Por. Your words give comfort to my drooping heart, [Rises Cato. Porcius, thou may'st rely upon my conduct: Cato will never act what misbecomes him.But go, my son; take care that nought be wanting Among thy father's friends; see them embark'd; And tell me if the winds and seas befriend 'em.My soul is quite weigh'd down with care, and asks The soft refreshment of a moment's sleep.

[CATO goes up the Stage.-PORCIUS follows him and kneels at his feet.-Câтo looks kindly upon him, and then exit, L.

Por. My thoughts are more at ease; my heart revives.-
Enter MARCIA, L.

O, Marcia, O, my sister, still there's hope:
Our father will not cast away a life

So needful to us all, and to his country.

He is retir'd to rest, and seems to cherish

t

Thoughts full of peace. He has dispatch'd me hence
With orders that bespeak a mind compos'd,
And studious for the safety of his friends.
Marcia, take care that none disturb his slumbers.

[Exit PORCIUS, R. D.

Mar. (c.) O, ye immortal powers, that guard the just, 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, L.

Luc. (L.) Where is your father, Marcia? Where is Cato! Mar. Lucia, speak low:-he is retir'd to rest.

My friend, I feel a gentle dawning hope

Rise in my soul: we may be happy still.

Luc. (L. C.) 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. Though stern and awful to the foes of Rome, He is all goodness, Lucia, 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 happy.
But who knows Catohoughts?

Who knows how yet heay dispose of Porcius?
Or how he has determin'd of thyself?

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

Enter LUCIUS, L.

Luci. (c.) Sweet are the slumbers of the virtuous

man.

O 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 has 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 me. Mar. (R. c.) His mind still labours with some dreadful thought.

Enter JUBA, R.

Juba. (R.) 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.
On the high point of yon bright western tower
We ken them from afar; the setting sun

Plays on their shining arms and burnish'd helmets,
And covers all the field with gleams of fire.

Luci. Marcia, 'tis time we should awake thy father, Cæsar is still dispos'd to give us terms;

And waits at distance, till he hears from Cato.

Enter PORCIUS, R.

Porcius, 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 arriv'd

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.

[Groans are heard, L.

E

But hark! what means that groan 2-0 give me way,
And let me fly into my father's pence.

[Exit PORCIUS,

Luci. Cato amidst his lambers, thinks on Rome, And in the wild disorder of his soul

Mourns o'er his country.

[Groans again, Le

Hah! a second groan!-Heaven guard us all!
Mar. Alas! 'tis not the voice

Of one who sleeps: 'tis agonizing pain,

"Tis death is in that sound.

Enter PORCIUS, L. advances between MARCIA and

JUBA.

Por. (L.) O sight of woe!

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

Luci. (L. c.) O Porcius,

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 faint,
He gasps for breath, and, as his life flows from him-
[JUBA and PORCIUS, R. MARCIA, LUCIUS, and
LUCIA, L.

Demands to see his friends. His servants weeping,
Obsequious to his orders, bear him hither.

Mar. O Heaven, assist me in this dreadful hour
To pay the last sad duties to my father!

Enter two Freedmen leading CATO, L. supported by his two Freedmen.-Two first Freedmen remove the table, R. and remain by it.-MARCIA runs to assist CATO. Takes his right arm and helps to bring him to his chair, c.

Juba. (R. C.) These are thy triumphs, thy exploits,
O, Cæsar!

Luci. (L. c.) Now is Rome fallen indeed!
Cato. (c.) Here set me down.—

Porcius, come near me ;-are my friends embark'd?
Can any thing be thought of for their service?
Whilst yet I live, let me not live in vain.-

O Lucius, art thou here ?-Thou art too good!-
Let this our friendship live between our children;
Make Porcius happy in thy daughter Lucia.-
Alas, poor man, he weeps!-Marcia, my daughter-
O bend me forward!-Juba loves thee, Marcia

1

A senator of Rome, while Rome surviv'd,

Would not have match'd 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.-O, when shall I get loose

From this vain world, the abode of guilt and sorrow!-
And yet, methinks, a beam of light breaks in
On my departing soul.-Alas! I fear,

I've been too hasty. O 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.-Curtain descends to solemn music.

Position of the Characters at the fall of the Curtain.

WRITTEN BY DR. GARTH AND SPOKEN BY MRS. PORT

What odd fantastic things we women do!
Who would not listen when young lovers woo?
But die a maid, yet have the choice of two?
Ladies are often cruel to their cost;

To give you pain, themselves they punish most.
Vows of virginity should well be weigh'd;
Too oft they're cancell'd tho' in convents made.
Wou'd you revenge such rash resolves-you may
Be spiteful-and believe the thing we say,
We hate you when you're easily said nay.
How needless, if you knew us, were our fears!
Let love have eyes, and beauty will have ears.
Our hearts are form'd as you yourselves would chuse,
Too proud to ask, too humble to refuse:
We give to merit, and to wealth we sell ;
He sighs with more success that settles well.
The woes of wedlock with the joys we mix:
'Tis best repenting in a coach and six.

Blame not our conduct, since we but pursue
Those lively lessons we have learn'd from you;
Your breasts no more the fire of beauty warms,
But wicked wealth usurps the pow'r of charms :
What pains to get the gaudy thing you hate,
To swell in show, and be a wretch in state.
At plays you ogle, at the ring you bow;
Ev'n churches are no sanctuaries now:
There, golden idols all your vows receive,
She is no goddess that has nought to give.
Oh, may once more the happy age appear,
When words were artless and the thoughts since
When gold and grandeur were unenvied things,
vits,
And courts less coveted than groves and springs
Love then shall only mourn when truth compla
And constancy feel transport in its chains,
Sighs with success their own soft anguish tell,
And eyes shall utter what the lips conceal.
Virtue again to its bright station climb,
And beauty fear no enemy but time,
The fair shall listen to desert alone,
And ev'ry Lucia find a Cato's son.

T. DOLBY, Printer, 17, Catherine-Street, Strand.