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Mar. O Lucia, Lucia! might my big-swoln

Vent all its griefs, and give a loose to sorrow,
Marcia could answer thee in sighs, keep pace
With all thy woes, and count out tear for tear.
Luc. I know thou'rt doom'd alike to be belov'd
By Juba, and thy father's friend Sempronta
But which of these has pow'r to charm like

Mar. Still I must beg thee not to name Sem-

Lucia, I like not that loud boist'rous man ;
Juba to all the brav'ry of a hero [ness;
Adds softest love and more than female sweet-
Juba might make the proudest of our sex,
Any of womankind, but Marcia, happy.
Luc. And why not Marcia? Come, you strive

in vain

To hide your thoughts from one who knows too well

The inward glowings of a heart in love.

Mur. While Cato lives, his daughter has no right

To love or hate, but as his choice directs. Luc. But should this father give you to pronius?

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And left the limbs still quivering on the ground!
Hence let us carry off those slaves to Cato,
That we may there at length unravel all
This dark design, this mystery of fate.

[Exit Juba, with Prisoners, &c. Enter Lucia and Marcia.

Luc. Sure 'twas the clash of swords; my troabled heart

Is so cast down, and sunk amidst its sorrows, It throbs with fear, and aches at ev'ry sound. Sem-O Marcia, should thy brothers for my sake!— I die away with horror at the thought.

Mar.I dare not think he will: butifhe shouldWhy wilt thou add to all the griefs I suffer Imaginary ills, and fancied tortures?

Mar. See, Lucia, see! here's blood! here's
blood and murder!

I hear the sound of feet! They march this way!
Let us retire, and try if we can drown
Each softer thought in sense of present danger:
When love once pleads admission to our hearts
(In spite of all the virtue we can boast)
The woman that deliberates is lost.
Enter Sempronius, dressed like Juba, with Nu-Thou canst not put it to a greater trial.

Ha! a Numidian! heaven preserve the prince!
The face lies muffled
up within the
But, hah! death to my sight! a diadem,
And royal robes! O gods! 'tis he, 'tis he;
Juba, the loveliest youth that ever warm'd
A virgin's heart, Juba lies dead before us!

midian Guards.


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Be sure you mind the word, and when I give it
Rush in at once, and seize upon your prey.
Let not her cries or tears have force to move you.
——How will the young Numidian rave to see
His mistress lost! If aught could glad my soul,
Beyond the enjoyment of so bright a prize,
"Twould be to torture that young, gay barbarian.
-But hark, what noise! Death to my hopes!
'tis he,

'Tis Juba's self! there is but one way left
He must be murder'd, and a passage cut
Through those his guard-Hah, dastards, do
you tremble!

Or act like men, or by yon azure heaven—

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Luc. Now, Marcia, call up to thy assistan Thy wonted strength and constancy of mind,

Mar. Lucia, look there, and wonder at


Have I not cause to rave, and beat my breast,
To rend my heart with grief, and run distracte
Luc. What can I think or say to give thee

Mar. Talk not of comfort, 'tis for lighter i
Behold a sight that strikes all comfort dead.

Enter Juba listening.

I will indulge my sorrows, and give way
To all the pangs and fury of despair;
That man, that best of men, deserv'd it from me.
Jub. What do I hear? and was the false Sem-


That best of inen? O, had I fall'n like him, And could have thus been mourn'd, I had beca happy.

Luc. Here will I stand companion in thy wors,
And help thee with my tears; when I behold
A loss like thine, I shall forget my own.

Mar. 'Tis not in fate to ease my tortur'd breast,
This empty world, to me a joyless desert,
Has nothing left to make poor Marcia happy;
Jub. I'm on the rack! was he so near her
Mar. O, he was all made up of love and
Whatever maid could wish, or man admire:

ht of every eye; when he appear'd,
cret pleasure gladden'd all that saw him;
when he talk'd, the proudest Roman blush'd
ear his virtues, and old age grew wise.
b. I shall run mad!--


ar. O Juba! Juba! Juba!

b. What means that voice? did she not call on Juba?

