University of Virginia Library

SC. 4.

Enter Cato.
Ca.
O where is banish'd liberty exil'd,
To Affrick deserts or to Scythia rockes,
Or whereas siluer streaming Tanais is?
Happy is India and Arabia blest,
And all the bordering regions vpon Nile
That neuer knew the name of Liberty,
But we that boast of Brutes and Colatins,
And glory we expeld proud Tarquins name,
Do greeue to loose, that we so long haue held.
Why reckon we our yeares by Consuls names:
And so long ruld in freedon, now to serue?
They lie that say in Heauen there is a powre
That for to wracke the sinnes of guilty men,
Holds in his hand a fierce three-forked dart.
Why would he throw them downe on Oéta mount
Or wound the vnderringing Rhodope,
And not rayne showers of his dead-doing dartes,
Furor in flame, and Sulphures smothering heate
Vpon the wicked and accurs'd armes
That cruell Romains 'gainst their Country beare.
Rome ware thy fall: those prodigies foretould,
When angry heauens did powre downe showers of blood
And fatall Comets in the heauens did blase,
And all the Statues in the Temple blast,
Did weepe the losse of Romaine liberty.
Then if the Gods haue destined thine end,
Yet as a Mother hauing lost her Sonne,
Cato shall waite vpon thy tragick hearse,
And neuer leaue thy cold and bloodles corse.
Ile tune a sad and dol-full funerall song,
Still crying on lost liberties sweete name,
Thy sacred ashes will I wash with teares,
And thus lament my Countries obsequies.