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From whom, to a soul fo sensible as mine, And heal her wounded freedom with thy blood :
Then with thy hopes, and all thy youth upon thee, Where'er my melancholy thoughts thall guide me. See thy head taken by the common axe,
Brut. But is not death a very dreadful thing: Without a groan, without one pirying tear,
Tit. Not to a mind resolv'd. No, Sir, to me If thar the gods can hold me to my purpose, It seems as natural as to be born :
To make my justice quite transcend cxample. Groans, and convulsions, and discolour'd faces, Tit. Scourg'd like a bondman! ah ! a beaten Friends weeping round us, blacks and obsequies, flave! Make it a dreadful thing; the pomp
of death But I deserve it all; yet here I fail ! Is far more terrible than death inelf.
The image of this suff'ring quite unmans me; Yes, Sir, I call the pow’rs of heaven to witness, Nor can I longer stop the guthing tears. Titus dares die, if so you have decreed; (, Sir! 0, Brutus! must I call you father, Nay, he lhall die with joy to honour Brutus, Yet have no token of your tenderness? To make your justice famous thro' the world, No sign of mercy? What, not bate me that! And fix the liberty of Rome for ever:
Can you resolve, O all th' extremiry Not but I must confels my weakness too; Of cruel rigour! to behold me too? Yet it is great thus to resolve against it,
To fit unmov'd, and see me whipt to death? To have the frailty of a mortal man,
Where are your bowels now? Is this a father? But the security of the immorial gods.
Ah, Sir, why should you make any heart suspect Brut. O Titus ! O thou absolute young man! That all your late compassion was diffembled? Thou flatt’ring mirror of thy father's image, How can I think that you did ever love me? Where I behold mylelf at such advantage ! Brut. Think that I love thee by my present Thou perfect glory of the Junian race !
pation, Let me endcar thce once more to iny bosom, By thefe unmanly tears, these earthquakes here, Groan an eternal farcwel to thy soul;
These fighs, that twitch the very strings of life : Instead of tears, weep blood, if posible, Think that no other cause on earth could move Blood, the heart-blood of Brutus, on his child: For thou must die, my Titus, die, my lon;
To tremble thus, to fob, or shed a tear, 1 swear the gods have dooin'd thee to the grave: Nor Shake my folid virtue from her point, The violated genius of thy country
But Tirus' death: O do not call it shameful, Rears his fad head, and passes fentence on thee : That thus shall fix the glory of the world. This morning fun, that lights my sorrows on I own thy suff'rings ought t' unman me thus, To the tribunal of this horrid vengeance, To make me throw my body on the ground, Shall never see thee more.
To bellow like a beait, to gnaw the earth, Tit. Alas, my lord !
To tear my hair, to curse the cruel fates, Why are you mov'd thus? Why am I worth your That force a father thus to drag his bowels. sorrow?
Tit. O rise, thou viulated majesty, Why should the godlike Brutus shake to doom me: Rile from the earth, or I shall beg those fates Why all these trappings for a traitor's hearle ? Which you would curse, to bolt me to the centre. The gods will have it to.
I now submit to all your threaten'd vengeance : Brut. They will, my Titus:
Come forth, you executioners of justice, Nor heaven nor carib can have it otherwise. Nay, all you ličtors, llaves, and common hangmen, Nay, Titus, mark: the deeper that I fearch, Come, strip me bare, unrobe me in his fight, My harass'd foul returns the more confirin'd; And lath me till I bleed, whip ine like furies; Méthinks I see the very hand of Jore
And when you're scourg'd me till I foam and fall, Moving the dreadful wheels of this affair, For want of spirits grovelling in i he dust, That whirl thee, like a machine, to thy fate. Then take my head, and give it his revenge ; It seems as if the gods had pre-ordain'd it, By all the gods, I greedily resign it! To fix the reeling fpirits of the people,
Brut. No more — farewel, eternally farewel ! And settle the loose liberty of Rome,
If there be gods, they will reserve a room, 'Tis fix'd ; O) cherefore lei not fancy fond thee : A throne for ee in heaven. One last embrace ! So fix'd thy death, that 'ris not in the poi'r What is it makes thy eyes thus swim again? Of gods or men to live thee from the axe. Tit. I had forgot: be good to Teraminta Tit. The axe! O Heaven! then must I fall fo When I am in alhes. bafely :
Brut. Leave her to my care.
Tit. Farewel for ever!