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

Thy virtue will excuse my passion for thee,
And make the gods propitious to our love.
[Exeunt Mar. and Luc.
Jub. I am so blest, I fear 'tis all a dream.
Fortune, thou now hast made amends for all
Thy past unkindness: I absolve my stars.
What tho' Numidia add her conquer'd towns
And provinces to swell the victor's triumph,
Juba will never at his fate repine:
[him. Let Cæsar have the world, if Marcia's mine.


dead, and never knew how much I lov'd
i, who knows but his poor bleeding heart,
st his agonies, remember'd Marcia,
the last words he utter'd call'd me cruel!

he knew not, hapless youth, he knew not ia's whole soul was full of love and Juba! Where am I? do I live! for am indeed Marcia thinks? All is Elysium round me!

[Aside. r. Ye dear remains of the most lov'd of odesty nor virtue here forbids [men, embrace, while thus--. See, Marcia, see

is'd like Juba on a curst design.

de is long, nor have I heard it out : ther knows it all. I could not bear

Our civil discords have produc'd such crimes, Such monstrous crimes, I am surpris'd at nothing. -O Lucius, I am sick of this bad world! [Throwing himself before her. The day-light and the sun grow painful to me. appy Juba lives! He lives to catch lear embrace, and to return it too mutual warmth and eagerness of love. 7. With pleasure and amaze I stand transported!

Enter Portius.

But see where Portius comes: what means this haste?

Why are thy looks thus chang'd?

Por. My heart is griev'd,

tis a dream! dead and alive at once! u art Juba, who lies there?


bring such news as will afflict my father. Cato. Has Cæsar shed more Roinan blood? Por. Not so.

A wretch,

ve thee in the neighbourhood of death,
:w, in all the haste of love, to find thee;
d thee weeping, and confess this once,
rapt with joy to see my Marcia's tears.
r. I've been surpris'd in an unguarded hour,
rust not now go back; the love that lay
mother'd in my breast, has broke thro' all
ak restraints, and burns in its full lustre.
Lot, if I would, conceal it from thee.
. I am lost in extacy: and dost thou love,
charming maid ?-

r. And dost thou live to ask it?

. This, this is life indeed! life worth pre-

life as Juba never felt till now!
r. Believe me, prince, before I thought
thee dead,

not know myself how much I lov'd thee.
. O fortunate mistake!
r. O happy Marcia!

My joy, my best belov'd, my only wish!
ball I speak the transport of my soul!
. Lucia, thy arm. O, let me rest upon it!
ital blood that had forsook my heart,
ms again in such tumultuous tides,
ite o'ercomes me. Lead to my apart-


nce, I blush to think what I have said, te has wrested the confession from me; =, and prosper in the paths of honour.

A March at a distance.
Enter Cato and Lucius.

Luc. I stand astonish'd! What, the bold Sem-
That still broke foremost thro' the crowd of pa
As with a hurricane of zeal transported,
And virtuous even to madness-
Cato. Trust me, Lucius,

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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 given way?
Did he look tamely on, and let 'em pass? [him
Por. Scarce had I left my father, but I met
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,
Opprest with multitudes, he greatly fell.
Cato. I'm satisfied!

Por. Nor did he fall before

His sword had pierc'd thro' the false heart of phax,

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Cato. Whate'er the Roman virtue has subdo The sun's whole course, the day and year an Cæsar's;

For him the self-devoted Decii died,
The Fabii fell, and the great Scipios conquer
Ev'n Pompey fought for Cæsar. O my friends!
How is the toil of fate, the work of ages,
The Roman empire, fallen! O curst ambition
Fallen into Caesar's hands? Our great for

Had left him nought to conquer but his co

Jub. While Cato lives, Cæsar will blush to e Mankind enslav'd, and be asham'd of empire Cato.Cæsar asham'd! has he not seen Pharsa Luc. Cato, 'tis time thou save thyself and Cato. Lose not a thought on me, I'm out


Heaven will not leave me in the victor's hand. Cæsar shall never say he conquer'd Cato. But, O my friends, your safety fills my heart With anxious thoughts; a thousand secret


Rise in my soul-How shall I save my friend Sy-"Tis now, O Cæsar, I begin to fear thee.

