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SEM. Sempronius gives no thanks on this account.

Lucius seems fond of life; but what is life?
'Tis not to stalk about, and draw fresh air
From time to time, or gaze upon the sun ;
'Tis to be free. When liberty is gone,
Life grows insipid, and has lost its relish.
Oh, could my dying hand but lodge a sword
In Cæsar's bosom, and revenge my country,
By heavens, I could enjoy the pangs of death,

And smile in agony.

Others perhaps
May serve their country with as warm a zeal,

Though ’tis not kindled into so much rage.
SEM. This sober conduct is a mighty virtue

In lukewarm patriots. Caro.

Come! no more, Sempronius, All here are friends to Rome, and to each other., Let us not weaken still the weaker side

By our divisions. Sem.

Cato, my resentments Are sacrificed to Rome-I stand reproved. Cato. Fathers, 'tis time you come to a resolve. Luc. Cato, we all go into your opinion.

Cæsar's behaviour has convinced the senate

We ought to hold it out till terms arrive.
SEM. We ought to hold it out till death; but, Cato,

My private voice is drowned amid the senate's.
Cato. Then let us rise, my friends, and strive to fill

This little interval, this pause of life,
(While yet our liberty and fates are doubtful,)

With resolution, friendship, Roman bravery, 1 Till terms arrive.] Terms had arrived already; or which is better, Decius tells Cato, he was at liberty to name his terms : but no terms could be accepted, so long as Cæsar resolved to keep his power. The sentence before us is, then, clearly incomplete, and should be given thus, without a full stop ---“We ought to hold it out till terms arrive," meaning to add, “ which it becomes us to accept,” or some such thing. But Sempronius, in his blustering way, catches at the word “terms,” and breaks in upon Lucius, with saying, —“We ought to hold it out till death.” That some such clause, as I have supposed, is wanting to complete the sense, is evident, not only from the reason of the thing, but from what Cato tells Juba in the next scene, that the resolution of the senate was to hold out “Till time give better prospects," i. e. not only till terms arrive, but better terms than had yet been offered.

And all the virtues we can crowd into it;
That heaven may say, it ought to be prolonged.
Fathers, farewell—The young Numidian prince
Comes forward, and expects to know our counsels.


Cato. Juba, the Roman senate has resolved,

Till time give better prospects, still to keep

The sword unsheathed, and turn its edge on Cæsar.
JUBA. The resolution fits a Roman senate.

But, Cato, lend me for a while thy patience,
And condescend to hear a young man speak.

My father, when some days before his death
He ordered me to march for Utica,
(Alas! I thought not then his death so near!)
Wept o'er me, prest me in his aged arms,
And, as his griefs gave way, “My son,” said he,
“Whatever fortune shall befall thy father,
Be Cato's friend, he'll train thee up to great
And virtuous deeds : do but observe him well,

Thou ’lt shun misfortunes, or thou ’lt learn to bear 'em.” Caro. Juba, thy father was a worthy prince,

And merited, alas! a better fate;

But heaven thought otherwise.

My father's fate,
In spite of all the fortitude that shines
Before my face, in Cato's great example,

Subdues my soul, and fills my eyes with tears.
Cato. It is an honest sorrow, and becomes thee.
JUBA. My father drew respect from foreign climes :

The kings of Afric sought him for their friend;
Kings far remote, that rule, as fame reports,
Behind the hidden sources of the Nile,
In distant worlds, on t'other side the sun :
Oft have their black ambassadors appeared,

Loaden with gifts, and filled the courts of Zama.
Cato. I am no stranger to thy father's greatness !
JUBA. I would not boast the greatness of my father,

But point out new alliances to Cato.
Had we not better leave this Utica,
To arm Numidia in our cause, and court

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The assistance of my father's powerful friends ?
Did they know Cato, our remotest kings


embattled multitudes about him; Their swarthy hosts would darken all our plains, Doubling the native horror of the war,

And making death more grim.

And canst thou think
Cato will fly before the sword of Cæsar ?
Reduced, like Hannibal, to seek relief
From court to court, and wander


and down,
A vagabond in Afric!

Cato, perhaps
I'm too officious, but


forward cares Would fain preserve a life of so much value. My heart is wounded, when I see such virtue

Afflicted by the weight of such misfortunes.
Cato. Thy nobleness of soul obliges me.

