Luc. Where is your Father, Marcia, where is Cato?
Marc. Lucia, fpeak low, he is retired to Reft.
Lucia, I feel a gently-dawning Hope
Rife in my Soul. We fhall be happy ftill.
Luc. Alas, I tremble when I think on Cato,
In every View, in every Thought I tremble!
Cato is ftern, and awful as a God;
He knows not how to wink at humne Frailty,
Or pardon Weakness, that he never felt.
Marc. Though ftern and awful to the Foes of Rome,
He is all Goodnefs, Lucia, always mild,
Compaffionate, and gentle to his Friends.
Fill'd with Domestick Tenderness, the beft,
The kindeft Father! I have ever found him
Eafie, and good, and bounteous to my
Luc. 'Tis his Confent alone can make us bless'd.
Marcia, we both are equally involv'd
In the fame intricate, perplex'd, Diftrefs.
The cruel Hand of Fate, that has deftroy'd
Thy Brother Marcus, whom we both lament-
Marc. And ever fhall lament, unhappy Youth!
Luc. Has fet my Soul at large, and now I ftand
Loofe of my Vow. But who knows Cato's Thoughts?
Who know's how yet he may difpofe of Portius,
Or how he has determin'd of thy felf?
Marc. Let him but live! commit the reft to Heav'n.
Luc. Sweet are the Slumbers of the virtuous Man!
O Marcia, I have seen thy Godlike Father:
Some Pow'r invifible fupport's his Soul,
And bear's it up in all its wonted Greatness.
A kind refreshing Sleep is fall'n upon him:
I faw him ftretcht at Eafe, his Fancy loft
In pleafing Dreams; as I drew near his Couch,
He fmiled, and cry'd, Cafar thou can'ft not hurt me.
Marc. His Mind ftill labour's with fome dreadful Thought. Luc. Lucia, why all this Grief, these Floods of Sorrow? Dry up thy Tears, my Child, we all are fafe
While Cato lives- His Prefence will protect us.
Juba. Lucius, the Horsemen are return'd from viewing
The Number, Strength, and Pofture of our Foes,
Who now encamp within a fhort Hour's March.
On the high Point of yon bright Western Tower
We kenn them from afar, the setting Sun
Plays on their fhining Arms and burnish'd Helmets,
And cover's all the Field with Gleams of Fire.
Luc. Marcia, 'tis time we fhou'd awake thy Father.
Cæfar is ftill difpofed to give us Terms,
And waits at Distance 'till he hears from Cato.
Portius, thy Looks fpeak fomewhat of Importance. What Tidings doft thou bring? methinks I fee Unusual Gladness sparkling in thy Eyes.
Port. As I was hafting to the Port, where now
My Father's Friends, impatient for a Paffage,
Accufe the ling'ring Winds, a Sail arrived
From Pompey's Son, who through the Realms of Spain
Call's out for Vengeance on his Father's Death,
And roufe's the whole Nation up to Arms.
Were Cato at their Head, once more might Rome
Affert her Rights, and claim her Liberty.
But heark! What mean's that Groan! O give me way,
And let me fly into my Father's Prefence.
Luc. Cato, amidft his Slumbers, thinks on Rome,
And in the wild Disorder of his Soul.
Mourn's o'er his Country; Hah! a fecond Groan !—
Heav'n guard us all
Marc. Alas, 'tis not the Voice
Of one who fleep's! 'tis agonizing Pain,
'Tis Death is in that Sound
Port. O Sight of Woe!
O Marcia, what we fear'd is come to pass!
Cato is fall'n upon his Sword-
Hide all the Horrours of thy mournful Tale,
And let us guess the rest
Port. I've rais'd him up,
And placed him in his Chair, where pale, and faint,
He gafp's for Breath, and, as his Life flow's from him,
Demand's to fee his Friends.
His weeping Servants,
Obfequious to his Orders, bear him hither.
[The Back Scene opens, and difcovers Cato.
Marc. O Heav'n affift me in this dreadful Hour
To pay the laft fad Duties to my Father.
Juba. Thefe are thy Triumphs, thy Exploits, O Cafar!
Luc. Now is Rome fall'n indeed!
[Cato brought forward in his Chair.
Cato. Here fet me down---
Portius come near me are my Friends embark'd?
Can any thing be thought of for their Service ?
Whilft I yet live, let me not live in vain.
-O Lucius, art thou here?Thou art too good!
Let this our Friendship live between our Children;
Make Portius happy in thy Daughter Lucia.
-Marcia, my Daughter
Juba loves thee, Marcia.
A Senator of Rome, while Rome furvived,
Wou'd not have match'd his Daughter with a King,
But Cafar's Arms have thrown down all Diftinction;
Whoe'er is Brave and Virtuous, is a Roman-
-I'm fick to Death- O when fhall I get loose
From this vain World, th' Abode of Guilt and Sorrow !——
-And yet methinks a Beam of Light breaks in
On my departing Soul. Alas, I fear
I've been too hafty. O ye Pow'rs, that fearch
The Heart of Man, and weigh his inmoft Thoughts,
If I have done amifs, impute it not !--
The best may Erre, but you are Good, and----oh!
Luc. There fled the greatest Soul that ever warm'd
A Roman Breaft. O Cato! O my Friend!
Thy Will fhall be religiously observ'd.
But let us bear this awful Corps to Cafar,
And lay it in his Sight, that it may ftand
A Fence betwixt us and the Victor's Wrath ;,
Cate, tho' dead, fhall ftill protect his Friends.
From hence, let fierce contending Nations know
What dire Effects from Civil Difcord flow.
'Tis this that thakes our Country with Alarms,
And gives up Rome a Prey to Roman Arms,
Produces Fraud, and Cruelty, and Strife,
And robb's the Guilty World of Cato's Life.
By Dr. G ARTH
Spoken by Mrs. Porter.
HAT odd fantaftick Things we Women do!
Who wou'd not liften when young Lovers woo?
But die a Maid, yet have the Choice of Two!
Ladies are often cruel to their Coft;
To give you Pain, themselves they punish moft.
Vows of Virginity fhou'd well be weigh'd;
Too oft they're cancell'd, tho' in Convents made.
Wou'd you revenge fuch rafb Refolves
you may:
Be Spightful—and believe the thing we say,
We hate you when you're easily faid Nay.
How needlefs, if you knew us, were your Fears?
Let Love have Eyes, and Beauty will have Ears.
Our Hearts are form'd, as you your felves wou'd chuse,
Too proud to ask, too humble to refuse:
We give to Merit, and to Wealth we fell;
He fighs with moft Success that fettles well.
The Woes of Wedlock with the Joys we mix;
'Tis beft repenting in a Coach and fix.
Blame not our Conduct, fince we but purfue
Thofe lively Leffons we have learn'd from you:
Your Breafts no more the Fire of Beauty warms,
But wicked Wealth ufurps the Power of Charms;
|