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! [ence; Luc. O Cato, arm thy soul with all its patiSee 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 rse and count those glorio is 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


I should have blush'd if Cato's house had stood Secure, and flourish'd in a civil war.

Luc. Caesar has mercy, if we ask it of hi

Cato. Then ask it, I conjure you! let him kn Whate'er was done against him, Cato did it. And, 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 Juba, my heart is troubled for thy sake. Should I advise thee to regain Numidia, Or seek the conqueror?

Jub. If I forsake thee Whilst I have life, may Heaven abandon Jeba

Cato. Thy virtues, prince, if I foresee a Will one day make thee great; at Rome, b after,

Twill be no crime to have been Cato's friend. Portius, draw near: my son, thou oft hast s Thy sire engag'd in a corrupted state, Wrestling with vice and faction: now thouse

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There live retir'd, pray for the peace of Rome ; Unburt amidst the war of elements,
Content thyself to be obscurely good.
When vice prevails, and impious men bear sway,
The post of honour is a private station.
Por. I hope my father does not recommend
A life to Portius, that he scorns himself.

Cato. Farewell, my friends! if there be any of


Who dare not trust the victor's clemency, Know there are ships prepar'd by my command, Their sails already op'ning to the winds) That shall convey you to the wish'd-for port. s there aught else, my friends, Ican do for you? The conqueror draws near. Once more farewell! if e'er we meet hereafter, we shall meet n happier climes, and on a safer shore, Where Cæsar never shall approach us more.

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



'o solus, sitting in a thoughtful Posture; in his Hand Plato's Book on the Immortality of the Soul.

A drawn Sword on the Table by him. must be so-Plato, thou reason'st wellse whence this pleasing hope, this fond delonging after immortality? [sire, whence this secret dread, and inward horror filling into nought? Why shrinks the soul Kon herself, and startles at destruction? the divinity that stirs within us; heaven itself that points out an hereafter, dintimates eternity to man: rnity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought! rough what variety of untried being, [pass?) o what new scenes and changes must we ewide,th'unbounded prospect lies before me, shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it. will I hold. If there's a power above d that there is all nature cries aloud, ugh all her works) he must delight in virtue;

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

weary of conjectures-this must end 'em. Laying his Hand on his Sword. s am I doubly arm'd: my death and life, bane and antidote, are both before me. = in a moment brings me to an end; this informs me I shall never die. soul, secur'd in her existence, smiles he drawn dagger, and defies its point. stars shall fade away, the sun himself w dim with age, and nature sink in years, thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,

The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. -
What means this heaviness that hangs upon me?
This lethargy that creeps thro' all my senses?
Nature oppress'd, and harass'd out with care
Sinks down to rest. This once I'll favour her,
That my awaken'd soul 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 rest, Cato knows neither of 'em,
Indiff'rent in his choice to sleep or die.
Enter Portius.

But ah! how's this, my son? Why this intru sion?

Were not my orders that I would be private? Why am I disobey'd?

Por. Alas, my father!

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

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

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

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

Cato 'Tis well! again I'm master of myself. Now, Cæsar, let thy troops beset our gates, And bar each avenue; thy gathering fleets O'erspread the sea, and stop up ev'ry port; Cato shall open to himself a passage, And mock thy hopes

Por. O Sir! forgive your son, Whose grief hangs heavy on him. O my father! How am I sure it is not the last time I e'er shall call you so? Be not displeas'd, O, be not angry with me whilst I weep, And, in the anguish of my heart, beseech you To quit the dreadful purpose of your soul!

Cato. Thou hast been ever good and dutiful. [Embracing him. Weep not, my son, all will be well again; The righteous gods, whom I have sought to please,

Will succour Cato, and preserve his children. Por. Your words give comfort to my drooping



Cato. Portius, thou mayst rely upon my conThy father will not act what misbecomes him. But go, my son, and see if aught be wanting Among thy father's friends; see them embark'd, And tell me if the winds and seas befriend them. My soul is quite weigh'd down with care, and asks

The soft refreshment of a moment's sleep. [Exit. Por. My thoughts are more at ease, my heart revives.

