If yet he can oppose the mighty torrent
That bears down Rome, and all her gods, before it,
Or muft at length give up the world to Cæfar.
SEMPRONIUS.
Not all the pomp and majesty of Rome
Can raise her Senate more than Cato's prefence.
His virtues render our affembly awful,
They strike with something like religious fear,
And make even Cæfar tremble at the head
Of armies flufh'd with conqueft: O my Portius,
Could I but call that wondrous Man my Father,
Would but thy fifter Marcia be propitious
To thy friend's vows: I might be blefs'd indeed!
PORTIUS.
Alas! Sempronius, wouldst thou talk of love To Marcia, whilft her father's life's in danger? Thou might'ft as well court the pale trembling Vestal, When the beholds the holy flame expiring.
SEMPRONIUS.
The more I fee the wonders of thy race,
The more I'm charm'd. Thou must take heed,my Portius!
The world has all its eyes on Cato's fon,
Thy father's merit fets thee up to view,
And shows thee in the fairest point of light,
To make thy virtues, or thy faults, confpicuous.
PORTIU S.
Well doft thou feem to check my lingring here
And while the Fathers of the Senate meet,
In close debate to weigh th' events of war,
I'll animate the foldier's drooping courage,
With love of freedom, and contempt of life:
I'll thunder in their ears their country's cause,
And try to roufe up
all that's Roman in 'em.
"T'is not in mortals to Command fuccefs,
But we'll do more, Sempronius; we'll Deferve it. [Exit. SEMPRONIUS folus.
Curfe on the Stripling! how he apes his Sire! Ambitioufly fententious !.
Old Syphax comes not; his Numidian genius
Is well dispos'd to mifchief, were he prompt
And eager on it; but he must be fpurr'd,
And every moment quickned to the courfe.
Cato has us'd me ill: he has refufed
His daughter Marcia to my
Befides, his baffled arms, and ruin'd caufe,
Are bars to my ambition. Cafar's favour,
That show'rs down greatnefs on his friends, will raife me
To Rome's first honours. If I give up Cato,
I claim in my reward his captive daughter.
But Syphax comes!
▪Sempronius, all is ready,
I've founded my Numidians, man by man,
And find 'em ripe for a revolt: they all
Complain aloud of Cato's difcipline,
And wait but the command to change their mafter.
SEMPRONIUS.
Believe me, Syphax, there's no time to waste ;
Even whilft we speak, our Conqueror comes on,
And gathers ground upon us every moment.
Alas! thou know'ft not Cæfar's active foul,
With what a dreadful courfe he rushes on
From war to war: in vain has nature form'd
Mountains and Oceans to oppose his passage;
He bounds o'er all, victorious in his march:
The Alps and Pyreneans fink before him,
Through winds and waves and storms he works his way,
Impatient for the battle: one day more
Will fet the Victor thundering at our gates.
But tell me, haft thou yet drawn o'er young Juba?
That still would recommend thee more to Cæfar,
And challenge better terms.
He's loft, Sempronius; all his thoughts are full
Of Cato's virtues :-
:--- -but I'll try once more
(For every instant I expect him here)
If yet I can fubdue thofe ftubborn principles
Of faith, of honour, and I know not what,
That have corrupted his Numidian temper,
And ftruck th' infection into all his foul.
SEMPRONIUS.
Be fure to prefs upon him every motive.
Juba's furrender, fince his father's death,
Would give up Afric into Cæfar's hands,
And make him Lord of half the burning Zona
SYPHA X.
But is it true, Sempronius, that your Senate
Is call'd together? Gods! thou must be cautious!
Cato has piercing eyes, and will discern
Our frauds, unless they're cover'd thick with art.
SEMPRONIUS.
Let me alone, good Syphax, I'll conceal
My thoughts in paflion ('tis the fureft way ;)
I'll bellow out for Rome and for my country,
And mouth at Cæfar 'till I shake the Senate.
Your cold hypocrify's a ftale device,
A worn-out trick: would'st thou be thought in earnest? Clothe thy feign'd zeal in rage, in fire, in fury!
In troth, thou'rt able to inftruct gray-hairs, And teach the wily African deceit !
SEMPRONIUS.
Once more be fure to try thy skill on Juba.
Mean while I'll haften to my Roman soldiers,
Inflame the mutiny, and underhand
Blow up their difcontents, 'till they break out
Unlook'd for, and discharge themselves on Cato.
Remember, Syphax, we muft work in haste :
O think what anxious moments pass between
The birth of plots, and their last fatal periods,
Oh! 'tis a dreadful interval of time,
Fill'd up with horror all, and big with death!:
Destruction hangs on every word we speak,
On every thought, till the concluding stroke
Determines all, and closes our defign.
SYPHAX folus.
I'll try if yet I can reduce to reason
This head-ftrong youth, and make him fpurn at Cato.
The time is fhort, Cafar comes rushing on us-
But hold! young Juba fees me, and approaches.
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