University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Lucia and Marcia.
Luc.
Now tell me, Marcia, tell me from thy Soul,
If thou believ'st it possible for Woman
To suffer greater Ills than Lucia suffers?

Marc.
O Lucia, Lucia, might my big swoln Heart
Vent all its Griefs, and give a Loose to Sorrow:
Marcia cou'd answer thee in Sighs, keep Pace
With all thy Woes, and count out Tear for Tear.

Luc.
I know thou'rt doom'd alike, to be belov'd
By Juba, and thy Father's Friend Sempronius;
But which of these has Pow'r to charm like Portius!

Marc.
Still must I beg thee not to name Sempronius?
Lucia, I like not that loud boist'rous Man:
Juba to all the Brav'ry of a Heroe
Adds softest Love, and more than Female Sweetness;
Juba might make the proudest of our Sex,
Any of Woman-kind, but Marcia, happy.

Luc.
And why not Marcia? Come, you strive in vain
To hide your Thoughts from one, who know's too well
The inward Glowings of a Heart in Love.

Marc.
While Cato live's, his Daughter has no Right
To love or hate, but as his Choice directs.

Luc.
But shou'd this Father give you to Sempronius?

Marc.
I dare not think he will: but if he shou'd—
Why wilt thou add to all the Griefs I suffer
Imaginary Ills, and fancy'd Tortures?
I hear the Sound of Feet! they march this Way!
Let us retire, and try if we can drown
Each softer Thought in Sense of present Danger.
When Love once plead's Admission to our Hearts
(In spight of all the Virtue we can boast)
The Woman that Deliberates is lost.

[Exeunt.
Enter Sempronius, dress'd like Juba, with Numidian Guards.
Semp.
The Deer is lodg'd. I've trackt her to her Covert.
Be sure you mind the Word, and when I give it,
Rush in at once, and seize upon your Prey.
Let not her Cries or Tears have Force to move you.
—How will the young Numidian rave, to see
His Mistress lost? If aught cou'd glad my Soul,
Beyond th'Enjoyment of so bright a Prize,
'Twou'd be to torture that young, gay, Barbarian.
—But hark, what Noise! Death to my Hopes! 'tis he,
'Tis Juba's self! there is but one Way left—
He must be murder'd, and a Passage cut
Through those his Guards.—Hah, Dastards, do you tremble!
Or act like Men, or by yon azure Heav'n—

Enter Juba.
Jub.
What do I fee? Who's this that dares usurp
The Guards and Habits of Numidia's Prince?

Semp.
One that was born to scourge thy Arrogance,
Presumptuous Youth!

Jub.
What can this mean? Sempronius!

Semp.
My Sword shall answer thee. Have at thy Heart.

Jub.
Nay, then beware thy own, proud, barbrous Man!

[Semp. falls. His Guards surrender.
Semp.
Curse on my Stars! Am I then doom'd to fall
By a Boy's Hand? disfigur'd in a vile
Numidian Dress, and for a worthless Woman?
Gods, I'm Distracted! This my Close of Life!
O for a Peal of Thunder that wou'd make
Earth, Sea, and Air, and Heav'n, and Cato tremble!

[Dies.
Juba.
With what a Spring his furious Soul broke loose,
And left the Limbs still quiv'ring on the Ground!
Hence let us carry off those Slaves to Cato,
That we may there at length unravel all
This dark Design, this Mystery of Fate.

[Exit Juba with Prisoners, &c.
Enter Lucia and Marcia.
Luc.
Sure 'twas the Clash of Swords; my troubled Heart
Is so cast down, and sunk amidst its Sorrows,
It throb's with Fear, and ake's at ev'ry Sound.
O Marcia, shou'd thy Brothers for my Sake!—
I die away with Horror at the Thought.

Marc.
See, Lucia, see! here's Blood! here's Blood and Murder!
Hah! a Numidian! Heav'ns preserve the Prince:
The Face lie's muffled up within the Garment.
But hah! Death to my Sight! a Diadem,
And Purple Robes! O Gods! 'tis he, 'tis he,
Juba, the loveliest Youth that ever warm'd
A Virgin's Heart, Juba lie's dead before us!

