubborn virtue to my passion: +When I have gone thus far, I'd cast her off. + +_Syph._ Well said! that's spoken like thyself, Sempronius! +What hinders, then, but that thou find her out, +And hurry her away by manly force? + +_Sem._ But how to gain admission? For access +Is given to none but Juba, and her brothers. + +_Syph._ Thou shalt have Juba's dress, and Juba's guards; +The doors will open, when Numidia's prince +Seems to appear before the slaves that watch them. + +_Sem._ Heavens, what a thought is there! Marcia's my own! +How will my bosom swell with anxious joy, +When I behold her struggling in my arms, +With glowing beauty, and disorder'd charms, +While fear and anger, with alternate grace, +Pant in her breast, and vary in her face! +So Pluto seized off Proserpine, convey'd +To hell's tremendous gloom th' affrighted maid; +There grimly smiled, pleased with the beauteous prize, +Nor envied Jove his sunshine and his skies. [_Exeunt._ + + + + +ACT THE FOURTH. + + +SCENE I. + +_A Chamber._ + +_Enter_ LUCIA _and_ MARCIA. + +_Lucia._ Now, tell me, Marcia, tell me from thy soul, +If thou believest 'tis possible for woman +To suffer greater ills than Lucia suffers? + +_Marcia_ Oh, Lucia, Lucia, might my big swol'n heart +Vent all its griefs, and give a loose to sorrow, +Marcia could answer thee in sighs, keep pace +With all thy woes, and count out tear for tear. + +_Lucia._ I know thou'rt doom'd alike to be beloved +By Juba, and thy father's friend, Sempronius: +But which of these has power to charm like Portius? + +_Marcia._ Still, I must beg thee not to name Sempronius. +Lucia, I like not that loud, boist'rous man. +Juba, to all the bravery of a hero, +Adds softest love, and more than female sweetness; +Juba might make the proudest of our sex, +Any of womankind, but Marcia, happy. + +_Lucia._ And why not Marcia? Come, you strive in vain +To hide your thoughts from one who knows too well +The inward glowings of a heart in love. + +_Marcia._ While Cato lives, his daughter has no right +To love or hate, but as his choice directs. + +_Lucia._ But should this father give you to Sempronius? + +_Marcia._ I dare not think he will: but if he should-- +Why wilt thou add to all the griefs I suffer, +Imaginary ills, and fancied tortures? +I hear the sound of feet! They march this way. +Let us retire, and try if we can drown +Each softer thought in sense of present danger: +When love once pleads admission to our hearts, +In spite of all the virtues we can boast, +The woman that deliberates is lost. [_Exeunt._ + +_Enter_ SEMPRONIUS, _dressed like_ JUBA, _with_ +NUMIDIAN GUARDS. + +_Sem._ The deer is lodged, I've track'd her to her covert. +How will the young Numidian rave to see +His mistress lost! If aught could glad my soul, +Beyond the enjoyment of so bright a prize, +'Twould be to torture that young, gay barbarian. +--But, hark! what noise! Death to my hopes! 'tis he, +'Tis Juba's self! there is but one way left---- + +_Enter_ JUBA. + +_Jub._ What do I see? Who's this that dares usurp +The guards and habits of Numidia's prince? + +_Sem._ One that was born to scourge thy arrogance, +Presumptuous youth! + +_Jub._ What can this mean? Sempronius! + +_Sem._ My sword shall answer thee. Have at thy heart. + +_Jub._ Nay then, beware thy own, proud, barbarous man. + [SEMPRONIUS _falls_. + +_Sem._ Curse on my stars! Am I then doom'd to fall +By a boy's hand, disfigured in a vile +Numidian dress, and for a worthless woman? +Gods, I'm distracted! this my close of life! +Oh, for a peal of thunder, that would make +Earth, sea, and air, and heav'n, and Cato tremble! [_Dies._ + +_Jub._ I'll hence to Cato, +That we may there at length unravel all +This dark design, this mystery of fate. [_Exit_ JUBA. + +_Enter_ LUCIA _and_ MARCIA. + +_Lucia._ Sure 'twas the clash of swords; my troubled heart +Is so cast down, and sunk amidst its sorrows, +It throbs with fear, and aches at ev'ry sound. +Oh, Marcia, should thy brothers, for my sake-- +I die away with horror at the thought! + +_Marcia._ See, Lucia, see! here's blood! here's blood and murder! +Ha! a Numidian! Heav'n preserve the prince! +The face lies muffled up within the garment, +But ah! death to my sight! a diadem, +And royal robes! O gods! 