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He is retir'd to rest, and seems to cherish
Thoughts full of peace. He has dispatch'd me

With orders that bespeak a mind compos'd,
And studious for the safety of his friends.
Marcia, take care that none disturb his slumbers.
Mar. O ye immortal powers that guard the
Watch round his couch, and soften his repose,
Banish his sorrows, and becalm his soul
With easy dreams; remember all his virtues !
And shew mankind that goodness is your care.
Enter Lucia.

Luc. Where is your father, Marcia, where is

Cato ?

Mar. Lucia, speak low, he is retir'd to rest.
Lucia, I feel a gentle dawning hope
Rise in my soul. We shall be happy still.
Luc. Alas! I tremble when I think on Cato!
In every view, in every thought, I tremble!
Cato is stern and awful as a god;

He knows not how to wink at human frailty,
Or pardon weakness that he never felt.

Mar. Tho' stern and awful to the foes

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What tidings dost thou bring? Methinks I
Unusual gladness sparkling in thine eyes.

Por. As I was hasting to the port, where now
My father's friends, impatient for a passage,
Accuse the ling ring winds, a sail arriv'd
From Pompey's son, who thro'the realms of Spa
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 Re:
Assert her rights, and claim her liberty.
But, hark! what means that groan? Ó, give


And let me fly into my father's presence. [E of Luc. Cato, amidst his slumbers, thinks And, in the wild disorder of his soul, [Re Mourns o'er his country. Hah! a second groanHeaven guard us all!


He is all goodness, Lucie, always mild,
Compassionate and gentle to his friends.
Fill'd with domestic tenderness, the best,
The kindest father I have ever found him,
Easy and good, and bounteous to my wishes.
Luc. "Tis his consent alone can make us
Marcia, we are both equally involv'd
In the same intricate, perplex'd distress.
The cruel hand of fate, that has destroy'd
Thy brother Marcus, whom we both lament-
Mar. And ever shall lament; unhappy youth!
Luc. Has set my soul at large, and now I stand
Loose of my vow. But who knows Cato's

Who knows how yet he may dispose of Portius,
Or how he has determin'd of thyself?

Mar. Let him but live, commit the rest to Heaven.

Enter Lucius.

Luc. Sweet are the slumbers of the virtuous man!

Q Marcia, I have seen thy godlike father;
Some power invisible supports his soul,
And bears it up in all its wonted greatness.
A kind refreshing sleep is fallen upon him:
I saw him stretch'd at ease, his fancy lost
In pleasing dreams: as I drew near his couch,
He smil'd, and cried, Cæsar, thou canst not hurt


Mar. His mind still labours with some dreadful thought. [sorrow? Luc. Lucia, why all this grief, these floods of Dry up thy tears, my child, we all are safe While Cato lives-his presence will protect us. Enter Juba.

Jub. Lucius, the horsemen are return'd from viewing

The number, strength, and posture of our foes, Who now encamp within a short hour's march;

Mar. Alas! 'tis not the voice Of one who sleeps; 'tis agonizing pain, 'Tis death is in that sound.

Re-enter Portius.

Por. O sight of woe!

O Marcia, what we fear'd is come to pass ! Cato is fallen upon his sword.

Luc. O, Portius,

Hide all the horrors of thy mournful tale, And let us guess the rest.

Por. I've rais'd him up,

And plac'd him in his chair, where, pale and fi He gasps for breath, and, as his life flows f him,

Demands to see his friends. His servants, w Obsequious to his order, bear him hither.

Mar. O Heaven! assist me in this dread To pay the last sad duties to my father. [he Jub. These are thy triumphs, thy exploits, Cæsar!

Luc. Now is Rome fallen indeed! Cato brought in on a Chair. Cuto. Here set me down[bark Portius, come near me-Are my friends e Can any thing be thought of for their service? Whilst I yet live, let me not live in vain. -O Lucius, art thou here?-thou art too goodLet this our friendship live between our childr Make Portius happy in thy daughter Lucia. Alas! poor man, he weeps!-Marcia, my daugh


O, bend me forward!-Juba loves thee, Marca
A senator of Rome, while Rome surviv'd,
Would not have match'd his daughter with a

But Cæsar's arms have thrown down all distine

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