Enter PORTIUS and MARCUS, Por. THE dawn is overcast, the morning lowers, 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 Cæsar 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 havock does ambition make Among your works! Marc. Thy steady temper, Portius, Can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud, and Cæsar, In the calm lights of mild philosophy; I'm tortured, even to madness, when I think On the proud victor: every time he's named, Pharsalía rises to my view!-I see His horse's hoofs wet with patrician blood! Oh, Portius! is there not some chosen curse, Some hidden thunder in the stores of Heaven, Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man, Who owes his greatness to his country's ruin? Por. Believe me, Marcus, 'tis an impious great ness, And mixed 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 The insulting tyrant prancing o'er the field, Against a world, a base, degenerate world, Strewed with Rome's citizens, and drenched in That courts the yoke, and bows the neck to Ca slaughter, sar? Pent up in Utica, he vainly forms cess, 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 Heaven are dark and intricate, 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, But I must hide it, for I know thy temper. [Aside. Now, Marcus, now thy virtue's on the proof: Marc. Portius, the counsel which I cannot take, Instead of healing, but upbraids my weakness. Por. Behold young Juba, the Numidian prince, him; When most it swells, and labours for a vent, Marc. Portius, no more! your words leave Whene'er did Juba, or did Portius, shew Fling but the appearance of dishonour on it, pity. Por. Heaven knows I pity thee! Behold my eyes, Even 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 distempered soul, that swells Enter SEMPRONIUS. Sem. Conspiracies no sooner should be formed 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 a friendship, Each might receive a slave into his arms. This sun, perhaps, this morning's sun's the last, That e'er shall rise on Roman liberty. Por. My father has this morning called together To this poor hall, his little Roman senate, 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, tius! Could I but call that wondrous man my father, To Marcia, whilst her father's life's in danger? vestal, When she beholds the holy flame expiring. Sem. The more I see the wonders of thy race, | Of Cato's virtues-But I'll try once more The more I'm charmed. Thou must take heed, my Portius; The world has all its eyes on Cato's son; On this important hour--I'll straight away, In close debate, to weigh the event of war, Ambitiously sententious--But I wonder To Rome's first honours. If I give up Cato, Enter SYPHAX. Syph. Sempronius, all is ready; I've sounded my Numidians, man by man, And wait but the command to change their mas ter. Sem. Believe me, Syphax, there's no time to Even while we speak our conqueror comes on, his way, Syph. Alas, he's lost! He's lost, Sempronius; all his thoughts are full (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 the 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 Cæsar's hands, And make him lord of half the burning zone. Syph. But is it true, Sempronius, that your se nate Is called together? Gods! thou must be cautious; 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 Cæsar, till I shake the senate. Your cold hypocrisy's a stale device, A worn-out trick; wouldst thou be thought in earnest, Clothe thy feigned 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. Meanwhile I'll hasten to my Roman soldiers, | Inflame the mutiny, and underhand Blow up their discontent, till they break out Syph. I'll try if yet I can reduce to reason This headstrong youth, and make him spurn at Cato. The time is short; Cæsar comes rushing on usBut hold! young Juba sees me, and approaches. Enter JUBA. Juba. Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone. I have observed of late thy looks are fallen, 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. Juba. Why dost thou cast out such ungenerous terms Against the lords and sovereigns of the world? Dost thou not see mankind fall down before | And if the following day he chance to find them, And own the force of their superior virtue? Above our own Numidia's tawny sons? In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome. Juba. These all are virtues of a meaner rank; Perfections that are placed in bones and nerves. A Roman soul is bent on higher views: To civilize the rude, unpolished world, And lay it under the restraint of laws; To make man mild, and sociable to man; To cultivate the wild, licentious savage, With wisdom, discipline, and liberal arts; The embellishments of life: virtues like these Make human nature shine, reform the soul, And break our fierce barbarians into men. Syph. Patience, kind Heaven !—excuse an old What are those wondrous civilizing arts, There may'st thou see to what a god-like height can, That traverses our vast Numidian desarts A new repast, or an untasted spring, Blesses his stars, and thinks it luxury. Juba. Thy prejudices, Syphax, wont discern What virtues grow from ignorance and choice, Nor how the hero differs from the brute. But grant that others could, with equal glory, Look down on pleasures, and the baits of sense, Where shall we find the man that bears afflic tion, Great and majestic in his griefs, like Cato? Heavens! with what strength, what steadiness of mind, He triumphs in the midst of all his sufferings! Syph. Tis pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of soul; I think the Romans call it stoicism. Had not your royal father thought so highly He had not fallen by a slave's hand inglorious : Juba. Why dost thou call my sorrows up afresh? My father's name brings tears into my eyes. Syph. Oh, that you would profit by your fa ther's ills! Alas, he is dead! but can you e'er forget Juba. Alas! thy story melts away my soul; That best of fathers! how shall I discharge The gratitude and duty which I owe him! Syph. By laying up his counsels in your heart. Juba. His counsels bade me yield to thy di rections: Then, Syphax, chide me in severest terms; Juba. I do believe thou wouldst; but tell me Syph. Fly from the fate that follows Cæsar's foes! Juba. My father scorned to do it. Syph. And therefore died. The face of war, and make even horror smile! Unbent your thoughts, and slackened them to arms, While, warm with slaughter, our victorious foe cerns Juba. Better to die ten thousand thousand And gentle wishes follow me to battle! deaths, Than wound my honour. Syph. Rather say your love. The thought will give new vigour to my arm, Add strength and weight to my descending sword, Juba. Syphax, I have promised to preserve my And drive it in a tempest on the foe. temper. Why wilt thou urge me to confess a flame, Tis easy to divert and break its force. The pale, unripened beauties of the north. Juba. Tis not a set of features, or complexion, Syph. How does your tongue grow wanton in But on my knees I beg you would consider———— this way: And with her Lucia, Lucius's fair daughter. me. Syph. Ten thousand curses fasten on them Now will the woman, with a single glance, Enter MARCIA and LUCIA. Mar. My prayers and wishes always shall at In pleasing dreams, and lose myself in love, Juba. Hail, charming maid! How does thy Should not the sad occasion swallow up My other cares, and draw them all into it? |