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What 's thy crime ?
And a brave one too,
Hast thou not heard
Alas ! young prince,
Enter PORTIUS hastily.
PORTIUS. Misfortune on misfortune ! grief on grief! My brother Marcus
Ha! what has he done?
Till, obstinately brave, and bent on death,
САто. I'm fatisfy'd.
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 thou place His urn near mine.
Long may they keep' asunder!
CATO meeting the corpje.
Welcome, my son ! here lay him down, my friends, Full in my light, 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 fits 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.
JUBA. Was ever man like this!
[ Aside. CATO.
Alas, my friends! Why mour.ycu thus ? let not a private loss
hearts. 'Tis Rome requires our tears:
eyes With tears, that flow'd not o'er his own dead fon. [ Aside,
CA TO. Whate'er the Roman virtue has fubdued, 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 Scipio's conquer'd : Ev'n Pompey fought for Cæfar. Oh, my friends! How is the toil of fate, the work of ages, The Roman empire fall’n! O curst ambition ! Fall'n into Cæsar's hands ! Our great fore-fathers Had left him nought to conquer
but his country.
Cæfar shall never say, I've conquerid Cato,
If I forfake thee Whilft 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 Çato's friend.
Portius, draw near! my son, thou oft haft seen Thy fire engag'd in a corrupted state, Wrestling with vice and fa&tion : now thou scelt 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,