A Virtue wanting in a Roman Soul?.....

Marc. Portius, no more! your Words leave Stings behind 'em.
Whene're did Juba, or did Portius, fhow

A Virtue that has caft me at a Diftance,
And thrown me out in the Purfuits of Honour ?
Por. Marcus, I know thy generous Temper well;
Fling but the Appearance of Difhonour on it,
It ftreight takes Fire, and mounts into a Blaze.....
Marc. A Brother's Suff'rings claim a Brother's Pity.
Por. Heav'n knows I pity thee: Behold my Eyes
Ev'n whilft I speak. Do they not fwim in Tears?
Were but my Heart as naked to thy View,

Marcus would fee it bleed in his Behalf.

Marc. Why then doft treat me with Rebukes, instead
Of kind condoling Cares and friendly Sorrow?
Por. O Marcus, did I know the Way to ease
Thy troubled Heart, and mitigate thy Pains,
Marcus, believe me, I could die to do it.

Marc, Thou beft of Brothers, and thou beft of Friends
Pardon a weak diftemper'd Soul, that fwells

With fudden Gufts, and finks as foon in Calms,

The Sport of Paffions But Sempronius comes:
He must not find this Softness hanging on me.

SCENE II.

Sempronius folus.

Confpiracies no fooner fhou'd be form'd
Than executed. What means Portius here?

I like not that cold Youth. 1 muft diffemble,
And speak a Language foreign to my Heart.

Sempronius, Portius.

Semp. Good Morrow Portius! let us once embrace,
Once more embrace; whilft yet we both are free.
To-Morrow fhou'd we thus exprefs our Friendship,
Each might receive a Slave into his Arms:

[Exit.

That

This Sun perhaps, this Morning Sun's the laft
That e'er shall rife on Roman Liberty.

Por. My Father has this Morning call'd together
To this poor Hall his little Roman Senate,
(The Leavings of Pharfalia) to confult

If yet he can oppofe the mighty Torrent
That bears down Rome, and all her Gods, before it,
Or muft at length give up the World to Cæfar.

Semp. Not all the Pomp and Majefty of Rome
Can raise her Senate more than Cato's Presence.
His Virtues render our Affembly awful,

They ftrike with something like religious Fear,
And make ev❜n Cæfar tremble at the Head

Of Armies flufh'd with Conqueft: O my Portius,
Could I but call that wondrous Man my Father,
Wou'd but thy Sifter Marcia be propitious
To thy Friend's Vows: I might be blefs'd indeed!
Por. Alas! Sempronius, wou'dft thou talk of Love
To Marcia, whilft her Father's Life's in Danger?
Thou might'ft as well court the pale trembling Vestal,
When the beholds the holy Flame expiring.

Semp. The more I fee the Wonders of thy Race
The more I'm charm'd. Thou must take heed, my Portius!
The World has all its Eyes on Cato's Son.

Thy Father's Merit fets thee up to View,

And shows thee in the fairest point of Light,

To make thy Virtues or thy Faults confpicuous.

Por. Well doft thou feem to check my Lingring here
On this important HourI'll ftraight away,
And while the Fathers of the Senate meet
In close Debate, to weigh th' Events of War,,
I'll animate the Soldier's drooping Courage,
With Love of Freedom, and Contempt of Life."
I'll thunder in their Ears their Country's Cause,
And try to roufe up all that's Roman in 'em.
'Tis not in Mortals to command Succefs,

But we'll do more, Sempronius; we'll deserve it.

[Exit.

Sem

Sempronius folus.

Curfe on the Stripling! how he Ape's his Sire?
But I wonder
Ambitiously fententious!
Old Syphax comes not; his Numidian Genius
Is well difpofed to Mifchief, were he prompt
And eager on it; but he must be fpurr'd,
And ev'ry Moment quickned to the Course.
Cato has ufed me Ill: He has refused
His Daughter Marcia to my ardent Vows.
Befides, his baffled Arms and ruined Cause
Are Barrs to my Ambition. Cafar's Favour,

That fhow'rs down Greatness on his Friends, will raise me
To Rome's firft Honours. If I give up Cato,

I claim in my Reward his Captive Daughter.
But Syphax comes!

