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And repeated blessings,


drew from him in your last farewell? The good old king, at parting, wrung my hand, (His eyes brimful of tears,) then sighing cry'd, Prythee be careful of my son! His grief Swell’d up so high, he could not utter more.

Jub. Alas! thy story melts away my soul ! That best of fathers ! how shall I discharge The gratitude and duty that I owe him?

Syph. By laying up his counsels in your heart. Jub. His counsels bade me yield to thy direction: Then, Syphax, chide me in severest terms, Vent all thy passion, and I'll stand its shock, Calm and unruísled as a summer sea, When not a breath of wind Aies 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 died.

Jub, Better to die ten thousand thousand deaths, Than wound


honour. Syph. Rather say, your love.

Fub. Syphax, I've promised to preserve my temper. Why wilt thou urge me to confess a flame I long have stifled, and would fain conceal ? Syph. Believe me, prince, though 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; 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 aclinire:

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 lovelý maid improves her charms,
With inward greatness, unaffected wisdom,
And sanctity of manners ; Cato's soul
Shines out in every 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 virtue.
Syph. How does your tongue grow wanton in her

praise !
But on my knees, I beg you would consider--
Jub. Ha! Syphax, is't not she?-She moves this

way ;
And with her Lucia, Lucius's fair daughter.
My heart beats thick—1 pr’ythee, Syphax, leave me.

Syph. Ten thousand curses fasten on them both!
Now will the woman, with a single glance,
Undo, what I've been lab'ring all this while.

Jub. Hail, charming maid ! How does thy beauty

The face of war, and make even horror smile!
At sight of thee my heart shakes off its sorrows;
I feel a dawn of joy break in upon me,
And for a while forget th' approach of Cæsar.
Mar. I should be grieved, young prince, to think

my presence
Unbent your thoughts, and slacken'd them to arms,
While, warm with slaughter, our victorious foe,
Threatens aloud, and calls you to the field.

Jub. Oh, Marcia, let me hope thy kind concerns
And gentle wishes follow me to battle!
The thought will give new vigour to my arm,

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And strength and weight to my descending sword, And drive it in a tempest on the foe.

Marcia. My pray'rs and wishes always shall attend The friends of Rome, the glorious cause of virtue, And men approved of by the gods and Cato.

Jub. That Juba may deserve thy pious cares, I'll

gaze for ever on thy godlike father, Transplanting one by one, into my life, His bright perfections, till I shine like him.

Marcia. My father never, at a time like this, Would lay out his great soul in words, and waste Such precious moments.

Jub. Thy reproofs are just, Thou virtuous maid ; I'll hasten to my troops, And fire their languid souls with Cato's virtue. If e'er I lead them to the field, when all The war shall stand ranged in its just array, And dreadful pomp; then will I think on thee; Oh, lovely maid! then will I think on thee; And in the shock of charging hosts, remember What gloricus deeds should grace the man, who hopes For Marcia's love.

[Exit JUBA. Lucia. Marcia, you're too severe ; How could you chide the young good-natured prince, And drive him from you with so stern an air, A prince that loves, and dotes on you to death?

Marcia. 'Tis therefore, Lucia, that I chide him

from me;

His air, his voice, his looks, and honest soul,
Speak all so movingly in his behalf,
I dare not trust myself to hear him talk.

Lucia. Why will you fight against so sweet a passion, And steel your heart to such a world of charms ? Marcia. How, Lucia! would'st thou have me sink

In pleasing dreams, and lose myself in love,
When ev'ry moment Cato's life's at stake ?
Cæsar comes arm'd with terror and revenge

And aims his thunder at my father's head.
Should not the sad occasion swallow up
My other cares?

Lucia. Why have I not this constancy of mind,
Who have so many griefs to try its force ?
Sure, Nature form’d me of her softest mould,
Enfecbled all my soul with tender passions,
And sunk me ev'n below my own weak sex :
Pity and love, by turns, oppress my

heart. Marcia. Lucia, disburden all thy cares on me, And let me share thy most retired distress. Tell me, who raises up this conflict in thee? Lucia. I need not blush to name them, when I tell

thee They’re Marcia's brothers, and the sons of Cato. Marcia. They both behold thee with their sister's

eyes, And often have eveal'd their passion to me. But tell me, which of them is Lucia's choice?

Lucia. Suppose, 'twere Portius, could you blame

my choice?

Oh, Portius, thou hast stolen away my soul!
Marcus is over warm, his fond complaints
Have so much earnestness and passion in them,
I hear him with a secret kind of horror,
And tremble at his vehemence of temper.

Marcia. Alas, poor youth !
How will thy coldress raise
Tempests and storms in his afflicted bosom!
Į dread the consequence:

Lucia. You seem to plead
Against your brother Portius.

Marcia. Heav'n forbid.
Had Portius been the unsuccessful lover,
The same compassion would have fall’n on him.

Lucia. Was ever virgin love distress'd like mine!
Portius himself oft falls in téars before me,
As if he mourn'd his rival's ill success;

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Then bids me hide the motions of my heart,
Nor show which way it turns. So much he fears
The sad effect that it will have on Marcus.

Marcia. Let us not, Lucia, aggravate our sorrows,
But to the gods submit th? event of things.
Our lives, discolour'd with our present woes,
May still grow bright, and smile with happier hours.

So the pure limpid stream, when foul with stains
Of rushing torrents, and descending rains,
Works itself clear, and, as it runs, refines,
Till, by degrees, the floating mirror shines,
Reflects each flower that on the border grows,
And a new heav'n in its fair bosom shows.




The Senate sitting.


Enter CATO.

Calo. Fathers, we once again are met in council; Cæsar's approach has summon'd us together, And Rome attends her fate from our resolves. How shall we treat this bold aspiring man?

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