Is called together? Gods! thou must be cautious;

Cato has piercing eyes, and will discern
Our frauds, unless they're covered thick with art.
Sem. Let me alone, good Syphax; I'll conceal
My thoughts in passion ('tis the surest way);
I'll bellow out for Rome, and for my country,
And mouth at Cæsar, till I shake the senate.
Your cold hypocrisy's a stale device,

A worn-out trick; wouldst thou be thought in earnest,

Clothe thy feigned zeal in rage, in fire, in fury! Syph. In troth, thou'rt able to instruct grey hairs,

And teach the wily African deceit.

Sem. Once more be sure to try thy skill on
Juba.

Meanwhile I'll hasten to my Roman soldiers,
Inflame the mutiny, and underhand

Blow up their discontents, till they break out
Unlooked for, and discharge themselves on Cato.
Remember, Syphax, we must work in haste:
Oh! think what anxious moments pass between
The birth of plots, and their last fatal periods!
Oh! 'tis a dreadful interval of time,
Fill'd up with horror all, and big with death!
Destruction hangs on every word we speak,
On every thought, till the concluding stroke
Determines all, and closes our design. [Exit.
Syph. I'll try if yet I can reduce to reason
This headstrong youth, and make him spurn at
Cato.

The time is short; Cæsar comes rushing on us-
But hold! young Juba sees me, and approaches.

Enter JUBA.

Juba. Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone. I have observed of late thy looks are fallen, O'ercast with gloomy cares and discontent: Then tell me, Syphax, I conjure thee, tell me, What are the thoughts that knit thy brow in frowns,

And turn thine eye thus coldly on thy prince? Syph. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my thoughts,

Or carry smiles and sunshine in my face,
When discontent sits heavy at my heart;
I have not yet so much the Roman in me.
Juba. Why dost thou cast out such ungener-

ous terms

Against the lords and sovereigns of the world? Dost thou not see mankind fall down before them,

And own the force of their superior virtue?
Is there a nation in the wilds of Afric,
Amidst our barren rocks, and burning sands,
That does not tremble at the Roman name?
Syph. Gods! where's the worth that sets these
people up
Above our own Numidia's tawny sons?
Do they, with tougher sinews, bend the bow?
Or flies the javelin swifter to its mark,
Launched from the vigour of a Roman arm?
Who, like our active African, instructs
The fiery steed, and trains him to his hand?

Or guides, in troops, the embattled elephant, Laden with war? These, these, are arts, my prince,

In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome.
Juba. These all are virtues of a meaner rank;
Perfections that are placed in bones and nerves.
A Roman soul is bent on higher views:
To civilize the rude, unpolished world,
And lay it under the restraint of laws;
To make man mild, and sociable to man;
To cultivate the wild, licentious savage,
With wisdom, discipline, and liberal arts;
The embellishments of life: virtues like these
Make human nature shine, reform the soul,
And break our fierce barbarians into men.
Syph. Patience, kind Heaven!-excuse an old
man's warmth:

What are those wondrous civilizing arts,
This Roman polish, and this smooth behaviour,
That renders man thus tractable and tame?
Are they not only to disguise our passions,
To set our looks at variance with our thoughts,
To check the starts and sallics of the soul,
And break off all its commerce with the tongue?
In short, to change us into other creatures,
Than what our nature and the gods designed us?
Juba. To strike thee dumb-turn up thy eyes

to Cato!

can,

That traverses our vast Numidian deserts
In quest of prey, and lives upon his bow,
But better practises those boasted virtues.
Coarse are his meals, the fortune of the chace;
Amidst the running stream he slakes his thirst;
Toils all the day, and, at the approach of night,
On the first friendly bank he throws him down,
Or rests his head upon a rock till morn;
Then rises fresh, pursues his wonted game,
And if the following day he chance to find
A new repast, or an untasted spring,
Blesses his stars, and thinks it luxury.

Juba. Thy prejudices, Syphax, wont discern
What virtues grow from ignorance and choice,
Nor how the hero differs from the brute.
But grant that others could, with equal glory,
Look down on pleasures, and the baits of sense,
Where shall we find the man that bears afflic
tion,

Great and majestic in his griefs, like Cato? Heavens with what strength, what steadiness of mind,

He triumphs in the midst of all his sufferings!
How does he rise against a load of woes,
And thank the gods that throw the weight upon
him!

