ACT V. SCENE I.

CATO folus,

Sitting in a thoughtful pofture: In his hand Plato's book on the immortality of the foul. A drawn fword on the table by him.

T must be fo-Plato, thou reason'st well!.

IT

Elfe whence this pleafing hope, this fond defire,
This longing after immortality?

Or whence this fecret dread, and inward horror,
Of falling into nought? Why fhrinks the foul
Back on herself, and ftartles at destruction?
'Tis the divinity that stirs within us;

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

Eternity thou pleafing, dreadful, thought!
Through what variety of untry'd being,

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass!
The wide, th' unbounded prospect, lies before me;
But fhadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it.
Here will I hold. If there's a power above us,
(And that there is all nature cries aloud
Through all her works) he muft delight in virtue;
And that which he delights in must be happy.

But when! or where !-This world was made for Cæfar.
I'm weary of conjectures-This must end them.

[Laying his band upon his fword.

Thus

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 fhall never die.
The foul, fecur'd in her existence, fmiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the fun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature fink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,

The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds.
What means this heavinefs that hangs upon me?
This lethargy that creeps through all my fenfes ?
Nature opprefs'd, and harrass'd out with care,
Sinks down to reft. This once I'll favour her,
That my awaken'd foul may take her flight,
Renew'd in all her strength, and fresh with life,
An offering fit for heaven. Let guilt or fear
Disturb man's reft: Cato knows neither of them,
Indifferent in his choice, to fleep or die.

Enter PORTIUS.

But ha! how's this, my fon? why this intrufion? Were not my orders that I would be private ?

Why am I difobey'd?

PORTIU S.

Alas, my father!

What means this fword? this inftrument of death?

Let me convey it hence!

CATO.

САТО.

Rafh youth, forbear!

PORTIUS.

O let the prayers, th' entreaties of your friends, Their tears, their common danger, wreft it from you.

CATO.

Wouldst thou betray me? would'st thou give me up A flave, a captive, into Cæfar's hands? Retire, and learn obedience to a father,

Or know, young man!

PORTIUS.

Look not thus fternly on me;

You know I'd rather die than difobey you.

САТО.

'Tis well! again I'm master of myself.
Now, Cæfar, let thy troops befet our gates,
And bar each avenue, thý gathering fleets
O'er-spread the fea, and ftop up every port;
Cato fhall open to himself a passage,
And mock thy hopes-

PORTIU S.

O Sir, forgive your fon,

Whofe grief hangs heavy on him! O my father!
How am I fure it is not the last time

I e'er fhall call you fo! Be not displeas'd,
O be not angry with me whilft I weep,

And, in the anguish of my heart, beseech you
To quit the dreadful purpose of your foul.

САТО.

Thou hast been ever good and dutiful.

[Embracing him.

Weep

Weep not, my fon. All will be well again."
The righteous gods, whom I have fought to please,
Will fuccour Cato, and preserve his children.

PORTIU S.

Your words give comfort to my drooping heart.

САТО.

Portius, thou may'st rely upon my conduct. Thy father will not act what misbecomes him. But go, my fon, and fee if aught be wanting Among thy father's friends: see them embark'd; And tell me if the winds and feas befriend them. My foul is quite weigh'd down with care, and asks The foft refreshment of a moment's fleep.

PORTIUS.

[Exit.

My thoughts are more at eafe, my heart revives.

Enter MARCIA.

O Marcia, O my fifter, ftill there's hope!
Our father will not caft away a life

So needful to us all, and to his country.

He is retir'd to reft, and feems to cherish

Thoughts full of peace. He has difpatch'd me hence
With orders, that bespeak a mind compos'd,
And studious for the safety of his friends.

Marcia, take care that none disturb his flumbers. [Exit.

MARCI A.

O ye immortal powers, that guard the juft,
Watch round his couch, and foften his repofe,
Banish his forrows, and becalm his foul
With eafy dreams; remember all his virtues !
And thow mankind that goodness is your care.

Enter

Enter LUCIA.

LUCIA.

Where is your father, Marcia, where is Cato?

MARCIA.

Lucia, fpeak low; he is retir'd to rest. Lucia, I feel a gently-dawning hope

Rife in my foul. We shall be happy still.

LUCIA.

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 human frailty,
Or pardon weakness, that he never felt.

MARCI A.

Though ftern and awful to the foes of Rome,
He is all goodness, Lucia, always mild,
Compaffionate, and gentle to his friends.
Fill'd with domeftic tenderness, the best,
The kindeft father! I have ever found him
Easy and good, and bounteous to my wishes.

LUCIA.

'Tis his confent alone can make us blefs❜d.
Marcia, we both are equally involv'd
In the fame intricate, perplex'd, distress.
The cruel hand of fate, that has destroy'd

Thy brother Marcus, whom we both lament

MARCIA.

And ever shall lament, unhappy youth

LAUCIA,