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A march at a distance.

"Enter CATO and LUCIUS.

LUCIU S.

J ftand astonish'd! what, the bold Sempronius! That still broke foremost through the croud of patriots, As with a hurricane of zeal transported,

And virtuous ev'n to madness-

CATO.

Truft me, Lucius,

Our civil difcords have produced fuch crimes,
Such monftrous crimes, I am furpriz'd at nothing.
-----O Lucius, I am fick of this bad world!
The day-light and the fun grow painful to me.

Enter PORTIUS.

But fee where Portius comes! what means this hafte? Why are thy looks thus chang'd?

PORTIU S.

My heart is griev'd, I bring fuch news as will afflict my father.

САТО.

Has Cæfar fhed more Roman blood?

PORTIU S.

Not fo.

The traitor Syphax, as within the square
He exerciz'd his troops, the fignal given,
Flew off at once with his Numidian horfe
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To

To the south gate, where Marcus holds the watch.
I faw, and call'd to ftop him, but in vain ;
He tofs'd his arm aloft, and proudly told me,
He would not stay and perifh like Sempronius.

CATO.

Perfidious men! but hafte my son, and fee Thy brother Marcus acts a Roman's part.

[Exit PORTIUS. -Lucius, the torrent bears too hard upon me: Juftice gives way to force; the conquer'd world Is Cæfar's Cato has no business in it.

LUCIUS.

While pride, oppreffion, and injuftice reign, The world will still demand her Cato's prefence. In pity to mankind, fubmit 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 submission
Give up the cause of Rome, and own a tyrant?

LUCIUS.

The victor never will impose on Cato Ungenerous terms. His enemies confefs The virtues of humanity are Cæfar's.

САТО.

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.

LUCIUS.

LUCIUS.

Alas, poor prince! his fate deferves compaffion.

Enter JUBA.

JUBA.

I blush, and am confounded to appear

Before thy prefence, Cato.

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Alas! young prince,

up in every foil,

The product of all climes-Rome has its Cæfars.

JUBA.

'Tis generous thus to comfort the distress'd.

CATO.

'Tis juft to give applause where 'tis deferv'd; Thy virtue, prince, has food the test of fortune, Like pureft gold, that, tortur'd in the furnace, Comes out more bright, and brings forth all its weight.

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JUBA.

What shall I answer thee? my ravish'd heart:
O'erflows with fecret joy: I'd rather gain
Thy praife, O Cato, than Numidia's empire.

Enter PORTIUS haftily.

PORTIU S.

Misfortune on misfortune! grief on grief! My brother Marcus

САТО.

Ha! what has he done?

Has he forfook his poft? has he given way ?
Did he look tamely on, and let them pass?

PORTIU S.

Scarce had I left my father, but I met him Borne on the fhields of his furviving foldiers, Breathlefs and pale, and cover'd o'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.

I'm fatisfy'd.

CATO.

PORTIUS.

Nor did he fall before

His fword had pierc'd through the false heart of Syphax: Yonder he lies. I faw the hoary traitor

Grin in the pangs of death, and bite the ground.

CATO

САТО.

Thanks to the gods! my boy has done his duty.— Portius, when I am dead, be sure thou place

His urn near mine.

PORTIU S.

Long may they keep afunder!

LUCIUS.

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..

САТО.

Welcome, my fon here lay him down, my friends, Full in my fight, that I may view at leisure

The bloody corse, and count those glorious 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 ferve our country!
Why fits this fadness on your brows, my friends?
I fhould have blush'd if Cato's houfe had stood
Secure, and flourish'd in a civil war.-

Portius, behold thy brother, and remember
Thy life is not thy own when Rome demands it.

JUBA.

Was ever man like this!

[Afide.

САТО.

Alas, my friends!

Why mourn you thus? let not a private lofs

Amia

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