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Lucia Suppose 't were Portius, could you blame my O Portius, thou hast stol'n away my soul! [choice? with what a graceful tenderness he loves! and breathes the softest, the sincerest vows! Complacency, and truth, and manly sweetness, dwell ever on his tongue, and smooth his thoughts! Marcus is over- warm, his fond complaints have so much earnestness and passion in them, I hear him with a secret kind of dread, and tremble at his vehemence of temper.

Marcia Alas, poor youth! how can'st thou throw him from thee?

Lucia, thou know'st not half the love he bears thee;
whene'er he speaks of thee, his heart' s in flames,
he sends out all his soul in every word,

And thinks, and talks, and looks like one transported,
Unhappy youth! how will thy coldness raise
tempests and storms in his afflicted bosom !
I dread the consequence-

Luica.

You seem to plead

against your brother Portius

Marcia.

Heaven forbid !

had Portius been the unsuccessful lover,

the same compassion would have fall'n on him.
Lucia. Was ever virgin love distrest like mine!
Portius himself oft falls in tears before me,
as if he mourn'd his rival's ill success,
then bids me hide the motions of my heart,
nor shew which way it turns. So much he fears
the sad effects that it would have on Marcus.

Marcia He knows too well how easily he's fir'd,
and would not plunge his brother in despair,
but waits for happier times, and kinder moments.
Lucia. Alas! too late I find myself involv'd
in endless griefs and labyrinths of woe,

born to afflict my Marcia's family,

and sow dissension in the hearts of brothers, tormenting thought! it cuts into my soul.

Marcia. Let us not, Lucia, aggravate our sorrows, but to the gods permit th' event of things. Our lives, discolour'd with our present woes, may still grow bright, and smile with happier hours. So the pure limpid stream, when foul with stains of rushing torrents, and descending rains, works it self clear, and, as it runs, refines; till, by degrees the floating mirror shines, reflects each flower that on the border grows, and a new heaven in its fair bosom shows.

ACT II. SCENE 1.

THE SENATE.

[Exuent

Sem. Rome still survives in this affembled senate! Jet us remember we are Cato's friends,

and act like men who claim that glorious title. Lucius. Cato will soon be here, and open to us

th' occasion of our meeting.

Hark! he comes! [A sound of trumpets. may all the guardian gods of Rome direct him!

Enter CATO.

Cato. Fathers, we once again are met in counsel. Cæsar's approach has summon'd us together, and Rome attends her fate from our resolves: how shall we treat this bold aspiring man? Success still follows him, and backs his crimes: Pharsalia gave him Rome; Egypt has since receiv'd his yoke, and the whole Nile is Cæsar's. Why should I mention Juba's overthrow, and Scipio's death? Numidia's burning sands

still smoke with blood. 'T is time we should decree what course to take. Our foe advances on us, and envies us ev'n Lybia's sultry deserts.

Fathers, pronounce your thoughts; are they still fixt to hold it out, and fight it to the last?

or are your hearts subdued at length, and wrought by time and ill success to a submission ? Sempronius, speak.

Sem. My voice is still for war. Gods, can a Roman senate long debate which of the two to choose, slavery or death? no, let us rise at once, gird on our swords, and, at the head of our remaining troops, attack the foe, break through the thick array of his throng'd legions, and charge home upon him; perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest, may reach his heart, and free the world from bondage. Rise, fathers, rise! 't is Rome demands your help; rise, and revenge her slaughter'd citizens,

or share their fate: the corps of half her senate
manure the fields of Thessaly, while we
sit here, deliberating in cold debates—
if we should sacrifice our lives to honour,
or wear them out in servitude and chains.
Rouse up,
for shame! our brothers of Pharsalia
point at their wounds, and cry aloud-to battle!
great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow,
and Scipio's ghost walks unreveng'd amongst us.
Cato. Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal
transport thee thus beyond the bounds of reason:
true fortitude is seen in great exploits,
that justice warrants, and that wisdom guides;
all else is towering phrensy and distraction.
Are not the lives of those, who draw the sword
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in Rome's defence, entrusted to our care? should we thus lead them to a field of slaughter, might not th' impartial world with reason say, we lavish'd at our deaths the blood of thousands, to grace our fall, and make our ruin glorious? Lucius, we next would know what's your opinion. Luc. My thoughts, I must confess, are turn'd on Already have our quarrels fill'd the world [peace. with widows and with orphans: Scythia mourns our guilty wars, and earth's remotest regions lie half unpeopled by the feuds of Rome:

't is time to sheath the sword, and spare mankind. It is not Cæsar, but the gods, my fathers, the gods declare against us, and repel

our vain attempts. To urge the foe to battle, (prompted by blind revenge and wild despair) were to refuse th' awards of providence, and to rest in heaven's determination. Already have we shewn our love to Rome; now let us shew submission to the gods. We took up arms, not to revenge ourselves, but free the commonwealth; when this end fails, arms have no further use; our country's cause, that drew our swords, now wrest them from our hands, and bids us not delight in Roman blood,

unprofitably shed; what men could do

is done already; heaven and earth will witness, if Rome must fall, that we are innocent.

Sem. This smooth discourse and mild behaviour oft conceal a traitor-Something whispers me

all is not right-Cato, beware of Lucius.

[Aside to Cato.

Cato. Let us appear not rash nor diffident: immoderate valour swells into a fault,

and fear, admitted into public councils, betrays like treason. Let us shun them both. Fathers, I cannot see that our affairs

[us;

are grown thus desperate. We have bulwarks round within our walls are troops inur'd to toil in Afric's heats, and season'd to the sun; Numidia's spacious kingdom lies behind us, ready to rise at it's young prince's call. Whilst there is hope, do not distrust the gods; but wait at least till Cæsar's near approach force us to yield. 'T will never be too late to sue for chains, and own a conqueror. Why should Rome fall a moment ere her time? no, let us draw her term of freedom out in it's full length, and spin it to the last. So shall we gain still one day's liberty; and let me perish, but in Cato's judgment, a day, an hour of virtuous liberty,

is worth a whole eternity in bondage. Enter MARCUS.

Marc. Fathers, this moment as I watch'd the gates, lodg'd on my post, a herald is arriv'd

from Cæsar's camp, and with him comes old Decius, the Roman knight; he carries in his looks

impatience, and demands to speak with Cato. Cato. By your permission, fathers, bid him enter. [Exit Marcus. Decius was once my friend; but other prospects have loos'd those ties, and bound him fast to Cæsar. His message may determine our resolves.

Enter DECIUS.

Dec. Cæsar sends health to Cato.

Cato.

Could he send it

to Cato's slaughter'd friends, it would be welcome.