our country's crimes, and clear her reputation. Syph. Believe me, prince, you make old Syphax to hear you talk-but 't is with tears of joy. [weep, If e'er your father's crown adorn your brows, Numidia will be blest by Cato's lectures. Jub. Syphax, thy hand! we'll mutually forget the warmth of youth, and forwardness of age; thy prince esteems thy worth, and loves thy person. If e'er the sceptre comes into my hand, Syphax shall stand the second in my kingdom. Syph. Why will you overwhelm my age with kindmy joy grows burthensome, I sha' n't support it. [ness Jub. Syphax, farewell. I'll hence, and try to find some blest occasion that may set me right in Cato's thoughts. I'd rather have that man approve my deeds, than worlds for my admirers. [Exit. Syph. Young men soon give, and soon forget afold age is slow in both "a false old traitor!" [fronts; Those words, rash boy, may chance to cost thee dear: my heart had still some foolish fondness for thee: but hence! 't is gone: I give it to the winds:Cæsar, I'm wholly thine. Syph. Enter SEMPRONIUS. -All hail, Sempronius! well, Cato's senate is resolv'd to wait the fury of a siege, before it yields. Sem. Syphax, we both were on the verge of fate; Lucius declar'd for peace, and terms were offer'd to Cato, by a messenger from Cæsar. Should they submit, ere our designs are ripe, we both must perish in the common wreck, lost in a general, undistinguish'd ruin. Syph. But how stands Cato? Sem. Thou hast seen mount Atlas: whilst storms and tempests thunder on it's brows, and oceans break their billows at it's feet, it stands unmov'd, and glories in it's height; such is that haughty man; his tow'ring soul, 'midst all the shocks and injuries of fortune, rises superior, and looks down on Cæsar. Syph. But what's this messenger? Sem. I've practis'd with him, and found a means to let the victor know, that Syphax and Sempronius are his friends. But let me now examine in my turn; is Juba fix'd? Syph. Yes, but it is to Cato. I've try'd the force of ev'ry reason on him, sooth'd and caress'd; been angry, sooth'd again; laid safety, life, and int'rest in his sight. But all are vain, he scorns them all for Cato. Sem. Come, 't is no matter; we shall do without him. He'll make a pretty figure in a triumph, and serve to trip before the victor's chariot. Syphax, I now may hope, thou hast forsook thy Juba's cause, and wishest Marcia mine. Syph. May she be thine as fast as thou would'st have her. Sem. Syphax, I love that woman; though I curse: her and myself, yet spite of me, I love her. Syph. Make Cato sure, and give up Utica: Cæsar will ne'er refuse thee such a trifle. But are thy troops prepar'd for a revolt? does the sedition catch from man to man, and run among the ranks? All, all is ready; Sem. the factious leaders are our friends, that spread Within an hour they 'll storm the senate-house. [troops I laugh, to think how your unshaken Cato ACT III. SCENE I. Enter MARCUS and PORTIUS. [Exeunt. [bout Marc. Thanks to my stars, I have not rang'd athe wilds of life, ere I could find a friend; nature first pointed out my Portius to me, and early taught me, by her secret force, to love thy person, ere I knew thy merit, till what was instinct, grew up into friendship. Por. Marcus, the friendships of the world are oft confed'racies in vice, or leagues of pleasure; our's has severest virtue for its basis, and such a friendship ends not but with life. Marc. Portius, thou know'st my soulin all it's weakthen pr'ythee spare me on it 's tender side; [ness; indulge me but in love, my other passions shall rise and fall by virtue's nicest rules. [love. Por. When love's well tim'd, 't is not a fault to The strong, the brave, the virtuous, and the wise, sink in the soft captivity together. I would not urge thee to dismiss thy passion, (I know 't were vain) but to suppress 't is force, till better times may make it look more graceful. Marc. Alas, thou talk 'st like one, that never felt. th' impatient throbs and longings of a soul, that pants, and reaches after distant good! a lover does not live by vulgar time; believe me, Portius, in my Lucia's absence life hangs upon me, and becomes a burden; and yet, when I behold the charming maid, I'm ten times more undone; while hope and fear, and grief and rage, and love, rise up at once, and with variety of pain distract me. Por. What can thy Portius do to give thee help? Marc. Portius, thou oft enjoy'st the fair one's presthen undertake my cause, and plead it to her, [ence, with all the strength and heat of eloquence fraternal love and friendship can inspire. Tell her, thy brother languishes to death, and fades away, and withers in his bloom; that he forgets his sleep, and lothes his food, that youth, and health, and war are joyless to him; describe his anxious days, and restless nights, and all the torments that thou seest me suffer. Por. Marcus, I beg thee give me not an office, that suits with me so ill. Thou know'st my temper. Marc. Wilt thou behold me sinking in my woes, and wilt thou not reach out a friendly arm, to raise me from amidst this plunge of sorrows? ގ Por. Marcus, thou canst not ask what I'd refuse; but here, believe me, I've a thousand reasons Marc. I know thou 'lt say, my passion's out of seathat Cato's great example and misfortunes [son, should both conspire to drive it from my thoughts. But what's all this to one, who loves like me? O Portius, Portius, from my soul I wish thou did'st but know thyself what 't is to love! then would'st thou pity and assist thy brother. Por. What should I do? if I disclose my passion, our friendship's at an end: if I conceal it, the world will call me false to a friend and brother. [Aside. Marc. But see, where Lucia, at her wonted hour, amid the cool of yon high marble arch, enjoys the noon day breeze! Observe her, Portius; that face, that shape, those eyes, that heav'n of beau observe her well, and blame me if thou canst. Por. She sees us, and advances Marc. I'll withdraw, and leave you for a while. Remember, Portius, thy brother's life depends upon thy tongue. Enter LUCIA. [ty! [Exit. Luc. Did not I see your brother Marcus here? why did he fly the place, and shun my presence? Por. Oh, Lucia, language is too faint to show his rage of love; it preys upon his life; he pines, he sickens, he despairs, he dies: his passions and his virtues lie confus'd, and mix'd together in so wild a tumult, that the whole man is quite disfigur'd in him. Heavens! would one think 't were possible for love to make such ravage in a noble soul! |