« PreviousContinue »
Fallen into Cæsar's hand : Our great forefathers, Wrestling with vice and faction: now thou seest
Let me advise thee to retreat betimes
hands, Luc. Cato, 'tis time thou save thyself and us. And all our frugal ancestors were blessed Calo. Lose not a thought on me; I'm out of | In humble virtues, and a rural life; danger;
There live retired, pray for the peace of Rome ; Heaven will not leave me in the victor's hand. Content thyself to be obscurely good. Cæsar shall never say he conquered Cato. When vice prevails, and impious
men bear sway, But, oh, my friends! your safety fills my heart The post of honour is a private station. With anxious thoughts; a thousand secret ter Por. I hope my father does not recommend
A life to Portius, that he scorns himself? Rise in my soul. How shall I save my friends ? Cato. Farewell, my friends! If there be any 'Tis now, o Cæsar, I begin to fear thee!
Luc. Cæsar has mercy if we ask it of him. Who dare not trust the victor's clemency, Cato. Then ask it, I conjure you! let him know there are ships prepared by my command know
(Their sails already opening to the winds), Whate'er was done against him, Cato did it. That shall convey you to the wished-for port. Add, if you please, that I request it of him, Is there aught else, my friends, I can do for you? Chat I myself, with tears, request it of him, The conqueror draws near. Once more fareThe virtue of my friends may pass unpunished.
Where Cæsar never shall approach us more. Juba. If I forsake thee
(Pointing to his dead son. Whilst I have life, may Heaven abandon Juba ! There, the brave youth, with love of virtue fired,
Cato. Thy virtues, prince, if I foresee aright, Who greatly in his country's cause expired, Will one day make thee great; at Rome here- Shall know he conquered. The firm patriot there, after,
Who made the welfare of mankind his care, Twill be no crime to have been Cato's friend. T'hough still by faction, vice, and fortune crost, Portius, draw near: my son, thou oft hast seen Shall find the generous labour was not lost. l'hy sire engaged in a corrupted state,
Through all her works) he must delight in vira SCENE 1.
And that which he delights in must be happy. Cato solus, sitting in a thoughtful posture: in But when! or where this world was made for his hand Plato's book on the Immortality of the
Cæsar. Soul. A drawn sword on the table by him.
I'm weary of conjectures-this must end them. It must be so-Plato, thou reason’st well;
(Laying his hund on his sword. Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, Thus I Am doubly armed: my death, my life, This longing after immortality?
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. 'Tis Heaven itself, that points out an hereafter, The stars shall fade away, the sun himself And intimates eternity to man.
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years, Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought! But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, Through what variety of untried being,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements, Through what new scenes and changes must we The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. pass?
What means this heaviness that hangs upon me ? The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before This lethargy that creeps through all
my senses me;
Nature oppressed, and harassed out with care, But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it. Sinks down to rest. This once I'll favour her, Here will I hold. If there's a Power above, That my awakened soul may take her flight, (And that there is all Nature cries aloud, Renewed in all her strength, and fresh with life,
An offering fit for Heaven. Let guilt or fear And studious for the safety of his friends. Disturb man's rest; Cato knows neither of them; | Marcia, take care that none disturb his sls Indifferent in his choice to sleep or die.
Mar.. Oh, ye immortal powers, that guard Enter PORTIUS. But, ha! Who's this? my son! Why this intru- Watch round his couch, and soften his repose; sion!
Banish his sorrows, and becalm his soul Were not my orders that I would be private? With easy dreams; remember all his virtues, Why am I disobeyed ?
And shew mankind that goodness is your care! Por. Alas, my father!
Luc. Where is your father, Marcia, where is Cato. Rash youth, forbear!
Cato? Por. Oh, let the prayers, the intreaties of your Alur. Lucia, speak low, he is retired to resto friends,
Lucia, I feel a gentle dawning hope Their tears, their common danger, wrest it from Rise in my soul. We shall be happy still. you !