But know, young prince, that valour soars above
What the world calls misfortune and affliction.
These are not ills ; else would they never fall
On heaven's first favourites, and the best of men:
The gods, in bounty, work up storms about us,
That give mankind occasion to exert
Their hidden strength, and throw out into practice
Virtues which shun the day, and lie concealed

In the smooth seasons and the calms of life.
JUBA. I’m charmed whene'er thou talk'st! I pant for virtue !

And all my soul endeavours at perfection.
Cato. Dost thou love watchings, abstinence, and toil,

Laborious virtues all ? learn them from Cato:

Success and fortune must thou learn from Cæsar. JUBA. The best good fortune that can fall on Juba,

The whole success at which my heart aspires,

Depends on Cato.

What does Juba say?
Thy words confound me.

I would fain retract them,
Give 'em me back again. They aimed at nothing.
Cato. Tell me thy wish, young prince; make not my

Make not my ear a stranger to thy thoughts.] Quaintly expressed. It had been better to say plainly,

" and make me not A stranger to thy thoughts.”


A stranger to thy thoughts. JUBA.

Oh! they're extravagant;
Still let me hide them.

What can Juba ask
That Cato will refuse !

I fear to name it.
Marcia-inherits all her father's virtues.
Cato. What wouldst thou say?

Cato, thou hast a daughter. Cato. Adieu, young prince: I would not hear a word

Should lessen thee in my esteem: remember
The hand of fate is over us, and heaven
Exacts severity from all our thoughts :
It is not now a time to talk of aught
But chains or conquest, liberty or death.


SYPHAX, JUBA. SYPH. How's this, my prince; what! covered with confusion ?

You look as if yon stern philosopher

Had just now chid you.

Syphax, I'm undone!
SYPH. I know it well.

Cato thinks meanly of me.
Syph. And so will all mankind.

I've opened to him
The weakness of my soul, my love for Marcia.
SYPH. Cato’s a proper person to intrust

A love-tale with! JUBA.

Oh! I could pierce my heart,
My foolish heart! was ever wretch like Juba ?
SYPH. Alas! my prince, how are you changed of late !

I've known young Juba rise before the sun,
To beat the thicket where the tiger slept,
Or seek the lion in his dreadful haunts :
How did the colour mount into your cheeks,
When first you roused him to the chase! I've seen you,
Even in the Libyan dog-days, hunt him down,
Then charge him close, provoke him to the rage
Of fangs and claws, and stooping from your horse
Rivet the panting savage to the ground.

JUBA. Prithee, no more!

How would the old king smile
To see you weigh the paws, when tipped with gold,
And throw the shaggy spoils about your

shoulders ! JUBA. Syphax, this old man's talk (though honey flowed In

every word) would now lose all its sweetness.

Cato's displeased, and Marcia lost for ever!
SYPH. Young prince, I yet could give you good advice.

Marcia might still be yours.

What say'st thou, Syphax ? By heavens, thou turn’st me all into attention. SYPH. Marcia might still be yours. JUBA.

As how, dear Syphax ? SYPH. Juba commands Numidia's hardy troops,

Mounted on steeds, unused to the restraint
Of curbs or bits, and fleeter than the winds :
Give but the word, we'll snatch this damsel up

And bear her off.

Can such dishonest thoughts

in man! wouldst thou seduce

my youth To do an act that would destroy my honour ? SYPH. Gods! I could tear

beard to hear


Honour 's a fine imaginary notion,
That draws in raw and unexperienced men

To real mischiefs, while they hunt a shadow.
JUBA. Wouldst thou degrade thy prince into a ruffian ?
SYPH. The boasted ancestors of these great men,

Whose virtues you admire, were all such ruffians.
This dread of nations, this almighty Rome,
That comprehends in her wide empire's bounds
All under heaven, was founded on a rape.
Your Scipios, Cæsars, Pompeys, and your Catos,
(These gods on earth,) are all the spurious brood

Of violated maids, of ravished Sabines.
JUBA. Syphax, I fear that hoary head of thine

Abounds too much in our Numidian wiles.
SYPH. Indeed, my prince, you want to know the world;

You have not read mankind; your youth admires
The throws and swellings of a Roman soul,

Cato's bold flights, the extravagance of virtue.
JUBA. If knowledge of the world makes man perfidious,

May Juba ever live in ignorance ?

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