'tis he, 'tis he! +Juba lies dead before us! + +_Lucia._ Now, Marcia, now, call up to thy assistance +Thy wonted strength and constancy of mind; +Thou canst not put it to a greater trial. + +_Marcia._ Lucia, look there, and wonder at my patience; +Have I not cause to rave, and beat my breast, +To rend my heart with grief, and run distracted? + +_Lucia._ What can I think, or say, to give thee comfort? + +_Marcia._ Talk not of comfort, 'tis for lighter ills: +Behold a sight that strikes all comfort dead. + +_Enter_ JUBA, _listening_. + +I will indulge my sorrows, and give way +To all the pangs and fury of despair; +That man, that best of men, deserved it from me. + +_Jub._ What do I hear? and was the false Sempronius +That best of men? Oh, had I fall'n like him, +And could have been thus mourn'd, I had been happy. + +_Marcia._ 'Tis not in fate to ease my tortured breast. +Oh, he was all made up of love and charms! +Whatever maid could wish, or man admire: +Delight of every eye; when he appear'd, +A secret pleasure gladden'd all that saw him; +But when he talk'd, the proudest Roman blush'd +To hear his virtues, and old age grew wise. +Oh, Juba! Juba! + +_Jub._ What means that voice? Did she not call on Juba? + +_Marcia._ Why do I think on what he was? he's dead! +He's dead, and never knew how much I loved him! +Lucia, who knows but his poor, bleeding heart, +Amidst its agonies, remember'd Marcia, +And the last words he utter'd call'd me cruel! +Alas! he knew not, hapless youth, he knew not +Marcia's whole soul was full of love and Juba! + +_Jub._ Where am I? Do I live? or am indeed +What Marcia thinks? All is Elysium round me! + +_Marcia._ Ye dear remains of the most loved of men, +Nor modesty nor virtue here forbid +A last embrace, while thus---- + +_Jub._ See, Marcia, see, [_Throwing himself before her._ +The happy Juba lives! he lives to catch +That dear embrace, and to return it too, +With mutual warmth, and eagerness of love. + +_Marcia._ With pleasure and amaze I stand transported! +If thou art Juba, who lies there? + +_Jub._ A wretch, +Disguised like Juba on a cursed design. +I could not bear +To leave thee in the neighbourhood of death, +But flew, in all the haste of love, to find thee; +I found thee weeping, and confess this once, +Am rapt with joy, to see my Marcia's tears. + +_Marcia._ I've been surprised in an unguarded hour, +But must not go back; the love, that lay +Half smother'd in my breast, has broke through all +Its weak restraints, and burns in its full lustre. +I cannot, if I would, conceal it from thee. + +_Jub._ My joy, my best beloved, my only wish! +How shall I speak the transport of my soul! + +_Marcia._ Lucia, thy arm. Lead to my apartment. +Oh! prince! I blush to think what I have said, +But fate has wrested the confession from me; +Go on, and prosper in the paths of honour. +Thy virtue will excuse my passion for thee, +And make the gods propitious to our love. + [_Exeunt_ MARCIA _and_ LUCIA. + +_Jub._ I am so blest, I fear 'tis all a dream. +Fortune, thou now hast made amends for all +Thy past unkindness: I absolve my stars. +What though Numidia add her conquer'd towns +And provinces to swell the victor's triumph, +Juba will never at his fate repine: +Let Caesar have the world, if Marcia's mine. [_Exit._ + + +SCENE II. + +_The Street._ + +_A March at a distance._ + +_Enter_ CATO _and_ LUCIUS. + +_Luc._ I stand astonish'd! What, the bold Sempronius, +That still broke foremost through the crowd of patriots, +As with a hurricane of zeal transported, +And virtuous even to madness-- + +_Cato._ Trust me, Lucius, +Our civil discords have produced such crimes, +Such monstrous crimes, I am surprized at nothing. +--Oh Lucius, I am sick of this bad world! +The daylight and the sun grow painful to me. + +_Enter_ PORTIUS. + +But see, where Portius comes: what means this haste? +Why are thy looks thus changed? + +_Por._ My heart is grieved, +I bring such news as will afflict my father. + +_Cato._ Has Caesar shed more Roman blood? + +_Por._ Not so. +The traitor Syphax, as within the square +He exercised his troops, the signal given, +Flew off at once with his Numidian horse +To the south gate, where Marcus holds the watch; +I saw, and call'd to stop him, but in vain: +He toss'd his arm aloft, and proudly told me, +He would not stay, and perish, like Sempronius. + +_Cato._ Perfidious man! But haste, my son, and see +Thy brother Marcus acts a Roman's part. [_Exit_ PORTIUS. +--Lucius, the torrent bears too hard upon me: +Justice gives way to force: the conquer'd world +Is Caesar's! Cato has no business in it. + +_Luc._ While pride, oppression, and injustice reign, +The world will still demand her Cato's presence. +In pity to mankind submit to Caesar, +And reconcile thy mighty soul to life. + +_Cato._ Would Lucius have me live to swell the number +Of Caesar's slaves, or by a base submission +Give up the cause of Rome, and own a tyrant? + +_Luc._ The victor never will impose on Cato +Ungen'rous terms. His enemies confess +The virtues of humanity are Caesar's. + +_Cato._ Curse on his virtues! they've undone his country. +Such popular humanity is treason---- +But see young Juba; the good youth appears, +Full of the guilt of his perfidious subjects! + +_Luc._ Alas, poor prince! his fate deserves compassion. + +_Enter_ JUBA. + +_Jub._ I blush, and am confounded to appear +Before thy presence, Cato. + +_Cato._ What's thy crime? + +_Jub._ I'm a Numidian. + +_Cato._ And a brave one, too. Thou hast a Roman soul. + +_Jub._ Hast thou not heard of my false countrymen? + +_Cato._ Alas, young prince! +Falsehood and fraud shoot up in ev'ry soil, +The product of all climes--Rome has its Caesars. + +_Jub._ 'Tis generous thus to comfort the distress'd. + +_Cato._ 'Tis just to give applause, where 'tis deserved: +Thy virtue, prince, has stood the test of fortune, +Like purest gold, that, tortured in the furnace, +Comes out more bright, and brings forth all its weight. + +_Jub._ What shall I answer thee? +I'd rather gain +Thy praise, O Cato! than Numidia's empire. + +_Enter_ PORTIUS. + +_Por._ Misfortune on misfortune! grief on grief! +My brother Marcus---- + +_Cato._ Ha! what has he done? +Has he forsook his post? Has he given way? +Did he look tamely on, and let them pass? + +_Por._ Scarce had I left my father, but I met him +Borne on the shields of his surviving soldiers, +Breathless and pale, and cover'd o'er with wounds. +Long, at the head of his few faithful friends, +He stood the shock of a whole host of foes, +Till, obstinately brave, and bent on death, +Oppress'd with multitudes, he greatly fell. + +_Cato._ I'm satisfied. + +_Por._ Nor did he fall, before +His sword had pierced thro' the false heart of Syphax. +Yonder he lies. I saw the hoary traitor +Grin in the pangs of death, and bite the ground. + +_Cato._ Thanks to the gods, my boy has done his duty. +--Portius, when I am dead, be sure you place +His urn near mine. + +_Por._ Long may they keep asunder! + +_Luc._ Oh, Cato, arm thy soul with all its patience; +See where the corpse of thy dead son approaches! +The citizens and senators alarm'd, +Have gather'd round it, and attend it weeping. + +CATO _meeting the Corpse_.--SENATORS _attending_. + +_Cato._ Welcome, my son! Here lay him down, my friends, +Full in my sight, that I may view at leisure +The bloody corse, and count those glorious wounds. +--How beautiful is death, when earn'd by virtue! +Who would not be that youth? What pity is it, +That we can die but once, to serve our country! +--Why sits this sadness on your brows, my friends? +I should have blush'd, if Cato's house had stood +Secure, and flourish'd in a civil war. +Portius, behold thy brother, and remember, +Thy life is not thy own when Rome demands it. + +_Jub._ Was ever man like this! + +_Cato._ Alas, my friends, +Why mourn you thus? let not a private loss +Afflict your hearts. 