Delight of every eye; when he appear'd,
A fecret pleature gladden'd all that faw him;
But when he talk'd, the proudeft Roman blufh'd
To hear his virtues, and old age grew wife.
Jub. I fhall run mad!

Mar. O Juba! Juba! Juba!

[Afide.

Jub. What means that voice? Did fhe not call on Juba ?

Mar. Why do I think on what he was? he 's
dead!

He's dead, and never knew how much I lov'd him.
Lucia, who knows but his poor bleeding heart,
Amidst his agonies, remember'd Marcia,
And the laft words he utter'd call'd me cruel!
Alas! he knew not, hapless youth, he knew not
Marcia's whole foul was full of love and Juba!
Jub. Where am I? Do I live? or am indeed
What Marcia thinks? All is Elyfium round me!
[Afide.

Mar. Ye dear remains of the most lov'd of men,
Nor modefty nor virtue here forbids
A laft embrace, while thus――
Jub. See, Marcia, fee

Luc. I ftand aftonifh'd! What, the bold Sem-
pronius,

That ftill broke foremost thro'the crowd of patriots,
As with a hurricane of zeal transported,
And virtuous even to madness

Cato. Trust me, Lucius,

Our civil difcords have produc'd fuch crimes,
Such monftrous crimes, I am furpris'd at nothing.
-O Lucius, I am fick of this bad world!

[Throwing bimfelf before her. The day-light and the fun grow painful to me.

The happy Juba lives! He lives to ca.ch
That dear embrace, and to return it too
With mutual warmth and eagerness of love.
Mar. With pleasure and amaze I stand tranf-
ported!

Sure 'tis a dream! dead and alive at once!
If thou art Juba, who lies there?

Jub. A wretch,

Difguis'd like Juba on a curft defign.
The tale is long, nor have I heard it out:
Thy father knows it all. I could not bear
To leave thee in the neighbourhood of death,
But flew, in all the hafte of love, to find thee;
I found thee weeping, and confefs this once,
Am rapt with joy to fee my Marcia's tears.

Mar. I've been furpris'd in an unguarded hour,
But muft not now go back; the love that lay
Half fmother'd in my breast, has broke thro' all
Its weak reftraints, and burns in its full luftre.
I cannot, if I would, conceal it from thee.

Jub. I'm loft in ecftafy: and doft thou love,
Thou charming maid—-

Mar. And doft thou live to afk it?

Jub. This, this is life indeed! life worth preferving,

Such life as Juba never felt till now!

Mar. Believe me, prince, before I thought thee
dead,

I did not know myself how much I lov'd thee.
Jub. O fortunate mistake!

Mar. O happy Marcia !

Jub. My joy, my best belov'd, my only with!
How fhall I fpeak the transport of my foul!

Mar. Lucia, thy arm. O, let me reft upon it!
The vital blood, that had forfook my heart,
Returns again in such tumultuous tides,
It quite o'ercomes me. Lead to my apart.

ment.

O prince! I blush to think what I have faid,
But fate has wrefted the confeffion from me;
Go on, and profper in the paths of honour.

Enter Portius.

But fee where Portius comes: what means this

hafte ?

Why are thy looks thus chang'd?

Por. My heart is griev'd,

I bring fuch news as will afflict my father.
Cato. Has Cæfar fhed more Roman blood?
Por. Not fo.

The traitor Syphax, as within the square
He exercis'd his troops, the signal given,
Flew off at once with his Numidian horfe
To the fouth gate, where Marcus holds the
watch:

I faw, and call'd to stop him, but in vain :
He tofs'd his arm aloft, and proudly told me,
He would not stay and perifh like Sempronius.
Cato. Perfidious man! But hafte, my son, and
fee
[Exit Por.

Thy brother Marcus acts a Roman's part.
-Lucius, the torrent bears too hard upon me:
Juftice gives way to force: the conquer'd world
Is Cæfar's! Cato has no bufinefs in it.

Luc. While pride, oppreffion, and injuftice
reign,

The world will ftill demand her Cato's prefence.
In pity to mankind submit to Cæfar,
And reconcile thy mighty foul to life.

Cato. Would Lucius have me live to fwell the
number

Of Cæfar's flaves, or by a base fubmiffion
Give up the caufe of Rome, and own a tyrant ?
Luc. The victor never will impofe on Cato
Ungen'rous terms. His enemies confefs
The virtues of humanity are Cæfar's.

Cato. Curfe on his virtues ! they 've undone his
country.

Such popular humanity is treafon--
But fee young Juba; the good youth appears,
Full of the guilt of his perfidious fubjects!

Luc. Alas, poor prince! his fate deserves com.
paffion.

Enter

Enter Juba.

Jub. I blush, and am confounded to appear
Before thy prefence, Cato.
Cato. What 's thy crime?
Jub. I'm a Numidian.