For safety, and for succour. I alone, Brut. For ever then! but (), my tears run o'er; With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows, Groans choak my words, and I can speak no more. Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd
The road he took: then hasted to my friends;
Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men, $44. Lady Randolph, Lord Randolph, and young
I met advancing. The pursuit I led, Norval, not known at the time to be Lady Till we o'ertook the spoil-cncumber'd foe. Randolph's Son.
HOME. We fought, and conquer'd. Ere a sword was
drawn, Lady Ran.
In arrow from my bow had pierc'd their chief, Lord Ran. That it fares well, thanks to this Who wore that day the arms which now I wear, gallant youth,
Returning home in triumph, 1 dit ind Whose valour lav'd me from a wretched death: The shepherd's Nothful life : and having heard As down the winding dale I walk'd alone, That our good king had summon'd his bold peers, At the cross way four armed men attack'd me, To lead their warriors to the Carron fide, Rovers I judge from the licentious camp, I left my father's house, and took with me Who would have quickly laid Lord Randolph low, A cho en servant to conduct my steps : Had not this brave and generous stranger come, Yon trembling coward, who forlook his master. Like my good angel, in the hour of fate,
Journeving with this intent, I pas d chesi tow'rs; And, mocking danger, made my foes his own. And, heaven-directed, came this day to do They turn'd upon him : but his active arm The happy dced that gilds my humble name. Struck to the ground, from whence they rose no Lord Ran. He is as wise as brave: was ever more,
tale The fierceft two; the others Aed amain, With such a gallant modesty rehears'd? And left him master of the bloody field. My brave deliv'rer! thou shalt enter now Speak, Lady Randolph ; upon beauty's tongue A nobler lift; and, in a monarch's fight, Dwell accents pleasing to the brave and bold. Contend with princes for the prize of fame, Speak, noble dame, and thank him for thy Lord. I will present thee tv our Scottish king, Lady Ran. My Lord, I cannot speak what now Whoic valiant fpirit ever valour lov’d. I feel.
Ya! my Matilda! wherefore itarts that tcar? My heart o'erflows with gratitude to Heaven, Lady Ran. I cannot fay; for various affections, And to this noble youth, who, all unknown And itrangely mingled, in my botom 1well: To you and yours, deliberated not,
Yet each of them may weil command a tear. Nor paus'd at peril—but, humanely brave, I joy that thou art fate; and I admire Fought on your fide against such fearful odds. Him, and his fortunes, who hath wrought thy Have you yet learnt of him whom we should thank. safery; Whoin call the saviour of Lord Randolph's life : Yca, as my mind prediets, with thine his own. Lord Ran. I ask'd that question, and he answer'd obscure and friendless, he the army fought;
Bent upon peril, in the range of death But I must know who my deliverer is.
Resolv'd to hunt for fame, and with his sword
[To the Stranger. To gain distinction which his birth denied. Norv. A low-born man, of parentage obscure, In this attempt unknown he might have peWho nonght can boast but his desire to be
rith'd, A soldier, and to gain a name in arms. And gain'd with all his valour but oblivion. Lord Ran. Whoe'er thou art, thy spirit is enno- Now, grac'd by thee, his virtue ferves no more bled
Beneath despair. The foldier now of hope, By the great King of Kings; thou art ordain'd He stands confpicuous ; fame and great renown And stamp'd a hero by the sovereign hand Are brought within the compass of his sword. Of nature! Blush not, how'r of modesty On this my mind reflected, whilft you spoke, As well as valour, to declare thy birth. And blets'd the wonder-working hand of HcaNorv. My name is Norval: on the Grampian Hills
Lord Ran. Pious and grateful ever are thy My father feeds his flocks; a frugal (wain,
thoughts ! Whose constant cares were to increase his store, My deeds thall follow where thou point'st the way. And keep his only fon, myself, at home. Next to myself, and equal to Glenalvon, For I had heard of battles, and I long d In honour and command fhall Norval be. To follow to the field some warlike lord ;
Norv. I know not how to thank you : rude I And Heaven foon granted what my fire denied. This moon, which rose lalt night round as my In speech and manners: never till this hour Thield,
Stood I in such a presence : yet, my lord, Had not yet fill'd her horns, when, by her light, There's something in my breast which makes me A band of fierce barbarians from the hills
bold Rulh'd like a torrent down upon the vale, To say, that Norval ne'er will shame thy favour. Sweeping our locks and herds. The lhepherds Lady Ran. I will be sworn thou wilt not. Thou ficd
My kright; and ever, as thou didft to-day, And oft each night forsakes his sullen couch,
Home. Some of my train, I fee, are speeding hither, Impatient, doubtless, of their lord's delav. THIS is the place, the
centre of the grove. Go with me, Norval; and thine eyes thall see
Here stands the oak, the monarch of the wood. The cholen warriors of thy native land,
How sweet and solemn is this midnight icene ! Who languish for the tight, and beat the air
The silver moon, unclouded, holds her way With brandish'd swords.