'Tis Rome requires our tears, +The mistress of the world, the seat of empire, +The nurse of heroes, the delight of gods, +That humbled the proud tyrants of the earth, +And set the nations free; Rome is no more. +Oh, liberty! Oh, virtue! Oh, my country! + +_Jub._ Behold that upright man! Rome fills his eyes +With tears, that flow'd not o'er his own dear son. [_Aside._ + +_Cato._ Whate'er the Roman virtue has subdued, +The sun's whole course, the day and year, are Caesar's: +For him the self-devoted Decii died, +The Fabii fell, and the great Scipios conquer'd: +Ev'n Pompey fought for Caesar. Oh, my friends, +How is the toil of fate, the work of ages, +The Roman empire, fall'n! Oh, cursed ambition! +Fall'n into Caesar's hands! Our great forefathers +Had left him nought to conquer but his country. + +_Jub._ While Cato lives, Caesar will blush to see +Mankind enslaved, and be ashamed of empire. + +_Cato._ Caesar ashamed! Has he not seen Pharsalia? + +_Luc._ 'Tis time thou save thyself and us. + +_Cato._ Lose not a thought on me; I'm out of danger: +Heaven will not leave me in the victor's hand. +Caesar shall never say, he conquer'd Cato. +But oh, my friends! your safety fills my heart +With anxious thoughts; a thousand secret terrors +Rise in my soul. How shall I save my friends? +'Tis now, O Caesar, I begin to fear thee! + +_Luc._ Caesar has mercy, if we ask it of him. + +_Cato._ Then ask it, I conjure you; let him know, +Whate'er was done against him, Cato did it. +Add, if you please, that I request of him,-- +That I myself, with tears, request it of him,-- +The virtue of my friends may pass unpunish'd. +Juba, my heart is troubled for thy sake. +Should I advise thee to regain Numidia, +Or seek the conqueror? + +_Jub._ If I forsake thee +Whilst I have life, may Heaven abandon Juba! + +_Cato._ Thy virtues, prince, if I foresee aright, +Will one day make thee great; at Rome, hereafter, +'Twill be no crime to have been Cato's friend. +Portius, draw near: my son, thou oft hast seen +Thy sire engaged in a corrupted state, +Wrestling with vice and faction: now thou see'st me +Spent, overpower'd, despairing of success. +Let me advise thee to retreat betimes +To thy paternal seat, the Sabine field; +Where the great Censor toil'd with his own hands, +And all our frugal ancestors were bless'd +In humble virtues, and a rural life; +There live retired, pray for the peace of Rome; +Content thyself to be obscurely good. +When vice prevails, and impious men bear sway, +The post of honour is a private station. + +_Por._ I hope my father does not recommend +A life to Portius that he scorns himself. + +_Cato._ Farewell, my friends! If there be any of you +Who dare not trust the victor's clemency, +Know there are ships prepared, by my command, +That shall convey you to the wish'd-for port. +Is there aught else, my friends, I can do for you? +The conqueror draws near. Once more, farewell! +If e'er we meet hereafter, we shall meet +In happier climes, and on a safer shore, +Where Caesar never shall approach us more. + [_Pointing to his dead son._ +There, the brave youth, with love of virtue fired, +Who greatly in his country's cause expired, +Shall know he conquer'd. The firm patriot there, +Who made the welfare of mankind his care, +Though still by faction, vice, and fortune crost, +Shall find the gen'rous labour was not lost. [_Exeunt._ + + + + +ACT THE FIFTH. + + +SCENE I. + +_A Chamber._ + +CATO _solus, sitting in a thoughtful Posture; in +his Hand, Plato's Book on the Immortality of +the Soul. A drawn Sword on the Table by him._ + +_Cato._ It must be so--Plato, thou reason'st well-- +Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, +This longing after immortality? +Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, +Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul +Back on herself, and startles at destruction? +'Tis the divinity that stirs within us; +'Tis Heav'n itself that points out an hereafter, +And intimates eternity to man. +Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought! +Through what variety of untried being, +Through what new scenes and changes must we pass? +The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me; +But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it. +Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us +(And that there is, all Nature cries aloud +Through all her works), He must delight in virtue; +And that which He delights in must be happy. +But when, or where?