To cultivate the wild licentious savage
With wisdom, discipline, and lib'ral arts,
Th' embellishments of life: virtues like these
Make human nature shine, reform the soul,
And break our fierce barbarians into men.
Syph. Patience, just Heav'ns! -Excuse an old
man's warmth,

9

What are these wond'rous civilizing arts,
This Roman polish, and this smooth behaviour,
That render man thus tractable and tame ?
Are they not only to disguise our passions,
To set our looks at variance with our thoughts
To check the starts and sallies of the soul,
And break off all its commerce with the tongue?
In short, to change us into other creatures,
Than what our nature and the gods design'd us ?
Jub. To strike thee dumb, turn up thy eyes to
Cato!

There may'st thou see to what a godlike height
The Roman virtues lift up mortal man.

While good, and just, and anxious for his friends, He's still severely bent against himself; Renouncing sleep, and rest, and food, and ease He strives with thirst and hunger, toil and heat : And when his fortune sets before him all

The pomps and pleasures that this soul can wish, His rigid virtue will accept of none.

Syph. Believe me, prince, there's not an Afri

That traverses our vast Numidian deserts

In quest of prey, and lives upon his bow,
But better practises these boasted virtues.

Coarse are his meals, the fortune of the chase;
Amidst the running stream he slakes his thirst,
Toils all the day, and at th' approach of night
On the first friendly bank he throws him down,
Or rests his head upon a rock till morn,
Then rises fresh, pursues his wonted game,
And if the following day he chance to find
A new repast, or an untasted spring,
Blesses his stars, and thinks it luxury.

Jub. Thy prejudices, Syphax, won't discern
What virtues grow from ignorance and choice,
Nor how the hero differs from the brute.
But grant that others could with equal glory
Look down on pleasures, and the baits of sense;
Where shall we find the man that bears affliction,
Great and majestic in his griefs, like Cato?
Heav'ns! with what strength, what steadiness of
mind,

He triumphs in the midst of all his suff'rings!
How does he rise against a load of woes
And thank the gods that threw the weight upon

him!

Syph. 'Tis pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of soul:

I think the Romans call it stoicism.

Had not your royal father thought so highly
Of Roman virtue, and of Cato's cause

He had not fall'n by a slave's hand, inglorious;
Nor would his slaughter'd army now have lain
On Afric's sands, disfigur'd with their wounds,
To
gorge the wolves and vultures of Numidia.
Jub. Why dost thou call my sorrows up afresh!
My father's name brings tears into mine eyes.
Syph. Oh that you'd profit by your father's ills!
Jub. What would'st thou have me do?
Syph. Abandon Cato.

Jub, Syphax, I should be more than twice an orphan

By such a loss.

Syph. Ay, there's the tie that binds you! You loug to call him father. Marcia's charms Work in your heart unseen and plead for Cato. No wonder you are deaf to all I say.

Jub. Syphax, your zeal becomes importunate; I've hitherto permitted it to rave,

And talk at large; but learn to keep it in,
Lest it should take more freedom than I'll give it.
Syph. Sir, your great father never us'd me thus.
Alas, he's dead! but can you e'er forget
The tender sorrows, and the pangs of nature,

The fond embraces, and repeated blessings
Which you drew from him in your last farewel?
Still must I cherish the dear sad remembrance,
At once to torture and to please my soul.
The good old King at parting wrung my hand,
(His eyes brim full of tears) then sighing, cry'd,
Pr'ythee be careful of my son !-His grief
Swell'd up so high, he could not utter more.
Jub. Alas, the story melts away my soul,
That best of fathers! how shall I discharge
The gratitude and duty which I owe him?
Syph. By laying up his counsels in your heart.
Jub. His counsels bade me yield to thy direc
tions:

Then, Syphax, chide me in severest terms
Vent all thy passion, and I'll stand its shock,
Calm and unruffled as a summer sea

When not a breath of wind flies o'er its surface. Syph. Alas, my prince, I'd guide you to your

safety!

Jub. I do believe thou would'st; but tell me how. Syph. Fly from the fate that follows Cæsar's foes. Jub. My father Scorn'd to do it.

Syph. And therefore dy'd.

Jub. Better to die ten thousand thousand deaths, Than wound my honour.

Syph. Rather say your love.

Jab. Syphax, I've promis'd to preserve my tem

per :

Why, wilt thou urge me to confess a flame
I long have stifled, and would fain conceal?
Syph. Believe me, prince, tho' hard to conquer
love,

'Tis easy to divert and break its force:
Absence might cure it, or a second mistress
Light up another flame and put out this.
The glowing dames of Zama's royal court
Have faces flush'd with more exalted charms;
The sun that rolls his chariot o'er their heads
Works up more fire and colour in their cheeks:
Were you with these, my prince, you'd soon
forget

The pale unripen'd beauties of the North.

Jub. 'Tis not a set of features, or complexion, The tincture of a skin, that I admire. Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover Fades in his eye, and palls upon the sense. The virtuous Marcia tow'rs above her sex : True, she is fair Oh, how divinely fair!) But still the lovely maid improves her charms With inward greatness, unaffected wisdom And sanctity of manners. Cato's soul Shines out in ev'ry thing she acts or speaks, While winning mildness and attractive smiles Dwell in her looks, and with becoming grace Soften the rigour of her father's virtues. Syph. How does your tongue grow wanton in her praise!

CHA P. VIII.

Cato's Soliloquy.

CATO,

I.
T must be so-
-Plato thou reason'st well-
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality?

Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror
Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction?
'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us;

'Tis Heav'n itself that points out an hereafter,
And intimates eternity to man.

Eternity! thou pleasing dreadful thought!
Thro' what variety of untry'd being,

Thro' what new scenes and changes must we pass!
The wide, th' unbounded prospect lies before me:
But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon
Here will I hold. If there's a power above us,
(And that there is, all Nature cries aloud
Thro' all her works) he must delight in virtue;
And that which he delights in, must be happy,
But when? or where?This world was made for
Cæsar

I'm weary of conjectures-this must end 'em.
Thus am I doubly arm'd-my death and life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This in a moment brings me to an end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secur'd in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point:
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,

The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.

CHAP. IX.

Southampton and Essex.

Officer. My Lord,

CATO.

We bring an order for your execution,
And hope you are prepar'd; for you must die
This very hour.

South. Indeed! the time is sudden !

Ess. Is death th' event of all my flatter'd hope? False Sex! and Queen more perjur'd than them all! But die I will without the least complaint, My soul shall vanish silent as the dew, Attracted by the sun from verdant fields, And leaves of weeping flowers-Come, my dear friend

Partner in fate, give me thy body in

These faithful arms-and O now let me tell thee,
And you, my lords, and Heaven my witness too,
I have no weight, no heaviness on my soul,
But that I've lost my dearest friend his life.
South. And I protest by the same powers divine,
And to the world, 'tis all my happiness,
The greatest bliss my mind yet e'er enjoy'd,
Since we must die, my Lord, to die together.
Officer. The queen, my lord Southampton, has
been pleas'd

Το