Cato. And a brave one too.

man foul.

Thou haft a Ro

-Portius, behold thy brother, and remember
Thy life is not thy own, when Rome demands it.
Jub. Was ever man like this! [Afide.
Cato. Alas, my friends,

Why mourn you thus? Let not a private lofs
Afflict your hearts. 'Tis Rome requires our

tears;

Jub. Haft thou not heard of my falfe country-The nurfe of heroes, the delight of gods,

The miftrefs of the world, the feat of empire,

men?

Cato. Alas, young prince!

Falfehood and fraud fhoot up in ev'ry foil,

That humbled the proud tyrants of the earth,
And fet the nations free, Rome is no more.

The product of all climes-Rome has its Cæfars.liberty! O virtue! O my country!
Jub. 'Tis generous thus to comfort the diftrefs'd.
Cato. 'Tis just to give applause where 'tis de-
ferv'd:

Jub. Behold that upright man! Rome fills his

Thy virtue, prince, has stood the test of fortune,
Like pureft gold, that, tortur'd in the furnace,
Comes out more bright, and brings forth all its
weight.

Jub. What shall I anfwer thee? My ravish'd

heart

O'erflows with fecret joy: I'd rather gain
Thy praife, 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 forfook his poft? Has he given way?
Did he look tamely on, and let 'em pafs?

Por. Scarce had I left my father, but I met him
Borne on the fhields of his furviving foldiers,
Breathlefs and pale, and cover'do'er with wounds.
Long, at the head of his few faithful friends,
He ftood the fhock of a whole host of foes,
Till obftinately brave, and bent on death,
Oppreft with multitudes, he greatly fell.
Cate. I'm fatisfied.

Por. Nor did he fall before

His fword had pierc'd thro' the falfe heart of Sy-
phax.

Yonder he lies. I faw 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 afunder!

Luc. O Cato, arm thy foul with all its patience; See where the corpfe of thy dead fon approaches! The citizens and fenators, alarm'd,

Have gather'd round it, and attend it weeping.

Cato, meeting the corpfe.

Cato. Welcome, my fon! Here lay him down,
my friends,

Full in my fight, that I may view at leifure
The bloody corfe, and count thofe gloriouswounds.
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 ferve our country
-Why fits this fadnefs on your brows, my
friends?

I fhould have blufh'd if Cato's houfe had stood
Secure, and flourish'd in a civil war.

eyes

With tears, that flow'd not o'er his own dead fon.

[Afide.

Cato. Whate'er the Roman virtue has fubdued,

The fun's whole couric, the day and year are

Cæfar's;

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

For him the felf-devoted Decii died,

The Roman empire, fallen! O curft ambition!
Fallen into Cæfar's hands? Our great fore-
fathers

Had left him nought to conquer but his country.
Jub. While Cato lives, Cæfar will blush to fee
Mankind enflav'd, and be asham'd of empire.
Cato. Cæfaratham'd! Has he not feen Pharfalia?
Luc. Cato, 'tis time thou fave thyfelf and us.
Cato. Lofe not a thought on me, I'm out of

danger,

Heaven will not leave me in the victor's hand.
Cæfar fhall never fay he conquer'd Cato.
But, O my friends, your fafety fills my heart
With anxious thoughts: a thoufand fecret terrors
Rife in my foul. How fhall I fave my friends?
O Cæfar, I begin to fear thee.
Luc. Cæfar has mercy, if we afk it of him.
Gato. Then afk it, I conjure you! let him
know

'Tis now,

There live retir'd, pray for the peace of Rome;
Content thyself to be obfcurely good.
When vice prevails, and impious men bear fway,
The poft of honour is a private station.

Por. I hope my father does not recommend
A life to Portius, that he fcorns himself.
Cato. Farewel, my friends ! If there be any of

you

Who dare not truft the victor's clemency,
Know there are flips prepar'd by my command,
(Their fails already op'ning to the winds)
That fhall convey you to the wifh'd-for port.
Is there aught elfo, my friends, I can do for you?
The conqueror draws near. Once more farewel!
If e'er we meet hereafter, we shall meet
In happier climes, and on a fafer fhore,
Where Cæfar never fhall approach us more.

[Pointing to his dead Son.
There the brave youth, with love of virtue fir'd,
Who greatly in his country's caufe expir'd,
Shall know he conquer'd. The firm patriot there,
Who made the welfare of mankind his care,
Tho' ftill by faction, vice, and fortune croft,
Shall find the gen'rous labour was not loft.

ACT V.

[Exeunt.

Cato folus, fatting in a thoughtful pofture: in bis
band Plato's book on the Immortality of the Soul.

A drazon fword on the table by him.
IT must be fo-Plato, thou reafon'ft well-
Elfe whence this pleafing hope, this fond defire,
This longing after immortality?