--this world was made for Caesar: +I'm weary of conjectures--this must end them. + [_Laying his hand upon his sword._ +Thus am I doubly arm'd: my death and life, +My bane and antidote, are both before me. +This in a moment brings me to an end; +But this informs me I shall never die. +The soul, secured in her existence, smiles +At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. +The stars shall fade away, the sun himself +Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years, +But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, +Unhurt amidst the war of elements, +The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. +What means this heaviness, that hangs upon me? +This lethargy, that creeps through all my senses? +Nature, oppress'd and harass'd out with care, +Sinks down to rest. This once I'll favour her, +That my awaken'd soul may take her flight, +Renew'd in all her strength, and fresh with life, +An offering lit for Heav'n. Let guilt or fear +Disturb man's rest, Cato knows neither of them, +Indiff'rent in his choice to sleep or die. + +_Enter_ PORTIUS. + +But, hah! who's this? my son! Why this intrusion? +Were not my orders that I would be private? +Why am I disobey'd? + +_Por._ Alas, my father! +What means this sword, this instrument of death? +Let me convey it hence. + +_Cato._ Rash youth, forbear! + +_Por._ Oh, let the pray'rs, th' entreaties of your friends, +Their tears, their common danger, wrest it from you! + +_Cato._ Wouldst thou betray me? Wouldst thou give me up, +A slave, a captive, into Caesar's hands? +Retire, and learn obedience to a father, +Or know, young man-- + +_Por._ Look not thus sternly on me; +You know, I'd rather die than disobey you. + +_Cato._ 'Tis well! again I'm master of myself. +Now, Caesar, let thy troops beset our gates, +And bar each avenue; thy gath'ring fleets +O'erspread the sea, and stop up ev'ry port; +Cato shall open to himself a passage, +And mock thy hopes.---- + +_Por._ Oh, sir! forgive your son, +Whose grief hangs heavy on him. Oh, my father! +How am I sure it is not the last time +I e'er shall call you so? Be not displeased, +Oh, be not angry with me whilst I weep, +And, in the anguish of my heart, beseech you +To quit the dreadful purpose of your soul! + +_Cato._ Thou hast been ever good and dutiful. + [_Embracing him._ +Weep not, my son, all will be well again; +The righteous gods, whom I have sought to please, +Will succour Cato, and preserve his children. + +_Por._ Your words give comfort to my drooping heart. + +_Cato._ Portius, thou may'st rely upon my conduct: +Thy father will not act what misbecomes him. +But go, my son, and see if aught be wanting +Among thy father's friends; see them embark'd, +And tell me if the winds and seas befriend them. +My soul is quite weigh'd down with care, and asks +The soft refreshment of a moment's sleep. + +_Por._ My thoughts are more at ease, my heart revives-- + [_Exit_ CATO. + +_Enter_ MARCIA. + +Oh, Marcia! Oh, my sister, still there's hope +Our father will not cast away a life +So needful to us all, and to his country. +He is retired to rest, and seems to cherish +Thoughts full of peace.--He has dispatch'd me hence +With orders that bespeak a mind composed, +And studious for the safety of his friends. +Marcia, take care, that none disturb his slumbers. [_Exit._ + +_Marcia._ Oh, ye immortal powers, that guard the just, +Watch round his couch, and soften his repose, +Banish his sorrows, and becalm his soul +With easy dreams; remember all his virtues, +And show mankind that goodness is your care! + +_Enter_ LUCIA. + +_Lucia._ Where is your father, Marcia; where is Cato? + +_Marcia._ Lucia, speak low, he is retired to rest. +Lucia, I feel a gentle dawning hope +Rise in my soul--We shall be happy still. + +_Lucia._ Alas, I tremble when I think on Cato! +In every view, in every thought, I tremble! +Cato is stern and awful as a god; +He knows not how to wink at human frailty, +Or pardon weakness, that he never felt. + +_Marcia._ Though stern and awful to the foes of Rome, +He is all goodness, Lucia, always mild; +Compassionate and gentle to his friends; +Fill'd with domestic tenderness, the best, +The kindest father; I have ever found him +Easy and good, and bounteous to my wishes. + +_Lucia._ 'Tis his consent alone can make us blest. +Marcia, we both are equally involved +In the same intricate, perplex'd