Portius, thy looks speak somewhat of importance. What tidings dost thou bring? Methinks I see Unusual gladness sparkling in thy eyes.

Por. As I was hasting to the port, where now
My father's friends, impatient for a passage,
Accuse the lingering 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

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.

Mar. Oh, Heaven! assist me in this dreadful hour,

To pay the last sad duties to my father!
Juba. These are thy triumphs, thy exploits, O
Cæsar!

Lucius. Now is Rome fallen indeed!

CATO brought in on a chair.

Cato. Here set me down-

Portius, come near me-Are my friends embarked?

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.
Alas! poor man, he weeps! Marcia, my daugh-

ter

Oh, bend me forward! Juba loves thee, Marcia. A senator of Rome, while Rome survived, Would not have matched his daughter with a king,

But Cæsar's arms have thrown down all distinction;

Whoe'er is brave and virtuous is a Roman-
I'm sick to death--Oh, when shall I get loose
From this vain world, the abode of guilt and sor-

row!

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.

Lucius. There fled the greatest soul that ever

warmed

A Roman breast; oh, Cato! oh, my friend!
Thy will shall be religiously observed.
But let us bear this awful corpse to Cæsar,
And lay it in his sight, that it may stand
A fence betwixt us and the victor's wrath;
Cato, though dead, shall still protect his friends.
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.

[Exeunt omnes.

SCENE I-The Palace of Pyrrhus. Enter ORESTES, PYLADES, and Attendants. Orest. O PYLADES! what's life without a friend? At sight of thee my gloomy soul cheers up; My hopes revive, and gladness dawns within me. After an absence of six tedious moons, How could I hope to find my Pylades, My joy, my comfort, on this fatal shore? Even in the court of Pyrrhus! in these realms, These hated realms, so cross to all my wishes. Oh, my brave friend! may no blind stroke of fate Divide us more, and tear me from myself.

Pyl. O prince! O my Orestes! O my friend! Thus let me speak the welcome of my heart.

[Embracing.

Since I have gained this unexpected meeting, Blest be the powers who barred my way to Greece, And kept me here, e'er since the unhappy day, When warring winds (Epirus full in view) Sundered our barks on the loud, stormy main,

VOL. I.

Orest. It was, indeed, a morning full of horror! Pyl. A thousand boding cares have racked my soul

In your behalf. Often, with tears, I mourned
The fatal ills, in which your life's involved,
And grudged you dangers which I could not
share.

I feared to what extremities the black despair, That preyed upon your mind, might have betray ed you,

And lest the gods, in pity to your woes, Should hear your prayers, and take the life you loathed.

But now with joy I see you!The retinue, And numerous followers, that surround you here, Speak better fortunes, and a mind disposed

To relish life.

Orest. Alas, my friend, who knows The destiny to which I stand reserved! I come in search of an inhuman fair, And live or die, as she decrees my fate..

Rr

you cured

Of your unpitied, unsuccessful passion.
Why, in Epirus, should you hope to find
Hermione less cruel, than at Sparta ?

I thought her pride, and the disdainful manner
In which she treated all your constant sufferings,
Had broke your fetters, and assured your free-

dom:

Ashamed of your repulse, and slighted vows,
You hated her; you talked of her no more:
Prince, you deceived me.

Orest. I deceived myself.

Do not upbraid the unhappy man, that loves thee.

Thou know'st I never hid my passion from thee;
Thou saw'st it in its birth and in its progress;
And when at last the hoary king, her father,
Great Menelaus, gave away his daughter,
His lovely daughter, to the happy Pyrrhus,
The avenger of his wrongs, thou sawest my grief,
My torture, my despair; and how I dragged,
From sea to sea, a heavy chain of woes.
O Pylades! my heart has bled within me,
To see thee, prest with sorrows not thy own,
Still wandering with me like a banished man!
Watchful, and anxious for thy wretched friend,
To temper the wild transports of my mind,
And save me from myself.

Pyl. Why thus unkind?

