_The Street._

_A March at a distance._

_Enter_ CATO _and_ LUCIUS.

_Luc._ I stand astonish'd! What, the bold Semp.r.o.nius, That still broke foremost through the crowd of patriots, As with a hurricane of zeal transported, And virtuous even to madness--

_Cato._ Trust me, Lucius, Our civil discords have produced such crimes, Such monstrous crimes, I am surprized at nothing.

--Oh Lucius, I am sick of this bad world!

The daylight and the sun grow painful to me.

_Enter_ PORTIUS.

But see, where Portius comes: what means this haste?

Why are thy looks thus changed?

_Por._ My heart is grieved, I bring such news as will afflict my father.

_Cato._ Has Caesar shed more Roman blood?

_Por._ Not so.

The traitor Syphax, as within the square He exercised his troops, the signal given, Flew off at once with his Numidian horse To the south gate, where Marcus holds the watch; I saw, and call'd to stop him, but in vain: He toss'd his arm aloft, and proudly told me, He would not stay, and perish, like Semp.r.o.nius.

_Cato._ Perfidious man! But haste, my son, and see Thy brother Marcus acts a Roman's part. [_Exit_ PORTIUS.

--Lucius, the torrent bears too hard upon me: Justice gives way to force: the conquer'd world Is Caesar's! Cato has no business in it.

_Luc._ While pride, oppression, and injustice reign, The world will still demand her Cato's presence.

In pity to mankind submit to Caesar, And reconcile thy mighty soul to life.

_Cato._ Would Lucius have me live to swell the number Of Caesar's slaves, or by a base submission Give up the cause of Rome, and own a tyrant?

_Luc._ The victor never will impose on Cato Ungen'rous terms. His enemies confess The virtues of humanity are Caesar's.

_Cato._ Curse on his virtues! they've undone his country.

Such popular humanity is treason---- But see young Juba; the good youth appears, Full of the guilt of his perfidious subjects!

_Luc._ Alas, poor prince! his fate deserves compa.s.sion.

_Enter_ JUBA.

_Jub._ I blush, and am confounded to appear Before thy presence, Cato.

_Cato._ What's thy crime?

_Jub._ I'm a Numidian.

_Cato._ And a brave one, too. Thou hast a Roman soul.

_Jub._ Hast thou not heard of my false countrymen?

_Cato._ Alas, young prince!

Falsehood and fraud shoot up in ev'ry soil, The product of all climes--Rome has its Caesars.

_Jub._ 'Tis generous thus to comfort the distress'd.

_Cato._ 'Tis just to give applause, where 'tis deserved: Thy virtue, prince, has stood the test of fortune, Like purest gold, that, tortured in the furnace, Comes out more bright, and brings forth all its weight.

_Jub._ What shall I answer thee?

I'd rather gain Thy praise, O Cato! than Numidia's empire.

_Enter_ PORTIUS.

_Por._ Misfortune on misfortune! grief on grief!

My brother Marcus----

_Cato._ Ha! what has he done?

Has he forsook his post? Has he given way?

Did he look tamely on, and let them pa.s.s?

_Por._ Scarce had I left my father, but I met him Borne on the shields of his surviving soldiers, Breathless and pale, and cover'd o'er with wounds.

Long, at the head of his few faithful friends, He stood the shock of a whole host of foes, Till, obstinately brave, and bent on death, Oppress'd with mult.i.tudes, he greatly fell.

_Cato._ I'm satisfied.

_Por._ Nor did he fall, before His sword had pierced thro' the false heart of Syphax.

Yonder he lies. I saw the h.o.a.ry traitor Grin in the pangs of death, and bite the ground.

_Cato._ Thanks to the G.o.ds, my boy has done his duty.

--Portius, when I am dead, be sure you place His urn near mine.

_Por._ Long may they keep asunder!

_Luc._ Oh, Cato, arm thy soul with all its patience; See where the corpse of thy dead son approaches!

The citizens and senators alarm'd, Have gather'd round it, and attend it weeping.

CATO _meeting the Corpse_.--SENATORS _attending_.

_Cato._ Welcome, my son! Here lay him down, my friends, Full in my sight, that I may view at leisure The b.l.o.o.d.y corse, and count those glorious wounds.

--How beautiful is death, when earn'd by virtue!

Who would not be that youth? What pity is it, That we can die but once, to serve our country!

--Why sits this sadness on your brows, my friends?

I should have blush'd, if Cato's house had stood Secure, and flourish'd in a civil war.

Portius, behold thy brother, and remember, Thy life is not thy own when Rome demands it.

_Jub._ Was ever man like this!

_Cato._ Alas, my friends, Why mourn you thus? let not a private loss Afflict your hearts. 'Tis Rome requires our tears, The mistress of the world, the seat of empire, The nurse of heroes, the delight of G.o.ds, That humbled the proud tyrants of the earth, And set the nations free; Rome is no more.

Oh, liberty! Oh, virtue! Oh, my country!