distress. +The cruel hand of fate, that has destroy'd +Thy brother Marcus, whom we both lament---- + +_Marcia._ And ever shall lament; unhappy youth! + +_Lucia._ Has set my soul at large, and now I stand +Loose of my vow. But who knows Cato's thoughts? +Who knows how yet he may dispose of Portius, +Or how he has determined of himself? + +_Marcia._ Let him but live, commit the rest to Heav'n. + +_Enter_ LUCIUS. + +_Luc._ Sweet are the slumbers of the virtuous man! +Oh, Marcia, I have seen thy godlike father! +Some power invisible supports his soul, +And bears it up in all its wonted greatness. +A kind, refreshing sleep is fall'n upon him: +I saw him stretch'd at ease; his fancy lost +In pleasing dreams; as I drew near his couch, +He smiled, and cried, "Caesar, thou canst not hurt me." + +_Marcia._ His mind still labours with some dreadful thought. + +_Enter_ JUBA. + +_Jub._ Lucius, the horsemen are return'd from viewing +The number, strength, and posture of our foes, +Who now encamp within a short hour's march; +On the high point of yon bright western tower, +We ken them from afar; the setting sun +Plays on their shining arms and burnish'd helmets, +And covers all the field with gleams of fire. + +_Luc._ Marcia, 'tis time we should awake thy father. +Caesar is still disposed to give us terms, +And waits at distance, till he hears from Cato. + +_Enter_ PORTIUS. + +Portius, thy looks speak somewhat of importance, +What tidings dost thou bring? Methinks, I see +Unusual gladness sparkle in thy eyes. + +_Por._ As I was hasting to the port, where now +My father's friends, impatient for a passage, +Accuse the ling'ring winds, a sail arrived +From Pompey's son, who, through the realms of Spain, +Calls out for vengeance on his father's death, +And rouses the whole nation up to arms. +Were Cato at their head, once more might Rome +Assert her rights, and claim her liberty. +But, hark! what means that groan?----Oh, give me way, +And let me fly into my father's presence! [_Exit._ + +_Luc._ Cato, amidst his slumbers, thinks on Rome, +And, in the wild disorder of his soul, +Mourns o'er his country.--Ha! a second groan-- +Heav'n guard us all! + +_Marcia._ Alas, 'tis not the voice +Of one who sleeps; 'tis agonizing pain-- +'Tis death is in that sound---- + +_Enter_ PORTIUS. + +_Por._ Oh, sight of woe! +Oh, Marcia, what we fear'd is come to pass-- +Cato has fall'n upon his sword---- + +_Luc._ Oh, Portius, +Hide all the horrors of thy mournful tale, +And let me guess the rest. + +_Por._ I've raised him up, +And placed him in his chair; where pale and faint, +He gasps for breath, and, as his life flows from him, +Demands to see his friends. His servants weeping, +Obsequious to his order, bear him hither!---- + +_Marcia._ Oh, Heav'n! assist me in this dreadful hour, +To pay the last sad duties to my father! + +CATO _brought on, in a Chair._ + +_Cato._ Here set me down---- +Portius, come near me--Are my friends embark'd? +Can any thing be thought of for their service? +Whilst I yet live, let me not live in vain---- +Oh, Lucius, art thou here?--Thou art too good-- +Let this our friendship live between our children; +Make Portius happy in thy daughter Lucia---- +Marcia, my daughter---- +Oh, bend me forward!----Juba loves thee, Marcia-- +A senator of Rome, while Rome survived, +Would not have match'd his daughter with a king-- +But Caesar's arms have thrown down all distinction-- +I'm sick to death----Oh, when shall I get loose +From this vain world, th' abode of guilt and sorrow! +And yet, methinks, a beam of light breaks in +On my departing soul----Alas, I fear +I've been too hasty!--Oh, ye powers, that search +The heart of man, and weigh his inmost thoughts, +If I have done amiss, impute it not---- +The best may err, but you are good, and--Oh!-- [_Dies._ + +_Por._ There fled the greatest soul that ever warm'd +A Roman breast:-- +From hence, let fierce contending nations know, +What dire effects from civil discord flow: +'Tis this that shakes our country with alarms; +And gives up Rome a prey to Roman arms; +Produces fraud, and cruelty, and strife, +And robs the guilty world of Cato's life. 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