Why will you envy me the pleasing task
Of generous love, and sympathizing friendship?
Orest. Thou miracle of truth-but hear me on.
When in the midst of my disastrous fate,
I thought how the divine Hermione,
Deaf to my vows, regardless of my plaints,
Gave up herself, in all her charms, to Pyrrhus;
Thou mayest remember, I abhorred her name,
Strove to forget her and repay her scorn.
I made my friends, and even myself, believe
My soul was freed. Alas! I did not see,
That all the malice of my heart was love.
Triumphing thus, and yet a captive still,
In Greece I landed: and in Greece I found
The assembled princes all alarmed with fears,
In which their common safety seemed concerned.
I joined them: for I hoped that war and glory
Might fill my mind, and take up all my thoughts:
And, that my shattered soul, impaired with grief,
Once more would reassume its wonted vigour,
And every idle passion quit my breast.

Pyl. The thought was worthy Agamemnon's

son.

Orest. But see the strange perverseness of my stars,

Which throws me on the rock I strove to shun!
The jealous chiefs, and all the states of Greece,
With one united voice complain of Pyrrhus;
That now, forgetful of the promise given,
And mindless of his godlike father's fate,
Astyanax he nurses in his court;
Astyanax, the young, surviving hope

From a long race of kings; great Hector's son.
Pyl. A name still dreadful in the ears of
Greece !

But, prince, you'll cease to wonder why the child
Lives thus protected in the court of Pyrrhus,
When you shall hear, the bright Andromache,
His lovely captive, charms him from his purpose:
The mother's beauty guards the helpless son.

Orest. Your tale confirms what I have heard ; and hence

Spring all my hopes. Since my proud rival wooes
Another partner to his throne and bed,
Hermione may still be mine. Her father,
The injured Menelaus, thinks already
His daughter slighted, and the intended nuptials
Too long delayed. I heard his loud complaints
With secret pleasure; and was glad to find
The ungrateful maid neglected in her turn,
And all my wrongs avenged in her disgrace.
Pyl. Oh, may you keep your just resentments
warm!

Orest. Resentments! Oh, my friend, too soon
I found

They grew not out of hatred! I'm betrayed:
I practice on myself; and fondly plot
My own undoing. Goaded on by love,
I canvassed all the suffrages of Greece:
And here I come their sworn ambassador,
To speak their jealousies, and claim this boy.
Pyl. Pyrrhus will treat your embassy with

scorn.

Full of Achilles, his redoubted sire,
Pyrrhus is proud, impetuous, headstrong, fierce;
Made up of passions: Will he then be swayed,
And give to death the son of her he loves?"

Orest. Oh, would he render up Hermione,
And keep Astyanax, I should be blest!
He must; he shall. Hermione is my life,
My soul, my rapture !—I'll no longer curb
The strong desire that hurries me to madness:
I'll give a loose to love; I'll bear her hence;
I'll tear her from his arms; I'll-O, ye gods!
Give me Hermione, or let me die !-
But tell me, Pylades; how stand my hopes?
Is Pyrrhus still enamoured with her charms?
Or dost thou think he'll yield me up the prize,
The dear, dear prize, which he has ravished from
me?

Pyl. I dare not flatter your fond hopes so far; The king, indeed, cold to the Spartan princess, Turns all his passion to Andromache, Hector's afflicted widow. But in vain, With interwoven love and rage, he sues The charming captive, obstinately cruel. Oft he alarms her for her child confined Apart; and when her tears begin to flow, As soon he stops them, and recalls his threats. Hermione a thousand times has seen His ill-requited vows return to her; And takes his indignation all for love. What can be gathered from a man so various!

He may, in the disorder of his soul,
Wed her he hates, and punish her he loves.
Orest. But tell me how the wronged Hermione
Brooks her slow nuptials, and dishonoured charms?
Pyl. Hermione would fain be thought to scorn
Her wavering lover, and disdain his falsehood;
But, spite of all her pride and conscious beauty,
She mourns in secret her neglected charms,
And oft has made me privy to her tears:
Still threatens to be gone; yet still she stays;
And sometimes sighs, and wishes for Orestes.
Orest. Ah, were those wishes from her heart,
my friend!