Mar. My father never, at a time like this, Would lay out his great soul in words, and waste Such precious moments.

Juba. Thy reproofs are just,

Thou virtuous maid! I'll hasten to my troops,
And fire their languid souls with Cato's virtue.
If e'er I lead them to the field, when all
The war shall stand, ranged in its just array,
And dreadful pomp, then will I think on thee!
Oh, lovely maid! then will I think on thee;
And, in the shock of charging hosts, remember
What glorious deeds should grace the man, who
hopes

For Marcia's love.

[Exit JUBA. Luc. Marcia, you're too severe; How could you chide the young good-natured prince,

And drive him from you with so stern an air?
A prince, that loves and doats on you to death?
Mar. 'Tis therefore, Lucia, that I chid him
from me.

His air, his voice, his looks, and honest soul,
Speak all so movingly in his behalf,
I dare not trust myself to hear him talk.

Luc. Why will you fight against so sweet a
passion,

And steel your heart to such a world of charms? Mar How, Lucia ! wouldst thou have me sink

away

In pleasing dreams, and lose myself in love,
When every moment Cato's life's at stake?
Cæsar comes armed with terror and revenge,
And aims his thunder at my father's head.
Should not the sad occasion swallow up
My other cares, and draw them all into it?
Luc. Why have not I this constancy of mind,
Who have so many griefs to try its force!
Sure, nature formed me of her softest mould,
Enfeebled all my soul with tender passions,
And sunk me even below my own weak sex:
Pity and love, by turns, oppress my heart.

Mar. Lucia, disburthen all thy cares on me,
And let me share thy most retired distress.
Tell me who raises up this conflict in thee?
Luc. I need not blush to name them, when I
tell thee,

They're Marcia's brothers, and the sons of Cato. Mar. They both behold thee with their sis

ter's eyes,

And often have revealed their passion to me.
But tell me, whose address thou favour'st most?
I long to know, and yet I dread to hear it.
Luc. Which is it Marcia wishes for?
Mar. For neither-

And yet for both-The youths have equal share
In Marcia's wishes, and divide their sister:
But tell me which of them is Lucia's choice?
Luc. Marcia, they both are high in my esteem,
But in my love-Why wilt thou make me name
him!

Thou know'st it is a blind and foolish passion, Pleased and disgusted with it knows not whatMar. Oh, Lucia, I'm perplexed! Oh, tell me which

I must hereafter call my happy brother?
Luc. Suppose 'twere Portius, could you blame
my choice?

-Oh, Portius, thou hast stolen away my soul!
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 horror,
And tremble at his vehemence of temper.

Mar. Alas, poor youth! how canst 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 trans-

ported.

Unhappy youth! How will thy coldness raise Tempests and storms in his afflicted bosom ! I dread the consequence.

Luc. You seem to plead
Against your brother Portius.
Mar. Heaven forbid !

Had Portius been the unsuccessful lover,
The same compassion would have fallen on him.

Luc. Was ever virgin love distrest like mine!
Portius himself oft falls in tears before me,
As if he mourned 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 will have on Marcus.

Mar. He knows too well how easily he is fired, And would not plunge his brother in despair, But waits for happier times, and kinder moments. Luc. Alas! too late I find myself involved In endless griefs and labyrinths of woe, Born to afflict my Marcia's family, And sow dissention in the hearts of brothers. Tormenting thought! It cuts into my soul.

Mar. Let us not, Lucia, aggravate our sorrows, But to the gods submit the event of things. Our lives, discoloured 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 itself 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.

[Exeunt.

The Senate. LUCIUS, SEMPRONIUS, and Sena

tors.

Sem. Rome still survives in this assembled senate.

Let us remember we are Cato's friends,
And act like men who claim that glorious title.
Luc. Cato will soon be here, and open to us
The 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 council:

Cæsar's approach has summoned 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
Received 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. 'Tis time we should de-

cree

What course to take. Our foe advances on us, And envies us even Lybia's sultry desarts. Fathers, pronounce your thoughts: are they still fixed

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 thronged 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! 'Tis Rome demands your help:
Rise, and revenge your slaughtered citizens,
Or share their fate! The corpse of half her se-

nate

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 unrevenged among 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 frenzy and distraction.
Are not the lives of those, who draw the sword
In Rome's defence, entrusted to our care?
Should we thus lead them to a field of slaughter,
Might not the impartial world with reason say,
We lavished at our deaths the blood of thousands,
Το
grace our fall, and make our ruin glorious?—
Lucius, we next would know what's your opinion.
Luc. My thoughts, I must confess, are turned
on peace.

