Por. My heart is griev'd,

I bring such news as will afflict my father.

Cato. Has Cæsar shed more Roman blood?
Por. Not so.

The traitor Syphax, as within the square

He exercis'd 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. [Ex. Por. -Lucius, the torrent bears too hard upon me : Justice gives way to force: the conquer'd world Is Cæsar'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 Cæsar,

And reconcile thy mighty soul to life.

Cato. Would Lucius have me live to swell the number

Of Cæsar'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 Cæsar'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 Cæsars.
Jub. 'Tis generous thus to comfort the distress'd.
Cato. 'Tis just to give applause where 'tis deserv'd;
Thy virtue, prince, has stood the test of fortune,
Like purest gold, that, tortur'd in the furnace,
Comes out more bright, and brings forth all its weight.
Jub. What shall I answer thee? "My ravish'd heart
"O'erflows with secret joy:" 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. Hah! what has he done?

Has he forsook his post? Has he giv'n way?

Did he look tamely on, and let 'em 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 satisfy'd.

Por. Nor did he fall before

His sword had pierc'd through 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.

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 dead son.

[Aside

Cato. Whate'er the Roman virtue has subdu'd, The sun's whole course, the day and year are Cæsar's: For him the self-devoted Decii dy'd,

The Fabii fell, and the great Scipios conquer'd;
Ev'n Pompey fought for Cæsar. Oh, my friends,
How is the toil of fate, the work of ages,

The Roman empire, fall'n! Oh, curst ambition!
Fall'n into Cæsar's hand! Our great forefathers
Had left him nought to conquer but his country.
Jub. While Cato lives Cæsar will blush to see
Mankind inslav'd, and be asham'd of empire.
Cato. Cæsar asham'd has he not seen Pharsalia!
Luc. Cato, 'tis time thou save thyself and us.
Cato. Lose not a thought on me, I'm out of danger,
Heav'n will not leave me in the victor's hand.

Cæsar 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 Cæsar, I begin to fear thee!

Luc. Cæsar 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 it 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.
Shou'd I advise thee to regain Numidia,
Or seek the conqueror ?—

Jub. If I forsake thee

Whilst I have life, may Heav'n 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 engag'd 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 retir'd, pray for the peace of Rome;
Content thyself to be obscurely good.

H