Disdains a life which he has power to offer.

Dec. Rome and her senators submit to Cæsar; Her generals and her consuls are no more,

For all his generous cares and proffered friendship?

Cato. His cares for me are insolent and vain.

Cato. Nay, more; though Cato's voice was ne'er employed

To clear the guilty, and to varnish crimes, Myself will mount the rostrum in his favour, And strive to gain his pardon from the people. Dec. A style like this becomes a conqueror. Cato. Decius, a style like this becomes a Roman. Dec. What is a Roman, that is Cæsar's foe? Cato. Greater than Cæsar: he is a friend to virtue.

Dec. Consider, Cato, you are in Utica, And at the head of your own little senate; You don't now thunder in the capitol, With all the mouths of Rome to second you. Cato. Let him consider that, who drives us hither.

'Tis Cæsar's sword has made Rome's senate little, And thinned its ranks. Alas! thy dazzled eye Beholds this man in a false glaring light, Which conquest and success have thrown upon him;

Did'st thou but view him right, thou'dst see him black

With murder, treason, sacrilege, and crimes,
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 covered with misfortunes;
But, by the gods I swear, millions of worlds
Should never buy me to be like that Cæsar.

Dec. Does Cato send this answer back to
Cæsar,

Would Cæsar shew the greatness of his soul,
Bid him employ his care for these my friends,
And make good use of his ill-gotten power,
By sheltering men much better than himself.
Dec. Your high unconquered heart makes you
forget

You are a man. You rush on your destruction.
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. Cæsar will shrink to hear the words thou utterest, And shudder in the midst of all his conquests.

Luc. The senate owns its gratitude to Cato, Who with so great a soul consults its safety, And guards our lives while he neglects his own. Sem. Sempronius gives no thanks on this ac

Enter JUBA.

Juba, the Roman senate has resolved,
Till time give better prospects, still to keep
The sword unsheathed, and turn its edge on
Cæsar.

Juba. The resolution fits a Roman senate.
But, Cato, lend me for a while thy patience,
And condescend to hear a young man speak.
My father, when, some days before his death,
He ordered me to march for Utica,

(Alas! I thought not then his death so near!) Wept o'er me, pressed me in his aged arms, And, as his griefs gave way, 'My son,' said he, "Whatever fortune shall befal thy father, 'Be Cato's friend; he'll train thee up to great 'And virtuous deeds; do but observe him well, 'Thou'lt shun misfortunes, or thou'lt learn to bear them.'

Cato. Juba, thy father was a worthy prince, And merited, alas! a better fate; But Heaven thought otherwise.

Juba. 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.

Juba. 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 the other side the sun;
Oft have their black ambassadors appeared,
Loaden with gifts, and filled the courts of Zama.
Cato. I am no stranger to thy father's great-

ness.

Juba. 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
The 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 horrors of the war,
And making death more grim.

Cato. And canst thou think

Cato will fly before the sword of Cæsar!
Reduced, like Hannibal, to seek relief

From court to court, and wander up and down
A vagabond in Afric?

Juba. Cato, perhaps

I am too officious; but my forward cares
Would fain preserve a life of so much value.
My heart is wounded, when I see such virtue
Afflicted by the weight of such misfortunes.

Cato. Thy nobleness of soul obliges me.
But know, young prince, that valour soars above
What the world calls misfortune and affliction.

These are not ills; else would they never fall
On Heaven's first favourites and the best of men.
The gods, in bounty, work up storms about us,
That give mankind occasion to exert
Their hidden strength, and throw out into prac-

tice

Virtues that shun the day, and lie concealed In the smooth seasons and the calms of life. Juba. I am charmed whene'er thou talkest; 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 Cæsar. Juba. "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.

Juba. 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.

Juba. Oh! they are extravagant; Still let me hide them.

Cato. What can Juba ask

That Cato will refuse?

Juba. I fear to name it.

Marcia-inherits all her father's virtues.
Cato. What wouldst thou say?
Juba. 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 Heaven
Exacts severity from all our thoughts.
It is not now a time to talk of ought

But chains, or conquest; liberty, or death.[Exit.

You look as if yon stern philosopher
Had just now chid you.

Juba. Syphax, I am undone !

Syph. I know it well.

Juba. Cato thinks meanly of me.

Syph. And so will all mankind.

Juba. I have opened to him

The weakness of my soul, my love for Marcia.
Syph. Cato's a proper person to entrust
A love-tale with!

Juba. Oh, I could pierce my heart,

My foolish heart. Was ever wretch like Juba! Syph. Alas, my prince, how are you changed

of late!

I have known young Juba rise before the sun,

To beat the thicket where the tiger slept,
Or seek the lion in his dreadful haunts:
How did the colour mount into your cheeks,
When first you roused him to the chace! I have
seen you,

Even in the Lybian dog-days, hunt him down,
Then charge him close, provoke him to the rage
Of fangs and claws, and, stooping from your
horse,

Rivet the panting savage to the ground.

Juba. Prithee, no more.

Syph. How would the old king smile To see you weigh the paws, when tipped with gold,

And throw the shaggy spoils about your shoulders!

Juba. Syphax, this old man's talk (though honey flowed

In every word) would now lose 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.

Juba. What sayest thou, Syphax?

By Heavens, thou turnest me all into attention.
Syph. Marcia might still be yours.
Juba. 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'll snatch this damsel up,
And bear her off.

Juba. 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,
Juba. Wouldst thou degrade thy prince into a
ruffian?

