T ACT I. SCENE I. PORTIUS, MARCU S. PORTIUS. HE dawn is over-cast, the morning lowers, - MARCUS. Thy teddy temper, Portius, Can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud, and Cæfar, I'm tortur'd, ev'n to madness, when I think Th' infulting tyrant prancing o'er the field Strow'd with Rome's citizens, and drench'd in flaughter, His horfe's hoofs wet with Patrician blood. Oh Portius, is there not fome chofen curse, Believe me, Marcus, 'tis an impious greatness, Of honour, virtue, liberty, and Rome. . His fword ne'er fell but on the guilty head; Who knows not this? But what can Cáto do Against a world, a base degenerate world, That courts the yoke, and bows the neck to Cæfar? Pent up in Utica, he vainly forms A poor epitome of Roman greatnefs, 2 By heavens, fuch virtues, join'd with fuch fuccefs, PORTIU S. Remember what our father oft has told us: The The ways of heaven are dark and intricate, MARCU S. Thefe are fuggeftions of a mind at ease: Oh Portius, didft thou taste but half the griefs That wring my foul, thou could'st not talk thus coldly. Paffion unpity'd and fuccefslefs love Plant daggers in my heart, and aggravate My other griefs. Were but my Lucia kind! PORTIUS. Thou fee'ft not that thy brother is thy rival: But I must hide it, for I know thy temper. [Afide. To quell the tyrant love, and guard thy heart MARCUS. Portius, the counfel which I cannot take, Of thickeft foes, and rush on certain death, Im In high ambition, and a thirst of greatness ; PORTIUS. Behold young Juba, the Numidian Prince ! Drive the big passion back into his heart. MARCU S. Portius, no more! your words leave stings behind them. When-e'er did Juba, or did Portius, show A virtue that has caft me at a distance, And thrown me out in the pursuits of honour? Marcus, I know thy generous temper well; MARCU S. A brother's fufferings claim a brother's pity. 4 PORTIU S. PORTIU S. Heaven knows I pity thee: behold my eyes MARCU S. Why then doft treat me with rebukes, instead Of kind condoling cares and friendly forrow? PORTIU S. O Marcus, did I know the way to ease Thy troubled heart, and mitigate thy pains, Marcus, believe me, I could die to do it. MARCU S. Thou beft of brothers, and thou best of friends! Pardon a weak diftemper'd foul, that fwells With fudden gufts, and finks as foon in calms, The sport of paffions-But Sempronius comes: He must not find this foftnefs hanging on me. [Exit. SCENE II. SEMPRONIUS. Confpiracies no fooner fhould be form'd Than executed. What means Portius here? I like not that cold youth. I muft diffemble, And speak a language foreign to my heart. SEMPRONIUS, PORTIUS. SEMPRONIUS. Good morrow, Portius! let us once embrace, Once more embrace; whilft yet we both are free. .To |