Cæsar shall never say he conquer'd Cato. Luc. Cæsar has mercy if we ask it of him. Cato. Then ask it, I conjure you! let him know Whate'er was done against him, Cato did it. Add, if you please, that I request it of him, "That I myself, with tears, request it of him," The virtue of my friends may pass unpunish'd. Juba, my heart is troubled for thy sake. Shou'd I advise thee to regain Numidia, Or seek the conqueror ?— Jub. If I forsake thee Whilst I have life, may Heav'n abandon Juba ! Cato. Thy virtues, prince, if I foresee aright, Will one day make thee great; at Rome hereafter, 'Twill be no crime to have been Cato's friend. Portius, draw near: my son, thou oft hast seen Thy sire engag'd in a corrupted state, Wrestling with vice and faction: now thou see'st me Spent, overpower'd, despairing of success; Let me advise thee to retreat betimes To thy paternal seat, the Sabine field. Where the great Censor toil'd with his own hands, And all our frugal ancestors were bless'd In humble virtues, and a rural life There live retir'd, pray for the peace of Rome; H When vice prevails, and impious men bear sway, Por. I hope my father does not recommend Cato. Farewell, my friends! If there be any of you Who dare not trust the victor's clemency, Know there are ships prepar'd by my command (Their sails already op'ning to the winds), That shall convey you to the wish'd-for port. Is there aught else, my friends, I can do for you? The conqueror draws near. Once more farewell! If e'er we meet hereafter, we shall meet In happier climes, and on a safer shore, Where Cæsar never shall approach us more. [Pointing to his dead son. Though still by faction, vice, and fortune crost, ACT V. SCENE I. CATO solus, sitting in a thoughtful posture: in his hand Plato's book on the Immortality of the Soul. A drawn sword on the table by him. IT must be so-Plato, thou reason'st well- This longing after immortality? Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, 'Tis Heav'n itself that points out an hereafter, Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought! Through what new scenes and changes must we pass? Through all her works) he must delight in virtue; [Laying his hand on his sword. Thus am I doubly arm'd: my death and life, The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. What means this heaviness that hangs upon me ? Enter PORTIUS. But, hah! who's this, my son! Why this intrusion? Were not my orders that I would be private ? Why am I disobey'd ? Por. Alas, my father! What means this sword, this instrument of death? Cato. Rash youth, forbear! Por. Oh, let the pray'rs, th' intreaties of your friends, Their tears, their common danger, wrest it from you! Cato. Wouldst thou betray me? Wouldst thou give me up A slave, a captive into Cæsar's hands? Retire, and learn obedience to a father, Por. Look not thus sternly on me; You know I'd rather die than disobey you. Cato. 'Tis well! again I'm master of myself. Now, Cæsar, let thy troops beset our gates, And bar each avenue; thy gath'ring fleets And mock thy hopes―― Por. Oh, sir! forgive your son, Whose grief hangs heavy on him. Oh, my father! I e'er shall call you so! Be not displeas'd, [Embracing him. Weep not, my son, all will be well again; The righteous gods, whom I have sought to please, Will succour Cato, and preserve his children. Por. Your words give comfort to my drooping heart. Cato. Portius, thou may'st rely upon my conduct: Thy father will not act what misbecomes him. But go, my son, and see if aught be wanting Among thy father's friends; see them embark'd, And tell me if the winds and seas befriend them. My soul is quite weigh'd down with care, and asks The soft refreshment of a moment's sleep. Por. My thoughts are more at ease, my heart re[Exit Cato, vives. Enter MARCIA. Oh, Marcia! Oh, my sister, still there's hope! |