Syph. The boasted ancestors of those great men,
Whose virtues you admire, were all such ruffians.
This dread of nations, this almighty Rome,
That comprehends in her wide empire's bounds
All under Heaven, was founded on a rape ;
Your Scipios, Cæsars, Pompeys, and your Catos
(The gods on earth), are all the spurious blood
Of violated maids, of ravished Sabines.

Juba. Syphax, I fear that hoary head of thine Abounds too much in our Numidian wiles.

Syph. Indeed, my prince, you want to know the world.

You have not read mankind; your youth admires
The throes and swellings of a Roman soul,
Cato's bold flights, the extravagance of virtue.
Juba. If knowledge of the world make men
perfidious,

May Juba ever live in ignorance!
Syph. Go, go; you are young.
Juba. Gods, must I tamely bear

This arrogance unanswered! Thou art a traitor, A false old traitor.

Syph. I have gone too far. [Aside. Juba. Cato shall know the baseness of thy soul. Syph. I must appease this storm, or perish in it. [Aside.

Young prince, behold these locks, that are grown white

Beneath a helmet in your father's battles.

Juba. Those locks shall ne'er protect thy insolence.

Syph. Must one rash word, the infirmity of age, Throw down the merit of my better years? This the reward of a whole life of service! Curse on the boy! how steadily he hears me!

[Aside.

Juba. Is it because the throne of my forefathers

Still stands unfilled, and that Numidia's crown
Hangs doubtful yet whose head it shall inclose,
Thou thus presumest to treat thy prince withscorn?
Syph. Why will you rive my heart with such
expressions!

Does not old Syphax follow you to war?
What are his aims? Why does he load with darts
His trembling hand, and crush beneath a casque
His wrinkled brows? What is it he aspires to?
Is it not this? to shed the slow remains,
His last poor ebb of blood in your defence?
Juba. Syphax, no more! I would not hear

talk.

you

Syph. Not hear me talk! what, when my faith to Juba,

My royal master's son, is called in question?
My prince may strike me dead, and I'll be dumb;
But whilst I live I must not hold my tongue,
And languish out old age in his displeasure.

Juba. Thou knowest the way too well into my heart;

I do believe thee loyal to thy prince.

Syph. What greater instance can I give? I've offered

To do an action which my soul abhors,
And gain you whom you love, at any price.

Juba. Was this thy motive? I have been too hasty.

Syph. And 'tis for this my prince has called me traitor!

Juba. Sure thou mistakest; I did not call thee so. Syph. You did, indeed, my prince, you called

me traitor.

And imitates her actions where she is not:

It ought not to be sported with.

Spyh. By Heavens,

We both must perish in the common wreck, Lost in the general undistinguished ruin. Syph. But how stands Cato?

Sem. Thou hast seen mount Atlas:

chide me!

Alas! I have hitherto been used to think
A blind officious zeal to serve my king,
The ruling principle, that ought to burn

And quench all others in a subject's heart.
Happy the people who preserve their honour
By the same duties that oblige their prince!
Juba. Syphax, thou now beginnest to speak
thyself.

Numidia's grown a scorn among the nations,
For breach of public vows. Our Punic faith
Is infamous, and branded to a proverb.
Syphax, we'll join our cares, to purge away
Our country's crimes, and clear her reputation.
Syph. Believe me, prince, you make old Sy-
phax 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.

Juba. Syphax, thy hand; we'll mutually forget

The warmth of youth, and frowardness of age; Thy prince esteems thy worth, and loves thy per

son.

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 joy grows burdensome, I shan't support it. Juba. Syphax, farewell. I'll hence, and try to find

Some blest occasion that may set me right
In Cato's thoughts. I would 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: Cæsar, I am 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 offered

To Cato, by a messenger from Cæsar.

And oceans break their billows at its feet,
It stands unmoved, and glories in its height:
Such is that haughty man; his towering soul,
'Midst all the shocks and injuries of fortune,
Rises superior, and looks down on Cæsar.
Syph. But what's this messenger?
Sem. I have 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 fixed?

Syph. Yes-but it is to Cato.

I have tried the force of every reason on him,
Soothed and caressed; 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 with-
out 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,
Cæsar 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 bear 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, the 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 desart all around him rise,
And, smothered in the dusty whirlwind, dies.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.

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

Confederacies 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, prithee, 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.

I would not urge thee to dismiss thy passion,
(I know 'twere vain) but to suppress its force,
Till better times may make it look more graceful.
Marc. Alas! thou talk'st like one who never
felt

The impatient throbs and longings of a soul,
That pants and reaches after distant good.
A lover does not live by vulgar time:
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 loaths 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 knowest 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 can'st not ask what I'd refuse.

But here, believe me, I have a thousand reasonsMarc. 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 pas-

sion

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 heaven 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.

Enter LUCIA.

[Exit.

Luc. Did I not see your brother Marcus here? Why did he fly the place, and shun my presence? Por. Oh, Lucia, language is too faint to shew His rage of love; it preys upon his life;

| He pines, he sickens, he despairs, he dies : His passions, and his virtues lie confused, And mixt together in so wild a tumult, That the whole man is quite disfigured in him. Heavens, would one think 'twere possible for love

To make such ravage in a noble soul! Oh, Lucia, I'm distressed; my heart bleeds for him :

Even now, while thus I stand blest in thy presence, A secret damp of grief comes o'er my thoughts, And I'm unhappy, though thou smilest upon me.

Luc. 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 grief, as might perhaps destroy him.

Por. Alas, poor youth! What dost thou think, my Lucia?

His generous, open, undesigning heart
Has begged his rival to solicit for him;
Then do not strike him dead with a denial;