Or whence this fecret dread, and inward horror,
Of falling into nought? Why fhrinks the foul
Back on herself, and startles at deftruction?
Tis the divinity that stirs within us;
'Tis heaven itself that points out an hereafter,
And intimates eternity to man:
Eternity! thou pleafing, dreadful thought!
Through what variety of untried being,
Thro' what new fcenes and changes must we pafs?
The wide, th' unbounded profpect lies before
But fhadows, clouds, and darkness reft upon it.'
Here will I hold. If there's a power above
(And that there is all nature cries aloud,
Through all her works) he must delight in vir-

tue;

me:

And that which he delights in must be happy.
But when ! or where-this world was made for

Cæfar.

I'm
weary
of conjectures-this must end 'em.
[Laying bis band on bis frvord.
Thus am I doubly arm'd: my death and life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This in a moment brings me to an end;
But this informs me I thall never die.
The foul, fecur'd in her existence, fmiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The ftars fhall fade away, the fun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature fink in years,
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,

Unhurt amidst the war of elements,
The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.
What means this heavinefs that hangs upon me!
This lethargy that creeps through all my senses ?
Nature opprefs'd, and harafs'd out with care,
Sinks down to rest. This once I'll favour her,
That my awaken'd foul may take her flight,
Renew'd in all her strength, and fresh with life,
An off'ring fit for Heaven. Let guilt or fear
Disturb man's reft, Cato knows neither of 'em,
Indiff'rent in his choice to fleep or die.

Enter Portius.

But, ah! how's this, my fon? Why this intrusion?
Were not my orders that I would be private?
Why am I difobey'd?

Por. Alas, my father!

What means this fword, this inftrument of death?
Let me convey it hence.

Cato. Rath youth, forbear!

Por. O, let the pray'rs, th' entreaties of your
friends,

Their tears, their common danger, wrest it from
you!

Cato. Wouldst thou betray me? Wouldst thou
give me up,

A flave, a captive into Cæfar's hands?
Retire, and learn obedience to a father,
Or know, young man!-

Por. Look not thus fternly on me;
You know I'd rather die than difobey you.

Cato. 'Tis well! again I'm mafter of myself.
Now, Cæfar, let thy troops befet our gates,
And bar each avenue; thy gath'ring fleets
O'erfpread the fea, and ftop up ev'ry port;
Cato fhall open to himself a paffage,
And mock thy hopes-

Por. O Sir! forgive your fon,
Whofe grief hangs heavy on him. O my father!
How am I fure it is not the last time
I e'er fhall call you fo? Be not difpleas'd,
O, be not angry with me whilft I weep,
And, in the anguifh of my heart, befeech you
To quit the dreadful purpofe of your foul!
Cato. Thou haft been ever good and dutiful.
[Embracing him.

Weep not, my fon, all will be well again;
The righteous gods, whom I have fought to please,
Will fuccour Cato, and preferve his children.

Por. Your words give comfort to my drooping

heart.

He

Mar. His mind still labours with fome dread[forrow? Luc. Lucia, why all this grief, thefe floods of Dry up thy tears, my child, we all are fafe While Catolives-his prefence will protect us. Enter Juba.

Jab. Lucius, the horfemen are return'd from viewing

The number, firength, and pofture of our foes, Who now encamp within a fhort hour's march; On the high point of yon bright western tower

Why did the wed old Thefeus? while his fon,
The brave Hippolitus, with equal youth
And equal beauty might have fill'd her arms.
Lyc. Hippolitus (in diftant Scythia born,
The warlike Amazon, Camilla's fon)
Till our queen's marriage, was unknown to Cretes
And fure the queen couldwish him still unknown
She loaths, detefts him, flies his hated prefence,
And fhrinks and trembles at his very name.

Crat. Well may he hate the prince the needs
muft fear;

He may difpute the crown with Phædra's fon.
He's brave, he's fiery, youthful, and belov'd;
His courage charms the men, his form the wo

His very sports are war.

Lyc. O he's all hero, fcorns th' inglorious ease
Of lazy Crete, delights to thine in arms,
To wield the fword, and launch the pointed.
spear;

To tame the gen'rous horfe, that nobly wild
Neighs on the hills, and dares the angry lion;
To join the ftruggling courfers to his chariot,
To make their ftubborn necks the rein obey,
To turn, or stop, or ftretch along the plain.
Now the queen's fick, there's danger in his
He must be watch'd.

Be ready with your guards.-I fear Hippolitus.

Exit Crat
Fear him for what? poor filly virtuous wretch!
Affecting glory, and contemning power:
Warm without pride, without ambition brave;

Lycon. "IS ftrange, Cratander, that the royal A fenfelefs hero, fit to be a tool