Luc.
Now Marcia, now call up to thy Assistance
Thy wonted Strength, and Constancy of Mind;
Thou can'st not put it to a greater Tryal.

Marc.
Lucia, look there, and wonder at my Patience.
Have I not cause to rave, and beat my Breast,
To rend my Heart with Grief, and run distracted!

Luc.
What can I think or say to give thee Comfort?

Mar.
Talk not of Comfort, 'tis for lighter Ills:
Behold a Sight, that strike's all Comfort dead.
Enter Juba listning.
I will indulge my Sorrows, and give way
To all the Pangs and Fury of Despair,
That Man, that best of Men, deserv'd it from me.

Juba.
What do I hear? and was the false Sempronius
That best of Men? O had I fall'n like him,
And cou'd have thus been mourn'd, I had been happy!

Luc.
Here will I stand, Companion in thy Woes,
And help thee with my Tears; when I behold
A Loss like thine, I half forget my own.

Marc.
'Tis not in Fate to ease my tortured Breast.
This empty World, to me a joyless Defart,
Has nothing left to make poor Marcia happy.

Juba.
I'm on the Rack! Was he so near her Heart?

Marc.
Oh he was all made up of Love and Charms,
Whatever Maid cou'd wish, or Man admire:
Delight of ev'ry Eye! When he appear'd,
A secret Pleasure gladned all that saw him;
But when he talk'd, the proudest Roman blush'd
To hear his Virtues, and old Age grew wise.

Juba.
I shall run Mad—

Marc.
O Juba! Juba! Juba!

Juba.
What means that Voice? did she not call on Juba?

Marc.
Why do I think on what he was! he's dead!
He's dead, and never knew how much I lov'd him.
Lucia, who know's but his poor bleeding Heart
Amidst its Agonies, remember'd Marcia,
And the last Words he utter'd call'd me Cruel!
Alas, he knew not, hapless Youth, he knew not
Marcia's whole Soul was full of Love and Juba!

Juba.
Where am I! do I live! or am indeed
What Marcia think's! all is Elisium round me!

Marc.
Ye dear Remains of the most lov'd of Men!
Nor Modesty nor Virtue here forbid
A last Embrace, while thus—

Juba.
See, Marcia, see,
The happy Juba live's! he live's to catch
That dear Embrace, and to return it too
With mutual Warmth and Eagerness of Love.

Marc.
With Pleasure and Amaze, I stand transported!
Sure 'tis a Dream! Dead and Alive at once!
If thou art Juba, who lies there?

Jub.
A Wretch,
Disguised like Juba on a curs'd Design.
The Tale is long, nor have I heard it out,
Thy Father know's it all. I cou'd not bear
To leave thee in the Neighbourhood of Death,
But flew, in all the haste of Love, to find thee.
I found thee weeping, and confess this once,
Am wrap'd with Joy to see my Marcia's Tears.

Marc.
I've been surprized in an unguarded Hour,
But must not now go back: The Love, that lay
Half smother'd in my Breast, has broke through all
Its weak Restraints, and burn's in its full Lustre,
I cannot, if I wou'd, conceal it from thee.

Jub.
I'm lost in Extasie! and do'st thou love,
Thou charming Maid?

Marc.
And do'st thou live to ask it?

Jub.
This, this is Life indeed! Life worth perserving!
Such Life as Juba never felt till now!

Marc.
Believe me, Prince, before I thought thee dead,
I did not know my self how much I lov'd thee.

Jub.
O fortunate Mistake!

Marc.
O happy Marcia!

Jub.
My Joy! my best Beloved! my only Wish!
How shall I speak the Transport of my Soul!