Luc. Alas! I tremble when I think on Cato Cato. Wouldst thou betray me? Wouldst thou In every view, in every thought I tremble! give me up
Cato is stern and awful as a god; A slave, a captive into Cæsar's hands?
He knows not how to wink at human frailty, Retire, and learn obedience to a father,
Or pardon weakness that he never felt. Or know, young man !
Mar. Though stern and awful to the foes sé Por. Look not thus sternly on me;
Cato. 'Tis well! again I'm master of myself. Compassionate and gentle to his friends.
Luc. 'Tis his consent alone can make a And mock thy hopes-
1 l'or. Oh, sir! fo give your son,
Marcia, we both are equally involved Whose grief hangs heavy on him. Oh, my father! In the same intricate, perplexed distress. How am I sure it is not the last time
The cruel hand of Fate, that has destroyed I e'er shall call you so! Be not displeased, Thy brother Marcus, whom we both lamentOh, be not angry with me whilst I weep,
Álur. And ever shall lament; onhappy youch And, in the anguish of my heart, beseech you Luc. Has set my soul at large, and now ! To quit the dreadful purpose of your
stand Cato. Thou hast been ever good and dutiful. Loose of my vow. But who knows Cato's [Embracing him.
thoughts? Weep not, my son, all will be well again; Who knows how yet he may dispose of Portius, The righteous gods, whom I have sought to Or how he has determined of thyself? please,
Mur. Let him but live, commit the rest to Will succour Cato, and preserve his children.
Heaven. Por. Your words give comfort to my drooping heart.
Enter LUCIUS. Cato. Pórtius, thou may'st rely upon my con Lucius. Sweet are the slumbers of the virtu
ous man! Thy father will not act what misbecomes him. Oh, Marcia, I have seen thy godlike father! But go, my son, and see if aught be wanting Some power invisible supports his soul, Among thy father's friends ; see them embarked, And bears it up in all its wonted greatness. And tell me if the winds and seas befriend them. A kind refreshing sleep is fallen upon him: My soul is quite weighed down with care, and I saw him stretched at ease, his fancy lost asks
In pleasing dreams; as I drew near his couch, The soft refreshment of a moment's sleep. He smiled, and cried, Cæsar, thou can'st not Por. My thoughts are more at ease, my heart
hurt me. revives.
Mar. His mind still labours with some dread
· ful thought. Enter MARCIA.
Lucius. Lucia, why all this grief, these flools Oh, Marcia! Oh, my sister, still there is hope !
of sorrow? Our father will not cast away a life,
Dry up thy tears, my child; we all are safe So needful to us all and to his country,
While Cato lives—his presence will protect us. He is retired to rest, and seems to cherish Thoughts full of peace. He has dispatched ne
Enter JUBA. hence,
Juba. Lucius, the horsemen are returned from With orders that bespeak a mind composed,
The number, strength, and posture of our foes, Obsequious to his order, bear him hither.
hour, We ken them from afar; the setting sun
the last sad duties to my father! Plays on their shining arms and burnished hel Jubu. These are thy triumphis, thy exploits, O mets,
Cato brought in on a chair.
Cato. Here set me downAnd waits at distance till he hears from Cato. Portius, come near me-Are my friends em
barked? Enter PORTIUS.
Çan any thing be thought of for their service? Portius, thy looks speak somewhat of importavce. Whilst 1 yet live, let me not live in vain, What tidings dost thou bring? Methinks I see Oh, Lucius, art thou here? Thou art too goodUnusual gladness sparkling in thy eyes. Let this our friendship live between our chil. Por. As I was hasting to the port, where now
dren; My father's friends, impatient for a passage,
Make Port us happy in thy daughter Lucia. Accuse the lingering winds, a sail arrived Alas! poor man, he weeps! Marcia, my daughFrom Pompey's son, who through the realms of Spam
Oh, bend me forward ! Juba loves thee, Marcia. Calls out for vengeance on his father's death, A senator of Rome, while Rome survived, And rouses the whole nation up to arms. Would not have matched his daughter with a Were Cato at their head, once more might Rome
king, Asseri her rights, and claim her liberty.