Thro' kies, where I could count cach little star, Norv. Let us be gone, my lord.
The fanning well-wind scarcely ftis the leaves;
Impofcs filence with a stilly found.
by what Means be acquired a Kirowledge in the If ancestry can be in aught believ'd, Art of War.
Home. Descending spirits have convers'd with man, BENEATH a mountain's brow, the most remote And told the secrets of the world unknown.
And inaccellible by thepherds trod, In a deep cave, dug by no mortal haud,
Eventful day! how haft thou chang'd my state! A hermit liv'd; a melancholy man,
Once on the cold and winter-thaded Gde
Of a bleak hil mitchance had rooted me,
Never to thrive, child of another foil :
Transplanted now to the gay funny vale, Water his drink, his food the shepherds' alms.
Like the green thorn of May, my fortune flow'rs. I went to see him ; and my heart was touch'd
Ye glorious stars! high heaven's resplendent host! With reverence and with pity. Mild he spake, To whom I oft have of my lot complain'd, And, ent'ring on discourse, such stories told,
Hear, and record, my foul's unalter d wish!
Dead or alive, let me but be renown'd!
May Heaven inspire some fierce gigantic Dane And fought in famous battles, when the peers
To give a bold defiance to our host! Of Europe, by the bold Godfredo led,
Before he fpeaks it out, I will accept: Against th’u!urping Infidel display'd
Like Douglas conquer, or like DOUGLAs die. The cross of Christ, and won the Holy Land. Pleas'd with my admiration, and the rire His speech struck from me, the old man would shake $ 47. CAT 0. ADDISON. His years away, and act his young encounters :
ACT I. Then, having thew'd his wounds, he 'd fit him down,
Enter Portius and Marcus. And all the live-long day discoure of war. To help my farcy, in the smooth green turf Por. THE dawn is overcait, the morning lowors, He cut the figures of the marihall'd hosts ;
And heavily in clouds brings on the day, Defcrib'd the motions, and explain’d the use The great, th' important day, biy, with the fate Of the deep column, and the lengthen'd line ;
Of Cato and of Rome-our father's deuh The Square, the crescent, and the phalanx film. Would fill up all the guilt of civil war, For all that Saracen or Christian knew
And close the scene of blood. Already Czfar Of war's vafi art, was to this hermit known. Hlas ravag'd more than half the gobe, and fees Unhappy man!
Mankind grow'u thin by his defti ucuve sword: Returning homewards by Melina's port, Should he go farther, numbers would be wanting Loaded with wealth and honours bravely won, To forin new batlles, and support his crimes. A rude and boilt'rous captain of the sea Ye gods, what havoc does ambicica make Fafien'd a quarrel on him. Fierce they fought; Among your works! The stranger fell; and, with his dying breath, Mart. Thy Ready temper, Portius, Declar'd his name and lincage. Mighty God! Can look on guilt, rexidon, fraud, and Cæsar, The foldier cried, my brother! O my brother ! In the calm lhes of m.ist phi orophy ; They exchang'd forgivenefs :
I'm tortur'd e'en to maineis, when I think And happy, in my mind, was he that died; On the proud tor: ev'ry time he 's nam'd For many deaths has the survivor luffir'd. Pharialia rites to my view '--1 lee In the wild delert on a rock he fits,
liintulung tyrant prancing o'er the field, Upon fome nameles It:eain's untrolden barks, Sticw'd with Rome's citizens, and drench'd in And ruminnes all day his dreadful.. te..
141.ghter, At times, alas! nor in his perfect m.nd, His horte's hcofs wet with parrician blond! Holds dialogues with lus lov'd brot:er's gloit; lo Portius! is ibere not some chosen curse,
Some hidden thunder in the stores of Heaven, To copy out our father's bright example.
When most it swells, and labours for a vent,
A virtue wanting in a Roman foul > His fuif'rings thine, and spread a glory round him; Marc. Portius,no more! your words leave stings Greatly unfortunate, he lights the cause
behind 'em. Of honour, virtue, liberty, and Rome.
