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_ ACT THE FOURTH. SCENE II.
[The Street.]
[A March at a distance.]
[Enter CATO and LUCIUS.]
Luc.
I stand astonish'd! What, the bold Sempronius,
That still broke foremost through the crowd of patriots,
As with a hurricane of zeal transported,
And virtuous even to madness--
Cato.
Trust me, Lucius,
Our civil discords have produced such crimes,
Such monstrous crimes, I am surprized at nothing.
--Oh Lucius, I am sick of this bad world!
The daylight and the sun grow painful to me.
[Enter PORTIUS.]
But see, where Portius comes: what means this haste?
Why are thy looks thus changed?
Por.
My heart is grieved,
I bring such news as will afflict my father.
Cato.
Has Caesar shed more Roman blood?
Por.
Not so.
The traitor Syphax, as within the square
He exercised his troops, the signal given,
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 would not stay, and perish, like Sempronius.
Cato.
Perfidious man! But haste, my son, and see
Thy brother Marcus acts a Roman's part.
[Exit PORTIUS.]
--Lucius, the torrent bears too hard upon me:
Justice gives way to force: the conquer'd world
Is Caesar'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 Caesar,
And reconcile thy mighty soul to life.
Cato.
Would Lucius have me live to swell the number
Of Caesar'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 Caesar'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!
Falsehood and fraud shoot up in ev'ry soil,
The product of all climes--Rome has its Caesars.
Jub.
'Tis generous thus to comfort the distress'd.
Cato.
'Tis just to give applause, where 'tis deserved:
Thy virtue, prince, has stood the test of fortune,
Like purest gold, that, tortured in the furnace,
Comes out more bright, and brings forth all its weight.
Jub.
What shall I answer thee?
I'd rather gain
Thy praise, O Cato! than Numidia's empire.
[Enter PORTIUS.]
Por.
Misfortune on misfortune! grief on grief!
My brother Marcus----
Cato.
Ha! what has he done?
Has he forsook his post? Has he given way?
Did he look tamely on, and let them pass?
Por.
Scarce had I left my father, but I met him
Borne 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,
Oppress'd with multitudes, he greatly fell.
Cato.
I'm satisfied.
Por.
Nor did he fall, before
His sword had pierced thro' the false heart of Syphax.
Yonder he lies. I saw the hoary traitor
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, be sure you place
His urn near mine.
Por.
Long may they keep asunder!
Luc.
Oh, Cato, arm thy soul with all its patience;
See where the corpse of thy dead son approaches!
The citizens and senators alarm'd,
Have gather'd round it, and attend it weeping.
[CATO meeting the Corpse.--SENATORS attending.]
Cato.
Welcome, my son! Here lay him down, my friends,
Full in my sight, that I may view at leisure
The bloody corse, and count those glorious wounds.
--How beautiful is death, when earn'd by virtue!
Who would not be that youth? What pity is it,
That we can die but once, to serve our country!
--Why sits this sadness on your brows, my friends?
I should 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.
Jub.
Was ever man like this!
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.
Oh, liberty! Oh, virtue! Oh, my country!
Jub. Behold that upright man! Rome fills his eyes
With tears, that flow'd not o'er his own dear son.
[Aside.]
Cato.
Whate'er the Roman virtue has subdued,
The sun's whole course, the day and year, are Caesar's:
For him the self-devoted Decii died,
The Fabii fell, and the great Scipios conquer'd:
Ev'n Pompey fought for Caesar. Oh, my friends,
How is the toil of fate, the work of ages,
The Roman empire, fall'n! Oh, cursed ambition!
Fall'n into Caesar's hands! Our great forefathers
Had left him nought to conquer but his country.
Jub.
While Cato lives, Caesar will blush to see
Mankind enslaved, and be ashamed of empire.
Cato.
Caesar ashamed! Has he not seen Pharsalia?
Luc.
'Tis time thou save thyself and us.
Cato.
Lose not a thought on me; I'm out of danger:
Heaven will not leave me in the victor's hand.
Caesar shall never say, he 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 Caesar, I begin to fear thee!
Luc.
Caesar 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 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.
Should I advise thee to regain Numidia,
Or seek the conqueror?
Jub.
If I forsake thee
Whilst I have life, may Heaven 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 engaged 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 retired, pray for the peace of Rome;
Content thyself to be obscurely good.
When vice prevails, and impious men bear sway,
The post of honour is a private station.
Por.
I hope my father does not recommend
A life to Portius that he scorns himself.
Cato.
Farewell, my friends! If there be any of you
Who dare not trust the victor's clemency,
Know there are ships prepared, by my command,
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 Caesar never shall approach us more.
[Pointing to his dead son.]
There, the brave youth, with love of virtue fired,
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,
Though still by faction, vice, and fortune crost,
Shall find the gen'rous labour was not lost.
[Exeunt.] _
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