But Cæsar's arms have thrown down all distinction; But, hark! what means that groan! Oh, give me Whoe'er is brave and virtuous is a Romanway,
I'm sick to death-Oh, when shall I get loose And let me fly into my father's presence. (Exit. From this vain world, the abode of guilt and sorLucius. Cato, amidst his slumbers, thinks on
And yet, methinks, a beam of light breaks in And in the wild disorder of his soul
On my departing soul. Alas, I fear Mourns o'er his country. Ha! a second groan, I've been too hasty. Oh, ye powers, that search Heaven guard us all
The heart of man, and weigh his inmost thoughts, Mar. Alas! 'tis not the voice
If I have done amiss, impute it not! Of one who sleeps; 'tis agonizing pain,
The best may err,
you are good, and-Oh! 'Tis denth is in that sound.
[Dies. Lucius. There fled the greatest soul that ever Re-enter PORTIUS.
warmed Por. Oh, sight of woe!
A Roman breast; oh, Cato! oh, my friend! Oh, Marcia, what we feared is come to pass ! Thy will shall be religiously observed. Cato is fallen upon his sword.
But let us bear this awful corse to Cæsar, Lucius. Oh, Portius,
And lay it in his sight, that it may stand Hide all the horrors of thy mournful tale, A fence betwixt us and the victor's wrath; And let us guess the rest.
Cato, though dead, shall still protect his friends. Por. I've raised him up,
From hence, let fierce contending nations know And placed him in his chair, where, pale and What dire effects from civil discord flow: faint,
'Tis this that shakes our country with alarms, He gasps for breath, and, as his life flows from And gives up Rome a prey to Roman arms, him,
Produces fraud, and cruelty, and strife, Demands to see his friends. His servants weep. And robs the guilty world of Cato's life. ing,
WRITTEN BY DR. GARTII.
What odd fantastic things we women do,
Vows of virginity should well be weighi'd;
We hate you when you're easily said nay. E'en churches are no sanctuaries now:
When words were artless, and the thoughts sin,
plains, Blame not our conduct, since we but pursue And constancy feel transport in its chains: These lively lessons we have learnt from you. Sighs with success their own soft anguish tell
, Your breasts no more the fire of beauty warms, And
shall utter what the lips conceal:
WRITTEN BY MR STEELE.
SINCE fancy by itself is loose and vain, Your treat with studied decency he serves ;
This piece, presented in a foreign tongue, And make this spot all soils the sun goes round: When France was glorious, and her monarch 'Tis nothing, when a fancy'd scene we view,
young, To skip from Covent-Garden to Peru.
An hundred times a crowded audience drew, But Shakespeare's self transgressed ; and shall An hundred times repeated, still 'twas new. each elf,
Pyrrhus, provoked, to no wild rants betrayed, Each pigmy genius, quote great Shakespeare's Resents his gen'rous love, so ill repaid; self!
Does like a man resent, a prince upbraid. What critic dare prescribe what's just and fit, His sentiments disclose a royal mind; Or mark out limits for such boundless wit! Nor is he known a king from guards behind. Shakespeare could travel through earth, sea, and Injured Hermione demands relief; air,
But not from heavy narratives of grief; And paint out all the powers and wonders there. In conscious majesty her pride is shewn; In barren deserts he inakes Nature smile, Born to avenge her wrongs, but not bemoan. And gives us feasts in his enchanted isle.
Andromache-If in our author's lines, Our author does his feeble force confess, As in the great original she shines, Nor dares pretend such merit to transgress ; Nothing but from barbarity she fears; Does not such shining gifts of genius share, Attend with silence, you'll applaud with tears. And therefore makes propriety his care.
MEN. PYRRHUS, son of Achilles. PHENIX, counsellor to Pyrrhus. ORESTES, son of Agamemnon. PYLADES, friend to Orestes.
SCENE,- A great hull in the court of Pyrrhus at Buthrotos, the capital city of Epirus.