_Marcia._ Heav'n forbid.

Had Portius been the unsuccessful lover, The same compa.s.sion would have fall'n on him.

_Lucia._ Was ever virgin love distress'd like mine!

Portius himself oft falls in tears before me As if he mourn'd his rival's ill success; Then bids me hide the motions of my heart, Nor show which way it turns--so much he fears The sad effect that it will have on Marcus.

_Marcia._ Let us not, Lucia, aggravate our sorrows, But to the G.o.ds submit the event of things.

Our lives, discolour'd 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 heav'n in its fair bosom shows. [_Exeunt._

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE I.

_The Senate sitting._

_Flourish._

_Enter_ CATO.

_Cato._ Fathers, we once again are met in council; Caesar's approach has summon'd 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 Caesar's.

Why should I mention Juba's overthrow, And Scipio's death? Numidia's burning sands Still smoke with blood. 'Tis time we should decree What course to take. Our foe advances on us, And envies us even Lybia's sultry deserts.

Fathers, p.r.o.nounce your thoughts: are they still fix'd 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?

Semp.r.o.nius, speak.

_Sem._ G.o.ds! can a Roman senate long debate Which of the two to chuse, slav'ry 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 throng'd 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 her slaughter'd citizens, Or share their fate!-- To battle!

Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow; And Scipio's ghost walks unrevenged amongst us.

_Cato._ Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal Transport thee thus beyond the bounds of reason; True fort.i.tude is seen in great exploits, That justice warrants, and that wisdom guides; All else is tow'ring phrensy and distraction.

Lucius, we next would know what's your opinion.

_Luc._ My thoughts, I must confess, are turn'd on peace.

Already have our quarrels fill'd 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 sheathe the sword, and spare mankind.

Already have we shown our love to Rome, Now let us show submission to the G.o.ds.

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: Heav'n and earth will witness, If Rome must fall, that we are innocent.

_Cato._ Let us appear nor rash nor diffident; Immod'rate 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 desp'rate: we have bulwarks round us; Within our walls are troops inured to toil In Afric's heat, and season'd to the sun; Numidia's s.p.a.cious kingdom lies behind us, Ready to rise at its young prince's call.

While there is hope, do not distrust the G.o.ds; But wait, at least, till Caesar'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, A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty, Is worth a whole eternity in bondage.

_Enter_ MARCUS.

_Marc._ Fathers, this moment, as I watch'd the gate, Lodged on my post, a herald is arrived From Caesar's camp, and with him comes old Decius, The Roman knight; he carries in his looks Impatience, and demands to speak with Cato.

_Cato._ By your permission, fathers--bid him enter. [_Exit_ MARCUS.

Decius was once my friend, but other prospects Have loosed those ties, and bound him fast to Caesar.

His message may determine our resolves.

_Enter_ DECIUS.

_Dec._ Caesar sends health to Cato--

_Cato._ Could he send it To Cato's slaughter'd friends, it would be welcome.

Are not your orders to address the senate?

_Dec._ My business is with Cato. Caesar sees The straits to which you're driven; and, as he knows 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 Caesar; Her gen'rals and her consuls are no more, Who check'd 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 ev'ry hour to burst upon it; Still may you stand high in your country's honours-- Do but comply, and make your peace with Caesar; Rome will rejoice, and cast its eyes on Cato, As on the second of mankind.

_Cato._ No more; I must not think of life on such conditions.

_Dec._ Caesar is well acquainted with your virtues, 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 employ'd To clear the guilty, and to varnish crimes, 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 Caesar's foe?