Unhappy youth! how will thy coldness raise
Tempests and storms in his afflicted bofom!
I dread the confequence.
Had Portius been the unfuccessful lover,
The fame compaffion would have fall'n on him.
LUCIA.
Was ever virgin-love diftrefs'd like mine!
Portius himself oft falls in tears before me,
As if he mourn'd his rival's ill fuccefs;
Then bids me hide the motions of my heart,
Nor show which way it turns. So much he fears
The fad effects that it would have on Marcus.
He knows too well how eafily he's fired,
And would not plunge his brother in despair,
But waits for happier times, and kinder moments.
Alas! too late I find my self 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 foul.
Let us not, Lucia, aggravate our forrows, But to the Gods permit th' event of things. Our lives, difcolour'd with our present woes,
May ftill grow white, and smile with happier hours.
So the pure limpid fiream, when foul with ftains.
Of rushing torrents, and defcending rains,
Works it felf clear, and as it runs, refines;
'Till, by degrees, the floating mirror fhines,
Reflects each flow'r that on the border grows,
And a new Heaven in its fair bofom shows.
SEMPRONIUS.
ROME fill furvives in this affembled Senate!
Let us remember we are Cato's friends,
And act like men who claim that glorious title.
LUCIU S.
Cato will foon be here, and open to us
Th' occafion of our meeting.
May all the guardian gods of Rome direct him!
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 shall we treat this bold aspiring 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 fhould I mention Juba's overthrow,
And Scipio's death? Numidia's burning fands
Still fmoke with blood. 'Tis time we fhould decree
What courfe to take. Our foe advances on us,
And envies us even Libya's fultry defarts.
Fathers, pronounce your thoughts, are they still fixt
To hold it out, and fight it to the last ?
Or are your hearts fubdu'd at length, and wrought
By time and ill fuccefs to a fubmiffion?
SEM PRO NIU S.
My voice is ftill for war.
Gods! can a Roman Senate long debate
Which of the two to chufe, flavery or death!
No, let us rife at once, gird on our fwords,
And, at the head of our remaining troops,
Attack the foe, break through the thick
Of his throng'd legions, and charge home upon him.
Perhaps fome arm, more lucky than the rest,
May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage.
Rife, Fathers, rife! 'tis Rome demands your help;
Rife, and revenge her slaughter'd citizens,
Or fhare their fate! the corps of half her Senate
Manure the fields of Theffaly, while we
Sit here, deliberating in cold debates,
If we fhould facrifice our lives to honour,
Or wear them out in fervitude and chains.
Roufe up for fhame! our brothers of Pharfalia
Point at their wounds, and cry aloud- to Battel!
Great Pompey's fhade complains that we are flow,
And Scipio's ghoft walks unreveng'd amongst us!
CATO.
Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal
Transport thee thus beyond the bounds of reason:
True fortitude is feen in great exploits
That justice warrants, and that wisdom guides,
All elfe is tow'ring frenzy and distraction.
Are not the lives of thofe, who draw the (word
In Rome's defence, entrusted to our care?
Should we thus lead them to a field of flaughter,
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 ruine glorious?
Lucius, we next would know what's your opinion.
LUCIU S.
My thoughts, I muft 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 remoteft regions
Lie half unpeopled by the feuds of Rome:
'Tis time to fheath the fword, and fpare 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 battel,
(Prompted by blind revenge and wild despair)
Were to refuse th' awards of Providence,
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