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_ ACT THE FOURTH. SCENE I.
[A Chamber.]
[Enter LUCIA and MARCIA.]
Lucia.
Now, tell me, Marcia, tell me from thy soul,
If thou believest 'tis possible for woman
To suffer greater ills than Lucia suffers?
Marcia.
Oh, Lucia, Lucia, might my big swol'n heart
Vent all its griefs, and give a loose to sorrow,
Marcia could answer thee in sighs, keep pace
With all thy woes, and count out tear for tear.
Lucia.
I know thou'rt doom'd alike to be beloved
By Juba, and thy father's friend, Sempronius:
But which of these has power to charm like Portius?
Marcia.
Still, I must beg thee not to name Sempronius.
Lucia, I like not that loud, boist'rous man.
Juba, to all the bravery of a hero,
Adds softest love, and more than female sweetness;
Juba might make the proudest of our sex,
Any of womankind, but Marcia, happy.
Lucia.
And why not Marcia? Come, you strive in vain
To hide your thoughts from one who knows too well
The inward glowings of a heart in love.
Marcia.
While Cato lives, his daughter has no right
To love or hate, but as his choice directs.
Lucia.
But should this father give you to Sempronius?
Marcia.
I dare not think he will: but if he should--
Why wilt thou add to all the griefs I suffer,
Imaginary ills, and fancied 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 pleads admission to our hearts,
In spite of all the virtues we can boast,
The woman that deliberates is lost.
[Exeunt.]
[Enter SEMPRONIUS, dressed like JUBA, with NUMIDIAN GUARDS.]
Sem.
The deer is lodged, I've track'd her to her covert.
How will the young Numidian rave to see
His mistress lost! If aught could glad my soul,
Beyond the enjoyment of so bright a prize,
'Twould 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----
[Enter JUBA.]
Jub.
What do I see? Who's this that dares usurp
The guards and habits of Numidia's prince?
Sem.
One that was born to scourge thy arrogance,
Presumptuous youth!
Jub.
What can this mean? Sempronius!
Sem.
My sword shall answer thee. Have at thy heart.
Jub.
Nay then, beware thy own, proud, barbarous man.
[SEMPRONIUS falls.]
Sem.
Curse on my stars! Am I then doom'd to fall
By a boy's hand, disfigured in a vile
Numidian dress, and for a worthless woman?
Gods, I'm distracted! this my close of life!
Oh, for a peal of thunder, that would make
Earth, sea, and air, and heav'n, and Cato tremble!
[Dies.]
Jub.
I'll hence to Cato,
That we may there at length unravel all
This dark design, this mystery of fate.
[Exit JUBA.]
Enter LUCIA and MARCIA.]
Lucia.
Sure 'twas the clash of swords; my troubled heart
Is so cast down, and sunk amidst its sorrows,
It throbs with fear, and aches at ev'ry sound.
Oh, Marcia, should thy brothers, for my sake--
I die away with horror at the thought!
Marcia.
See, Lucia, see! here's blood! here's blood and murder!
Ha! a Numidian! Heav'n preserve the prince!
The face lies muffled up within the garment,
But ah! death to my sight! a diadem,
And royal robes! O gods! 'tis he, 'tis he!
Juba lies dead before us!
Lucia.
Now, Marcia, now, call up to thy assistance
Thy wonted strength and constancy of mind;
Thou canst not put it to a greater trial.
Marcia.
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?
Lucia.
What can I think, or say, to give thee comfort?
Marcia.
Talk not of comfort, 'tis for lighter ills:
Behold a sight that strikes all comfort dead.
[Enter JUBA, listening.]
I will indulge my sorrows, and give way
To all the pangs and fury of despair;
That man, that best of men, deserved it from me.
Jub.
What do I hear? and was the false Sempronius
That best of men? Oh, had I fall'n like him,
And could have been thus mourn'd, I had been happy.
Marcia.
'Tis not in fate to ease my tortured breast.
Oh, he was all made up of love and charms!
Whatever maid could wish, or man admire:
Delight of every eye; when he appear'd,
A secret pleasure gladden'd all that saw him;
But when he talk'd, the proudest Roman blush'd
To hear his virtues, and old age grew wise.
Oh, Juba! Juba!
Jub.
What means that voice? Did she not call on Juba?
Marcia.
Why do I think on what he was? he's dead!
He's dead, and never knew how much I loved him!
Lucia, who knows 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!
Jub.
here am I? Do I live? or am indeed
What Marcia thinks? All is Elysium round me!
Marcia.
Ye dear remains of the most loved of men,
Nor modesty nor virtue here forbid
A last embrace, while thus----
Jub. See, Marcia, see,
[Throwing himself before her.]
The happy Juba lives! he lives to catch
That dear embrace, and to return it too,
With mutual warmth, and eagerness of love.
Marcia.
With pleasure and amaze I stand transported!
If thou art Juba, who lies there?
Jub.
A wretch,
Disguised like Juba on a cursed design.
I could 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 rapt with joy, to see my Marcia's tears.
Marcia.
I've been surprised in an unguarded hour,
But must not go back; the love, that lay
Half smother'd in my breast, has broke through all
Its weak restraints, and burns in its full lustre.
I cannot, if I would, conceal it from thee.
Jub.
My joy, my best beloved, my only wish!
How shall I speak the transport of my soul!
Marcia.
Lucia, thy arm. Lead to my apartment.
Oh! 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.
[Exeunt MARCIA and LUCIA.]
Jub.
I am so blest, I fear 'tis all a dream.
Fortune, thou now hast made amends for all
Thy past unkindness: I absolve my stars.
What though Numidia add her conquer'd towns
And provinces to swell the victor's triumph,
Juba will never at his fate repine:
Let Caesar have the world, if Marcia's mine.
[Exit.] _
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