Mar. Lucia, disburden all thy Cares on me, And let me fhare thy moft retired Distress; Tell me who raises up this Conflict in thee?
Luc. I need not blufh to name them, when I tell thee They're Marcia's Brothers, and the Sons of Cato.
Marc. They both beheld thee with their Sifter's Eyess And often have reveal'd their Paffion to me. Eut tell me, whofe Address thou fav'reft moft? I long to know, and yet I dread to hear it. Luc. Which is it Marcia wishes for? Mar. For neither..---
And yet for both----The Youths have equal Share In Marcia's Wishes, and divide their Sifter: But tell me which of them in Lucia's Choice?
Luc. Marcia, they both are high in my Efteem, But in my Love----Why wilt thou make me name him? Thou know't it is a blind and foolish Paffion, Pleas'd and disgusted with it knows not what---- Mar. O Lucia, I'm perplex'd, O tell me which
I must hereafter call my happy Brother?
Luc. Suppofe 'twere Portius, cou'd you blame my Choice? --------- Portius, thou haft ftol'n away my Soul!
With what a graceful Tenderness he loves!
And breathes the fofteft, the fincerest Vows! Complacency, and Truth, and manly Sweetness Dwell ever on his Tongue, and smooth his Thoughts. Marcus is overwarm, his fond Complaints Have fo much Earneftnefs and Paffion in them, I hear him with a fecret kind of Horrour,
And tremble at his Vehemence of Temper.
Mar. Alas poor Youth! how canft thou throw him
Lucia, thou know'st not half the Love he bears thee; Whene'er he speaks of thee, his Heart's in Flames, He fends out all his Soul in ev'ry Word,
And thinks, and talks, and looks like one tranfported.
Unhappy Youth! How will thy Coldness raise Tempefts and Storms in his afflicted Bofom! I dread the Confequence.
Luc. You feem to plead Against your Brother Portius. Mar. Heav'n forbid !
Had Portius been the unfuccefsful Lover The fame Compaffion wou'd have fall'n on him. Luc. Was ever Virgin Love distrest like mine! Portius himself oft falls in Tears before me, As if he mourn'd his Rival's Ill Success,
Then bids me hide the Motions of my Heart, Nor fhew which way it turns. So much he fears The fad Effects, that it wou'd have on Marcus.
Mar. He knows too well how eafily he's fired, And wou'd not plunge his Brother in Despair, But waits for happier Times, and kinder Moments. Luc. Alas, too late I find myself involved
In endless griefs and Labyrinths of Woe, Born to afflict my Marcia's Family,
And fow Diffenfion in the Hearts of Brothers, Tormenting Thought! it cuts into my Soul.
Mar. Let us not, Lucia, aggravate our Sorrows But to the Gods permit th'Event of Things. Our Lives, difcolour'd with our present Woes, May still grow bright, and smile with happier Hours. So the pure limpid Stream, when foul with Stains Of rufhing Torrents and defcending Rains, Works it felf clear, and as it runs, refines; 'Till by Degrees the floating Mirrour fhines, Reflects each Flow'r that on the Border grows, And a new Heav'n in its fair Bofom fhews.
The End of the First ACT.
O ME ftill furvives in this affembled Se- nate!
Let us remember we are Cato's Friends, And act like Men who claim that glorious
Luc. Cato will foon be here and open to us Th'Occasion of our Meeting. Hark! he comes!
[A Sound of Trumpets. May all the Guardian Gods of Rome direct him!
Cato. Fathers, we once again are met in Council. Cafar's Approach has fummon'd us together, And Rome attends her Fate from our Refolves: How fhall we treat this bold afpiring Man? Succefs ftill follows him, and backs his Crimes: Pharfalia gave him Rome, Egypt has fince Receiv'd his Yoke, and the whole Nile is Cafar's. Why should I mention Juba's Overthrow, 'And Scipio's Death? Numidia's burning Sands Still fmoke with Blood. 'Tis time we fhould decree What Course to take. Our Foe advances on us, And envies us ev❜n Libya's fultry Defarts. Fathers, pronounce your Thoughts, are they ftill fixt To hold it out, and fight it to the laft?
Or are your Hearts fubdu'd at length, and wrought
By Time and ill Succefs to a Submiffion? Sempronius, fpeak.
Semp. My Voice is ftill for War. Gods, can a Roman Senate long debate Which of the two to choose, Slav'ry or Death! No, let us rife at once, gird on our Swords, And at the Head of our remaining Troops, Attack the Foe, break through the thick Array Of his throng'd Legions, and charge home upon him. Perhaps fome Arm, more lucky than the reft,
May reach his Heart, and free the World from Bondage, Rife, Fathers, rife! 'tis Rome demands your Help; Rife, and revenge her flaughter'd Citizens, Or fhare their Fate! The Corps of half her Senate Manure the Fields of Theffaly, while we Sit here delib'rating in cold Debates,
If we should facrifice our Lives to Honour, Or wear them out in Servitude and Chains. Roufe up for Shame! our Brothers of Pharfalia Point at their Wounds, and cry aloud---To Battle! Great Pompey's Shade complains that we are flow, And Scipio's Ghost walks unrevenged amongst us!
Cato. Let not a Torrent of impetuous Zeal Transport thee thus beyond the Bounds of Reason: True Fortitude is seen in great Exploits
That Juftice warrants, and that Wisdom guides, All elle is towring Frenzy and Distraction, Are not the Lives of those who draw the Sword In Rome's Defence intrufted to our Care? Should we thus lead them to a Field of Slaughter, Might not th'impartial World with Reafon fay, We lavish'd at our Deaths the Blood of Thousands, To grace our Fall, and make our Ruin glorious? Lucius, we next would know what's your Opinion. Luc. My Thoughts I must confefs are turn'd on Peace. Already have our Quarrels fill'd the World
With Widows and with Orphans: Scythia mourns Our guilty Wars, and Earth's remotest Regions Lie half unpeopled by the Feuds of Rome: 'Tis time to sheath the Sword, and spare Mankind. It is not Cafar, but the Gods, my Fathers, The Gods declare against us, and repell
Our vain Attempts. To urge the Foe to Battle, (Prompted by blind Revenge and wild Despair). Were to refuse th’Awards of Providence, And not to rest in Heav'n's Determination, Already have we fhewn our Love to Rome, Now let us fhew Submiffion to the Gods. We took up Arms, not to revenge our felves, But free the Commonwealth; when this End fails, Arms have no further Ufe: Our Country's Cause, That drew our Swords, now wrefts 'em from our Hands, And bids us not delight in Roman Blood,
Unprofitably fhed; what Men could do
Is done already: Heav'n and Earth will witness, If Rome muft fall, that we are Innocent.
Semp. This smooth Discourse and mild Behaviour oft Conceal a Traitor---Something whispers me
All is not right----Cato, beware of Lucius.
Cato. Let us appear not Rafh nór Diffident: Immod'rate Valour fwells into a Fault; And Fear, admitted into publick Councils, Betrays like Treafon. Let us fhun 'em both. Fathers, I cannot fee that our Affairs
Are grown thus defp'rate, we have Bulwarks round us; Within our Walls are Troops enured to Toil
In Africk's Heats, and season'd to the Sun; Numidia's fpacious Kingdom lies behind us, Ready to rife at its young Prince's Call. While there is Hope, do not distrust the Gods; But wait at least 'till Cafar's near Approach
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