Already have our quarrels filled the world
With widows, and with orphans: Scythia mourns
Our guilty wars, and earth's remotest regions
Lie half unpeopled by the feuds of Rome:
'Tis time to sheath the sword and spare man-
kind.

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 the awards of Providence,
And not 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 wrests 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 beha-
viour, oft

Conceal a traitor-something whispers me All is not right-Cato, beware of Lucius. [Aside to CATO.

Cato. Let us appear nor 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
Are grown thus desperate: we have bulwarks
round us;

Within our walls are troops inured to toil
In Afric's heat, and seasoned to the sun;
Numidia's spacious kingdom lies behind us,
Ready to rise at its young prince's call.
While there is hope, do not distrust the gods;
But wait at least till Cæsar's near approach
Force us to yield. 'Twill 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 its 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,

Dec. Cæsar sends health to Cato

Cato. Could he send it

Myself will mount the rostrum in his favour, And strive to gain his pardon from the people. Dec. A style like this becomes a conqueror. Cato. Decius, a style like this becomes a Roman. Dec. What is a Roman, that is Cæsar's foe? Cato. Greater than Cæsar: he's a friend to virtue.

Dec. Consider, Cato, you're in Utica, And at the head of your own little senate; You don't now thunder in the capital, With all the mouths of Rome to second you. Cato. Let him consider that, who drives us

hither.

'Tis Cæsar's sword has made Rome's senate little, And thinned its ranks. Alas! thy dazzled eye Beholds this man in a false glaring light,

Which conquest and success have thrown upon him;

Did'st thou but view him right, thou❜dst see him black

With murder, treason, sacrilege, and crimes,

Cato's high worth, is anxious for your life.

Cato. My life is grafted on the fate of Rome. Would he save Cato, bid him spare his country. Tell your dictator this; and tell him, Cato Disdains a life which he has power to offer, Dec. Rome and her senators submit to Cæsar; Her generals and her consuls are no more, Who checked his conquests, and denied his triumphs.

Why will not Cato be this Caesar's friend?

Cato. These very reasons thou hast urged forbid it.

Dec. Cato, I've orders to expostulate, And reason with you, as from friend to friend: Think on the storm that gathers o'er your head, And threatens every hour to burst upon it; Still may you stand high in your country's ho

Cato. No more:

I must not think of life on such conditions.
Dec. Cæsar is well acquainted with your vir-
tues,

And therefore sets this value on your life.
Let him but know the price of Cato's friendship,
And name your terms.

Cato. Bid him disband his legions,
Restore the commonwealth to liberty,
Submit his actions to the public censure,
And stand the judgment of a Roman senate.
Bid him do this, and Cato is his friend.

Dec. Cato, the world talks loudly of your wisdom

Cato. Nay, more; though Cato's voice was ne'er employed

To clear the guilty, and to varnish crimes,

I know thou look'st on me as on a wretch Beset with ills, and covered with misfortunes; But, by the gods I swear, millions of worlds Should never buy me to be like that Cæsar.

Dec. Does Cato send this answer back to Cæsar, For all his generous cares and proffered friendship?

Cato. His cares for me are insolent and vain. Presumptuous man! the gods take care of Cato: Would Cæsar shew the greatness of his soul, Bid him employ his care for these my friends, And make good use of his ill-gotten power, By sheltering men much better than himself. Dec. Your high unconquered heart makes you forget You are a man. You rush on your destruction. But I have done. When I relate hereafter The tale of this unhappy embassy, All Rome will be in tears.

Exit DECIUS.

Sem. Cato, we thank thee. The mighty genius of immortal Rome Speaks in thy voice; thy soul breathes liberty. Cæsar will shrink to hear the words thou utter'st, And shudder in the midst of all his conquests.

Luc. The senate owns its gratitude to Cato, Who with so great a soul consults its safety, And guards our lives while he neglects his own. Sem. Sempronius gives no thanks on this ae

count.