Ye Gods, what havock does Ambition make

Among your works!

MARCUS.

Thy fteddy temper, Portius,

Can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud, and Cæfar,
In the calm lights of mild Philofophy;

I'm tortur'd, even to madness, when I think
On the proud victor: every time he's named
Pharfalia rifes to my view!- -I fee

Th' infulting tyrant, prancing o'er the field
Strow'd with Rome's citizens, and drench'd in flaughter,
His Horfe's hoofs wet with Patrician blood!

Oh Portius, is there not some chosen curse,
Some hidden thunder in the ftores of Heav'n,
Red with uncommon wrath, to blaft the man,
Who owes his greatness to his country's ruin?
PORTIU S.

Believe me, Marcus, 'tis an impious greatness,
And mixt with too much horror to be envy'd:
How does the luftre of our father's Actions,"
Through the dark cloud of Ills that cover him,
Break out, and burn with more triumphant brightness!
His fufferings shine, and spread a glory round him;
Greatly unfortunate, he fights the cause

Of honour, virtue, liberty, and Rome.

His fword ne'er fell but on the guilty head;

Oppreffion, tyranny, and power ufurp'd,

f

Draw all the vengeance of his arm upon 'em.

MAR

knows not this? but what can Cato do

nft a world, a bafe degenerate world,

courts the yoke, and bows the neck to Cæsar? up in Utica he vainly forms

or epitome of Roman greatness,

cover'd with Numidian guards, directs

ble army, and an empty senate

nants of mighty battles fought in vain.

leavens, fuch virtues, join'd with fuch fuccefs, foul: Our father's fortune

act my very

Id almost tempt us to renounce his precepts.
PORTIU S.

emember what our father oft has told us :
ways of Heav'n are dark and intricate,
led in mazes, and perplex'd with errors:
understanding traces 'em in vain,

and bewilder'd in the fruitless search :
Tees with how much art the windings run,
where the regular confufion ends.

MARCU S.

efe are fuggeftions of a mind at eafe;

Tortius, didft thou taste but half the griefs

wring my foul, thou couldft not talk thus coldly. n unpity'd, and fucceflefs love,

daggers in my heart, and aggravate

ther griefs. Were but my Lucia kind !

L. II.

B

POR

PORTIUS.

Thou fee'ft not that thy Brother is thy Rival: But I must hide it, for I know thy temper.

Now, Marcus, now, thy virtue's on the proof: Put forth thy utmost strength, work every nerve, And call up all thy father in thy foul:

To quell the tyrant Love, and guard thy heart
On this weak fide, where moft our nature fails,
Would be a conqueft worthy Cato's fon.

MARCU S.

- Portius, the counsel which I cannot take, Inftead of healing, but upbraids my weakness. Bid me for honour plunge into a war

Of thickest foes, and rush on certain death,
Then fhalt thou fee that Marcus is not flow
To follow glory, and confefs his father.
Love is not to be reafon'd down, or loft
In high ambition, and a thirst of greatness ;
'Tis fecond life, it grows into the foul,
Warms every vein, and beats in every pulse,
I feel it here: my refolution melts-

PORTIUS.

Behold young Juba, the Numidian Prince!
With how much care he forms himself to glory,
And breaks the fierceness of his native temper,
To copy out our Father's bright example.
He loves our fifter Marcia, greatly loves her,
His eyes, his looks, his actions all betray it:

[Afide.

But

H

till the fmother'd fondness burns within him.

n moft it fwells, and labours for a vent,

,

fense of honour, and defire of fame

e the big paffion back into his heart.
t! fhall an African, fhall Juba's heir

roach great Cato's.fon, and fhow the world
rtue wanting in a Roman foul?

MARCU S.

3

ortius, no more! your words leave ftings behind 'em. en-e'er did Juba, or did Portius, show

rtue that has caft me at a distance,

thrown me out in the pursuits of honour ? PORTIUS,

Marcus, I know thy gen'rous temper well
g but th' appearance of dishonour on it,
raight takes fire, and mounts into a blaze.
MARCUS.

Brother's fufferings claim a Brother's pity.
PORTIU S.

Heaven knows I pity thee: behold my eyes

n whilst I speak- -Do they not swim in tears?

e but my heart as naked to thy view, cus would fee it bleed in his behalf.

MARCU S.

Why then doft treat me with rebukes, instead kind condoling cares, and friendly forrow? PORTIU S.

O Marcus, did I know the way to cafe

Thy troubled heart, and mitigate thy pains,
Marcus, believe me, I could die to do it.

MARCU S.

Thou beft of brothers, and thou beft of Friends! Pardon a weak diftemper'd foul, that fwells

With fudden gufts, and finks as foon in calms,

The sport of paffions: but Sempronius comes:
He must not find this softness hanging on me.

[Exit.

II.

SCENE

SEMPRONIUS, PORTIUS.

SEMPRONIUS.

Confpiracies no fooner fhould be form'd Than executed. What means Portius here? I like not that cold youth. I must dissemble, And speak a language foreign to my heart.

[Afide.

Good-morrow Portius! let us once embrace,
Once more embrace; whilft yet we both are free.
Tomorrow should we thus express our friendship,
Each might receive a slave into his arms :
This Sun perhaps, this morning Sun's the laft,
That e'er fhall rife on Roman liberty.

PORTIU S.

My father has this morning call'd together To this poor hall his little Roman Senate,

(The leavings of Pharfalia) to confult

If