CATO. ACT THE FIRST. SCENE I. PORTIUS, MARcus. PORTIUS. The dawn is overcast, the morning low'r's, And heavily in clouds brings on the day, The great, th' important day, big with the fate And close the scene of blood. Already Cæsar MARCUS. -Thy steady temper, Portius, Strow'd with Rome's citizens, and drench'd in slaughter, PORTIUS. Believe me, Marcus, 'tis an impious greatness, Break out, and burn with more triumphant brightness? Of honour, virtue, liberty, and Rome. His sword ne'er fell but on the guilty head; Oppression, tyranny, and power usurp'd, Draw all the vengeance of his arm upon them. MARCUS. Who knows not this! but what can Cato do Against a world, a base degenerate world, That courts the yoke, and bows the neck to Cæsar? A poor epitome of Roman greatness, And, cover'd with Numidian guards, directs A feeble army, and an empty senate; Remnants of mighty battles fought in vain. By heavens, such virtues, join'd with such success, PORTIUS. Remember what our father oft has told us : The ways of heaven are dark and intricate, Puzzled in mazes, and perplex'd with errors: Our understanding traces them in vain, Lost and bewilder'd in the fruitless search: Nor sees with how much art the windings run, MARCUS. These are suggestions of a mind at ease; That wring my soul, thou couldst not talk thus coldly. Plant daggers in my heart, and aggravate My other griefs. Were but my Lucia kind!— PORTIUS. Thou seest not that thy brother is thy rival: But I must hide it, for I know thy temper. Now, Marcus, now thy virtue's on the proof: Would be a conquest worthy Cato's son. [Aside. MARCUS. Portius, the counsel which I cannot take, Of thickest foes, and rush on certain death, PORTIUS. Behold young Juba, the Numidian prince! To copy out our father's bright example. He loves our sister Marcia, greatly loves her, What! shall an African, shall Juba's heir MARCUS. Portius, no more! your words leave stings behind them. Whene'er did Juba, or did Portius, show A virtue that has cast me at a distance, And thrown me out in the pursuits of honour? PORTIUS. Marcus, I know thy gen'rous temper well; Fling but th' appearance of dishonour on it, It straight takes fire, and mounts into a blaze. MARCUS. A brother's sufferings claim a brother's pity. PORTIUS. Heaven knows I pity thee: behold my eyes Even whilst I speak-Do they not swim in tears? Were but my heart as naked to thy view, Marcus would see it bleed in his behalf. MARCUS. Why then dost treat me with rebukes, instead Of kind condoling cares, and friendly sorrow? PORTIUS. 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. MARCUS. Thou best of brothers, and thou best of friends! Pardon a weak distemper'd soul, that swells With sudden gusts, and sinks as soon in calms, [Exit. SCENE II. SEMPRONIUS, PORTIUS. SEMP. Conspiracies no sooner should be form'd Good morrow Portius! let us once embrace, [Aside. PORTIUS. My father has this morning call'd together To this poor hall his little Roman senate, (The leavings of Pharsalia) to consult If yet he can oppose the mighty torrent That bears down Rome, and all her gods, before it, SEMP. Not all the pomp and majesty of Rome PORTIUS. Alas! Sempronius, wouldst thou talk of love To Marcia, whilst her father's life's in danger? Thou might'st as well court the pale trembling vestal, |