SCENE III.

Syphax, Sempronius.

Syph.

Sempronius, all is ready,

I've founded my Numidians, Man by Man,
And find 'em ripe for a Revolt: They all
Complain aloud of Cato's Difcipline,

And wait but the Command to change their Mafter.
Semp. Believe me, Syphax, there's no Time to waste;

Ev'n whilst we speak, our Conqueror comes on,
And gathers Ground upon us ev'ry Moment.
Alas! thou know'ft not Cafar's active Soul,
With what a dreadful Course he rushes on
From War to War: In vain has Nature form'd
Mountains and Oceans to oppofe his Paffage;
He bound's o'er all, victorious in his March,
The Alpes and Pyreneans fink before him;
Through Winds, and Waves, and Storms, he works his way,

Impa

Impatient for the Battel: One Day more
Will fet the Victor thundring at our Gates.
But tell me, haft thou yet drawn o'er young Juba
That ftill wou'd recommend thee more to Cafar,
And challenge better Terms

Syph.

Alas! he's loft,

He's loft, Sempronius; all his Thoughts are full
Of Cato's Virtues- -But I'll try once more
(For ev'ry Inftant I expect him here)

If yet I can fubdue thofe ftubborn Principles
Of Faith, of Honour, and I know not what,..
That have corrupted his Numidian Temper,
And ftruck th' Infection into all his Soul.

Semp. Be sure to prefs upon him ev'ry Motive.
Juba's Surrender, fince his Father's Death,
Would give up Africk into Cafar's Hands,
And make him Lord of half the burning Zone.
Syph. But is it true, Sempronius, that your Senate
Is call'd together? Gods! Thou must be cautious!
Cato has piercing Eyes, and will difcern

Our Frauds, unless they're cover'd thick with Art.
Semp. Let me alone, good Syphax, I'll conceal
My Thoughts in Paffion ('tis the fureft way;)
I'll bellow out for Rome and for my Country,
And mouth at Cafar till I fhake the Senate.
Your cold Hypocrifie's a ftale Device,

A worn-out Trick: Wouldft thou be thought in Earneft ?
Cloath thy feign'd Zeal in Rage, in Fire, in Fury!

Syph. In troth, thou'rt able to inftruct Grey-hairs,
And teach the wily African Deceit !

Semp. Once more, be fure to try thy Skill on Juba.
Mean while I'll haften to my Roman Soldiers,
Inflame the Mutiny, and underhand

Blow up their Difcontents, till they break out
Unlock'd for, and discharge themselves on Cato.
Remember, Syphax, we muft work in Hafte:
O think what anxious Moments pass between

?

The

1

The Birth of Plots, and their laft fatal Periods.
Oh! 'tis a dreadful Interval of Time,
Fill'd up with Horror all, and big with Death!
Deftruction hangs on ev'ry Word we fpeak,
On ev'ry Thought, 'till the concluding Stroke
Determines all, and clofes our Defign.

Syphax folus.

I'll try if yet I can reduce to Reason

This head-ftrong Youth, and make him (purn at Cato.
The Time is fhort, Cafar comes rufhing on us
But hold! young Juba fees me, and approaches.

SCENE IV.,

Juba, Syphax.

Jub. Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone.
I have obferved of late thy Looks are fall'n,
O'ercaft 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,
Nor carry Smiles and Sun-fhine in my Face,
When Discontent fits heavy at my Heart.

I have not yet fo much the Roman in me.

Jub. Why do'st thou caft out fuch ungen'rous Terms
Against the Lords and Sov'reigns of the World?
Doft thou not fee Mankind fall down before 'em,
And own the Force of their Superior Virtue?
Is there a Nation in the Wilds of Affrick,
Amidst our barren Rocks and burning Sands,
That does not tremble at the Roman Name?

[Exit.

Syph. Gods! where's the Worth that fets this People up
Above your own Numidia's tawny Sons!

Do