Marc.
Lucia, thy Arm! Oh let me rest upon it!—
The Vital Blood, that had forsook my Heart,
Return's again in such tumultuous Tides,
It quite o'ercomes me. Lead to my Apartment.
O Prince! I blush to think what I have said,
But Fate has wrested the Confession from me,
Go on, and prosper in the Paths of Honour,
Thy Virtue will excuse my Passion for thee,
And make the Gods propitious to our Love.

[Ex. Marc. and Luc.
Jub.
I am so bless'd, I fear 'tis all a Dream.
Fortune, thou now half made amends for all
Thy past Unkindness. I absolve my Stars.
What tho' Numidia add her conquer'd Towns
And Provinces to swell the Victor's Triumph?
Juba will never at his Fate repine,
Let Cæsar have the World, if Marcia's mine.

[Exit.
A March at a Distance.
Enter Cato and Lucius.
Luc.
I stand astonish't! What, the bold Sempronius!
That still broke foremost through the Croud of Patriots,
As with a Hurricane of Zeal transported,
And virtuous ev'n to Madness—

Cato.
Trust me, Lucius,
Our civil Discords have produced such Crimes,
Such monstrous Crimes, I am surprized at nothing.
—O Lucius, I am sick of this bad World!
The Day-light and the Sun grow painful to me.
Enter Portius.
But see where Portius come's! What mean's this Haste?
Why are thy Looks thus changed?

Port.
My Heart is griev'd.
I bring such News as will afflict my Father.

Cato.
Has Cæsar shed more Roman Blood?

Port.
Not so.
The Traytor Syphax, as within the Square
He exercised his Troops, the Signal giv'n,
Flew off at once with his Numidian Horse
To the South Gate, where Marcus holds the Watch.
I saw, and call'd to stop him, but in vain,
He toss'd his Arm aloft, and proudly told me,
He wou'd not stay and perish like Sempronius.

Cato.
Perfidious Men! But haste my Son, and see
Thy Brother Marcus act's a Roman's Part.
[Exit Portius.
—Lucius, the Torrent bears too hard upon me:
Justice give's Way to Force: the conquer'd World
Is Cæsar's: Cato has no Business in it.

Luc.
While Pride, Oppression, and Injustice reign,
The World will still demand her Cato's Presence.
In Pity to Mankind, submit to Cæsar,
And reconcile thy Mighty Soul to Life.

Cato.
Wou'd Lucius have me live to swell the Number
Of Cæsar's Slaves, or by a base Submission
Give up the Cause of Rome, and own a Tyrant?

Luc.
The Victor never will impose on Cato
Ungen'rous Terms. His Enemies confess
The Virtues of Humanity are Cæsar's.

Cato.
Curse on his Virtues! They've undone his Country,
Such Popular Humanity is Treason—
But see young Juba! the good Youth appears
Full of the Guilt of his perfidious Subjects.

Luc.
Alas, poor Prince! his Fate deserves Compassion.

Enter Juba.
Jub.
I blush, and am confounded to appear
Before thy Presence, Cato.

Cato.
What's thy Crime?

Jub.
I'm a Numidian.

Cato.
And a brave one too,
Thou hast a Roman Soul.

Jub.
Hast thou not heard
Of my false Countrymen?

Cato.
Alas, young Prince,
Falshood and Fraud shoot up in ev'ry Soil,
The Product of all Climes—Rome has its Cæsars.

Jub.
'Tis gen'rous thus to comfort the Distress'd.

Cato.
'Tis just to give Applause where 'tis deserv'd;
Thy Virtue, Prince, has stood the Test of Fortune,
Like purest Gold, that, tortur'd in the Furnace,
Comes out more bright, and brings forth all its Weight.

Juba.
What shall I answer thee? my ravish'd Heart
O'erflows with secret Joy: I'd rather gain
Thy Praise, O Cato, than Numidia's Empire.

Enter Portius hastily.
Port.
Misfortune on Misfortune! Grief on Grief!
My Brother Marcus—

Cato.
Hah! what has he done?
Has he forsook his Post? has he giv'n way?
Did he look tamely on, and let 'em pass?