When e'er did Juba, or did Portius, shew His sword ne'er fell but on the guilty head; A virtue that has cast me at a distance, Oppression, tyranny, and pow'r usurp'd, And thrown me out in the pursuits of honour! Draw all the vengeance of his arm upon 'em. Por. Marcus, I know thy generous temper well; Marc. Who kuows not this? But what can Fling but th' appearance of dishonour on it, Cato do
It straight takes fire, and mounts into a blaze. Against a world, a base degen’rate world, Muri. A brother's suff 'rings claim a brother's That courts the yoke, and bows the neck to Cæsar? pity. Pent up in Utica, he vainly form:
Por. Heaven knows I pity thee. Behold my A poor epitome of Roman greatness; And, cover'd with Numidian guards, directs Ev’n whila I speak—do they not swim in tears ? A fecble army, and an empiy fenate,
Were but my heart as naked to thy view, Remnants of mighty battles fought in vain. Marcus would see it bleed in his behalf. By Heaven, such virtues, join'd with such success, Marc. Why chen doft trcat me with rebukes, Distract my very foul : our father's fortune
instead Would almost teinpt us to renounce his precepts. Of kind condoling cares, and friendly sorrow?
Por. Remember what our father oft has told us: Por. O Marcus! did I know the way to ease The ways of Heaven are dark and intricate, Thy troubled heart, and mitigate thy pains, Puzzled in mazus, and perplex'd with errors ; Marcus, believe me, I could die to do it. Our understanding traces them in vain,
Marc. Thou best of brothers, and thou best of Lost and bewilder'd in the fruitless search;
friends! Nor fees with how much art the windings run, Pardon a weak, distemper'd soul, that suvells Nor where the regular confusion ends.
With sudden gufts, and sinks as soon in calms, Marr. These are suggestions of a mind at ease: The sport of pallions. But Sempronius comes : O Portius, didst thou taste but half the griefs He must not find this foftness hanging on me. That wring my soul, thou couldst not talk thus
[Ex. Marc. coldly.
Enter Semproniks. Paffion un pitied, and successless love,
Scm. Conspiracies no sooner should be form'd Plant daggers in my heart, and aggravate
Than executed. What means Portius here? My other griefs. Were but my Lucia kind, I like not that cold youth. I must differnble, Por. Thou seest not that thy brother is thy And speak a language foreign to my heart. rival;
[ Aside. But I must hide it, for I know thy temper. (Alide. Good-morrow, Portius; let us once embrace, Now, Marcus, now thy virtue 's on the proof : Once more embrace, while yet we both are free. Put forth thy utmost strength, work ev'ry nerve, To-morrow, should we thus express our friendship, And call up all thy father in thy soul.
Each inight receive a lave into his arms. To quell the tyrant love, and guard thy heart This fun, perhaps, this morning's sun, 's the last On this weak lide, where most our nature fails, That e'er ihall rise on Roman liberty. Would be a conquest worthy Cato's son.
Por. My father has this morning call'd together Marc. Portius, the counsel which I cannot take, To this poor hall his little Roman fenate, Instead of healing, but upbraids my weakness. The leavings of Pharsalia, to consult Bid me for honour plunge into a war
If yet he can oppose the mighty torrent Of thickeft foes, and rush on certain death, Tliat bears down Rome, and all her gods before it, Then shalt thou see that Marcus is not flow Or must at length give up the world to Cæsar. To follow glory, and confess his father.
Sem. Not all the pomp and majesty of Rome Love is not to be reason'd down, or loft
Can raise her fenate more than Caro's presence. In high ambition, or a thirit of greatness : His virtues render our assembly awful, 'Tis second life, it grows into the soul, They strike with something like religious fear, Warms ev'ry vein, and beats in ev'ry pulse; And make e'en Cælar tremble at the head I feel it here: my resolution melts.
Of'armies nuth'd with conquest. Omy Portius, Por. Behold young Juba, the Numidian prince, Could I but call that wondrous man my father, With how much care he forms himself to glory, Would but thy sister Marcia be propitious And breaks the fiercencss of his native temper, To thy friend's vows, I might be bleft indeed!