I would fly in transport

[Flourish within.
Pyl. Hear! the king approaches
To give you audience. Speak your embassy
Without reserve: urge the demands of Greece;
And, in the name of all the kings, require,
That Hector's son be given into your hands.
Pyrrhus, instead of granting what they ask,
To speed his love and win the Trojan dame,
Will make it merit to preserve her son.
But, see; he comes.

Orest. Meanwhile, my Pylades,
Go, and dispose Hermione to see
Her lover, who is come thus far, to throw
Himself, in all his sorrows, at her feet.

Enter PYRRHUS, PHOENIX, and Attendants,
Before I speak the message of the Greeks,
Permit me, sir, to glory in the title
Of their ambassador; since I behold
Troy's vanquisher, and great Achilles' son.
Nor does the son rise short of such a father.
If Hector fell by him, Troy fell by you.
But what your father never would have done,
You do. You cherish the remains of Troy;
And by an ill-timed pity keep alive
The dying embers of a ten years war.
Have you so soon forgot the mighty Hector?
The Greeks remember his high brandished sword,
That filled their states with widows and with
orphans,

For which they call for vengeance on his son. Who knows what he may one day prove? Who knows

But he may brave us in our ports; and, filled
With Hector's fury, set our fleets on blaze?
You may, yourself, live to repent your mercy.
Comply, then, with the Grecians' just demands:
Satiate their vengeance, and preserve yourself.
Pyr. The Greeks are for my safety more con-
cerned

Than I desire. I thought your kings were met
On more important counsel. When I heard
The name of their ambassador, I hoped
Some glorious enterprize was taking birth.
Is Agamemnon's son dispatched for this?
And do the Grecian chiefs, renowned in war,
A race of heroes, join in close debate,

Of all the scepter'd warriors, be denied
To treat my captive as I please? Know, prince,
When Troy lay smoking on the ground, and each
Proud victor shared the harvest of the war,
Andromache and this her son were mine;
Were mine by lot; and who shall wrest them
from me?

Ulysses bore away old Priam's queen;
Cassandra was your own great father's prize;
Did I concern myself in what they won?
Did I send embassies to claim their captives?
Orest. But, sir, we fear for you, and for our-
selves.

Troy may again revive, and a new Hector
Rise in Astyanax. Then think betimes--

Pyr. Let dastard souls be timorously wise: But tell them, Pyrrhus knows not how to form Far-fancied ills, and dangers out of sight.

Orest. Sir, call to mind the unrivalled strength of Troy;

Her walls, her bolwarks, and her gates of brass; Her kings, her heroes, and embattled armies!

Pyr. I call them all to mind; and see them all Confused in dust; all mixt in one wide ruin; All but a child, and he in bondage held. What vengeance can we fear from such a Troy? If they have sworn to extinguish Hector's race, Why was their vow for twelve long months deferred?

Why was he not in Priam's bosom slain?
He should have fallen among the slaughtered
heaps,

Whelmed under Troy. His death had then been just.
When age and infancy, alike in vain,
Pleaded their weakness; when the heat of con-

quest,

And horrors of the fight, rouzed all our rage,
And blindly hurried us through scenes of death,
My fury then was without bounds: but now,
My wrath appeased, must I be cruel still?
And, deaf to all the tender calls of pity,
Like a cool murderer, bathe my hands in blood;
An infant's blood?—No, prince-go, bid the
Greeks

Mark out some other victim; my revenge
Has had its fill. What has escaped from Troy
Shall not be saved to perish in Epirus.

Orest. I need not tell you, sir, Astyanax
Was doomed to death in Troy; nor mention how
The crafty mother saved her darling son:
The Greeks do now but urge their former sen-
tence;

Nor is it the boy, but Hector, they pursue;
The father, who so oft in Grecian blood
Has drenched his sword; the father, whom the
Greeks

May seek even here.-Prevent them, sir, in time.
Pyr. No! let them come; since I was born to

wage

Eternal war. Let them now turn their arms

To ask his life? Must I, must I alone,

And in Epirus seek another Troy.