Port.
Scarce had I left my Father, but I met him
Born on the Shields of his surviving Soldiers,
Breathless and pale, and cover'd o'er with Wounds.
Long, at the Head of his few faithful Friends,
He stood the Shock of a whole Host of Foes,
Till obstinately Brave, and bent on Death,
Opprest with Multitudes, he greatly fell.

Cato.
I'm satisfy'd.

Port.
Nor did he fall before
His Sword had pierc'd through the false Heart of Syphax:
Yonder he lie's. I saw the hoary Traytor
Grin in the Pangs of Death, and bite the Ground.

Cato.
Thanks to the Gods! my Boy has done his Duty.
—Portius, when I am dead, before thou place
His Urne near mine.

Port.
Long may they keep asunder!

Luc.
O Cato, arm thy Soul with all its Patience;
See where the Corps of thy dead Son approaches!
The Citizens and Senators, alarm'd,
Have gather'd round it, and attend it weeping.

Cato meeting the Corps.
Cato.
Welcome my Son! Here lay him down, my Friends,
Full in my Sight, that I may view at leisure
The bloody Coarse, and count those glorious Wounds.
How beautiful is Death, when earn'd by Virtue!
Who wou'd not be that Youth? what Pity is it
That we can die but once to serve our Country!
Why sit's this Sadness on your Brows, my Friends?
I shou'd have blush'd if Cato's House had stood
Secure, and flourish'd in a Civil War.
—Portius, behold thy Brother, and remember
Thy Life is not thy own, when Rome demands it.

Juba.
Was ever Man like this!

[Aside.
Cato.
Alas my Friends!
Why mourn you thus? Let not a private Loss
Afflict your Hearts. 'Tis Rome requires our Tears.
The Mistress of the World, the Seat of Empire,
The Nurse of Heroes, the Delight of Gods,
That humbled the proud Tyrants of the Earth,
And set the Nations free, Rome is no more.
O Liberty! O Virtue! O my Country!

Juba.
Behold that upright Man! Rome fills his Eyes
With Tears, that flow'd not o'er his own dead Son.

[Aside.
Cato.
Whate'er the Roman Virtue has subdu'd,
The Sun's whole Course, the Day and Year, are Cæsar's
For him the self-devoted Decii dy'd,
The Fabii fell, and the great Scipio's conquer'd:
Ev'n Pompey fought for Cæsar. Oh my Friends!
How is the Toil of Fate, the Work of Ages,
The Roman Empire fall'n! O curst Ambition!
Fall'n into Cæsar's Hands! Our great Fore-Fathers
Had left him nought to Conquer but his Country.

Juba.
While Cato lives, Cæsar will blush to see
Mankind enslaved, and be ashamed of Empire.

Cato.
Cæsar ashamed! Has not he seen Pharsalia!

Luc.
Cato, 'tis Time thou save thy self and us.

Cato.
Lose not a Thought on me. I'm out of Danger.
Heav'n will not leave me in the Victor's Hand.
Cæsar shall never say I've conquer'd Cato.
But oh! my Friends, your Safety fills my Heart
With anxious Thoughts: A thousand secret Terrors,
Rise in my Soul: How shall I save my Friends!
'Tis now, O Cæsar, I begin to fear thee.

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 my self, 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.

Port.
I hope, my Father does not recommend
A Life to Portius, that he scorns himself.

Cato.
Farewel, my Friends! if there be any of you
That dares not trust the Victor's Clemency,
Know there are Ships prepared by my Command,
(Their Sails already op'ning to the Winds)
That shall convey you to the wisht-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.
There the brave Youth, with Love of Virtue fired,
[Pointing to the Body of his dead Son.
Who greatly in his Country's Cause expired,
Shall know he Conquer'd. The firm Patriot there
(Who made the Welfare of Mankind his Care)
Tho' still, by Faction, Vice, and Fortune, crost,
Shall find the gen'rous Labour was not lost.