Por. Alas, Sempronius! wouldst thou talk of Sy. Alas, he's lost! love
He's loft, Sempronius! all his thoughts are full To Marcia, whilst her father's life's in danger: Lof Cato's virtues.—But I 'il try once more Thou might'st as well court the pale trembling (For ev'ry instant I expect him here) veftal,
if yet I can subdue those stubborn principles When the beholds the holy faune expiring.
of faith and honour, and I know not what, Sem. The more I see the wonders of thy race, That have corrupted his Numidian temper, The more I 'm charm'd. Thou niuft také liecd, And struck th' infection into all his foul. my Portius;
Sem. Be sure to press upon him ev'ry motive, The world has all its eyes on Cato's son ; Juba's surrender, since his father's death, 'Thy father's merit sets thee up to view, Would give up Africinto Cæfar's hands, And hew's thee in the fairelt point of light, And make him lord of half the burning zone. To make thy virtues or thy faults conspicuous. Sy. But is it true, Sempronius, that your ses Por. Well doft thou seem to check my ling'ring here
Is callid together? Gods! thou must be cautious ; On this important hour-I'll straight away; Caro has piercing eyes, and will discern And while the fathers of the senate meet Our frauds, unlets they're cover'd thick with art. In clofe debate, to weigh th' events of war, Sem. Let me alone, good Syphax ; I'll conceal I'll animate the foldiers' drooping courage My thoughts in palljon ('tis the surest way); With love of freedom, and contempt of life;
I'll bellow out for Rome and for my country, I'll thunder in their ears their country's cause, And mouth at Cæfar, till I thake the fenate. And try to rouse up all that 's Roman in 'em. Your cold hypocrisy 's a stale device, 'Tis not in mortals to command success, A worn-out trick : wouldīt thou be thought in But we 'll do more, Sempronius, we 'll deserve it. earnest,
[Exit. Clothe thy foign d zeal in rage, in fire, in fury ! Sem. Curse on the stripling! how heapes his fire, Sy. In croih, thou 'rt able to instruct grey hairs, Ambitiously fententious!- But I wonder And teach the wily African deceit. Old Syphax comes not: his Numidian genius Sem. Once more be sure to try thy skill on Jubas Is weli dispos'd to mi chief, were he prompt Meanwhile I'll haften to my Roman soldiers, And eager on it; but he must be spurr’d, Inflame the mutiny, and underhand And ev'ry moment quicken'd to the course. Blow up their discontents, till they break out Cato has us'd ine ill: he has refus'd
Unlook'd for, and discharge themielves on Caro. His daughter Marcia to my ardent vows. Remember, Syphax, we must work in haste : Besides, his balled arms, and ruin'd cause, O think what anxious moments pals between Are hars to my ambition. Cæsar's favour, The birth of plots and their last fatal periods. That show'rs down greatness on his friends, will o, ’ris a dreadful interval of time raise me
Fill'd up with horror all, and big with death!
Determines all, and closes our design.
Sy. I'll try if I can yet reduce to reason Sy. Sempronius, all is ready.
This headftrong youth, and make him Ipurn at I've founded my Numidians, man by man,
Cato. And find them ripe for a revolt: they all The time is short; Cæfar comes rushing on us Complain alovd of Cato's discipline,
But hold ! young Juba sees me, and approaches. And wait but the command to change their master. Sim. Believe me, Syphax, there's no time to
Enter Juba. waste;
jub, Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone. Evin whilst we speak, our conqueror comes on, I have observ'd of late thy looks are fall’n, And gathers ground upon us ev'ry moment. O'ercast with gloomy cares and discontent. Alas! thou know'st not Cæfar's active foul, Then tell me, Syphax, I conjure thce, tell me, With what a dreadful course he ruthes on What are the thoughts that knit 'thy brow in From warto war. la vain has nature forin'd
frowns, Mountains and oceans to oppose his pass ge; And turn thine eye thus coldly on thy prince ! He bounds o'er all; victorious in his march, Si'. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my thoughts, The Alps and Pyrencans sink before him ; Or carry finiles and suvshine in my face, Thro' winds and waves, and forms, he works his When ditcontent fits heavy at my beart; way,
I have not yet so much the Roman in me. Impatient for the battle ; one day more
Jub. Why doft thou cast out such ungen'rous Will fet the victor thund'ring at our gates. But, tell me, halt thou yet drawn o'er young Against the lords and fou'reigns of the world! Juva
Duft thou not see mankind fall down before them, That still would recommend the more to Cæsar, And own the force of their superior virtue? And challenge better terms.
Is there a nation in the wilds of Afric,